Trudy

Girl-shy Danny, age 13, meets the sexy love his life, 11-year-old Trudy, while at a supermarket with his parents. They remain celibate until Trudy turns 14.

Part One

On June 19, 1977, I was 13 years old and just about to finish the seventh grade. In fact, there was less than a week remaining in the school year. At this point in my life, I seldom accompanied my parents on grocery-shopping excursions. When I was a small child, the experience of traipsing through the aisles was a thrilling one, but whatever appeal it once had was long gone. However, on this Sunday afternoon, I went along because we would be dining out somewhere once we had picked up a few staples from the local supermarket that were desperately needed: milk, coffee, orange juice and tea. That should only take a few minutes.

When we pulled into the parking lot, we noticed a large tent had been set up near the entrance to the supermarket. Underneath it was a barbecue. Beside it were large coolers. And beside them was a display of individual bags of potato chips. A sign advertised that the supermarket was selling hot dogs, hamburgers, canned soft drinks, and potato chips to raise money for the Special Olympics. We had intended to go to either the Chinese restaurant or the pizza place in the plaza for an evening meal, but we all agreed that supporting this worthwhile fundraiser was perhaps a better way to spend our dining money. They had obviously been open for many hours, but they were about to close as it was now past 6 p.m. Dad agreed to order our food (at a ridiculously cheap price) while Mom did our grocery shopping.

Dad looked at the menu—which was skimpy—and asked me what I wanted. I did not hear his question because my eyes had been suddenly diverted. “Danny!” Dad said in a louder voice. “I asked you what you wanted to order. Didn’t you hear me?”

I sheepishly had to admit I had not. “Sorry, Dad. I was distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” Dad inquired.

“Do you see that girl standing near the entrance to the supermarket?” I asked him. “She is, without a doubt, the prettiest girl I have ever seen in my life. I’m not exaggerating, either.”

Dad turned his head, saw the female I was talking about, and quickly came to a similar conclusion. “Holy moley!” he stated using his favorite interjection. Then he added, “She’s not pretty, Danny. She’s downright beautiful.”

She was indeed. I figured she was two years younger than I was, but I didn’t care. She was a lanky girl, probably a bit taller than a typical lass her age might be. She had long, shimmering black hair that was parted off to one side. She had a beautiful face with a slightly swarthy complexion. Most noticeably to me, she possessed sexy breast buds that prominently poked through her tight-fitting white top with dark-red trim around its edges. She was wearing a pink skirt and sandals. What really set her off to me was that she was seemingly dancing to music that only she could hear. She was rhythmically gliding between two boys who, I assumed, were her brothers. She was delightfully feminine and looked to be the middle child of the three. A woman approached them who was undoubtedly her mother. She pointed toward the hot dog stand where Dad and I were standing. Moments later, all four of them moved toward us. The girl, whatever her name was, floated the distance of 20 yards. It least it seemed that way to me.

“Hey, she’s coming this way, Danny!” Dad said. It was a totally unnecessary comment. I realized it before he did. “You should start up a conversation with her. If I were your age, I know I would!”

“You know how shy I am around pretty girls, Dad!” I reminded him. “And this girl is off the charts when it comes to good looks.”

“Opportunity is knocking, Danny,” Dad insisted. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll start up a conversation with her mother. Then you say hello specifically to her. Can you muster up enough courage to do that?”

“I’ll try—but I’ll be terrified,” I told him.

I really had no reason to be shy around girls. I was at least a fairly attractive male who was tall and physically imposing. I had never gotten into a fight in my life, but I gave off an aura that it wouldn’t be wise to challenge me to one. However, I had always been a bit of an introvert. I was slow to make friends with other boys. Girl classmates were largely a foreign concept to me.

When the family of four moved within earshot, Dad said to them, “I think you got here just in time. It looks like they are beginning to pack things away. They still have plenty of hot dogs and hamburgers for sale, though.” Dad introduced himself as Andrew Marcotte and said my name was Danny. The woman said her name was Margaret Weston. Her daughter’s name was Trudy and she was 11. She introduced her two sons, too, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything else that was said after Trudy stood within five feet of me.

“Danny,” Dad said to me, “are any of these kids your school classmates?”

I quickly replied negatively.

Mrs. Weston said, “That might change tomorrow. We just moved into town earlier today. My three kids will start at Hillcrest Elementary School tomorrow morning.”

That comment made me do a double take. I asked, “Your kids are starting at a new school with only four days left before summer vacation? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Mrs. Weston chuckled and agreed with me. “Yes, it definitely is out of the ordinary, but we had to vacate our old house in Peterborough as of today. I start my new job tomorrow, so I figured I might as well enroll my kids for the last four days so they are used to their surroundings and so they can make some new friends before school resumes in September.” I had a vague idea where Peterborough was. Dad later told me it was about a three-hour drive from our Canadian city in southern Ontario.

“That’s very logical,” Dad said. “My son Danny goes there. He’s just about to finish the seventh grade. He’s 13. Danny, say hello to three new friends.”

I did. I made a point of shaking Trudy’s hand. Even her fingers were beautiful! I didn’t engage in that formality with her two brothers. They were invisible to me.

Mrs. Weston said her family, as of today, was residing in one of the apartment complexes across the street from the shopping plaza. She, like Mom, was picking up some staple items that she desperately needed. Seconds later, Mom came out of the supermarket. Dad apologized for not ordering our food yet, saying he was distracted by greeting some newcomers who had just moved into town. Dad took the groceries from Mom and put them in the car. Mom introduced herself to the Westons. We ended up occupying two picnic tables that had been set up for customers.

Mom thought it was odd on my part that I immediately sat next to Trudy and made sure she had enough napkins and potato chips. That was the extent of my interaction with her. It only took about 15 minutes for all of us to down our meals. I said I’d look for the three Weston children in the schoolyard tomorrow.

“They seem like a nice family,” Dad noted.

Mom pointed out something obvious that had escaped both me and Dad. There was no father in the picture. Mom also noted that the three kids did not look very much alike. I always figured Mom could have been a detective because of her strong powers of observation. She accurately said, “The girl, Trudy, is quite pretty. She might need to dress a bit more modestly very soon.”

“I hope not!” I said from the backseat without thinking. I instantly regretted doing so. That may have been the first time in my life I had expressed any positive opinion about a girl to my parents. Dad laughed loudly at my comment. Mom grimaced. She really didn’t know what to say to me.

Dad broke the silence by saying to her, “Honey, aren’t you glad that Danny is finally taking an interest in girls? Heck, if I were his age, Trudy Weston would interest me—a lot! She’s an absolute doll.”

Part Two

The next day I did see the three Weston kids in the schoolyard before the first bell rang. I needed to relearn the two boys’ names (Colson and Michael). Trudy’s was firmly embedded in my mind, however. My estimation had been good. Trudy was indeed the middle child of her family. She was a year younger than Colson and two years older than Michael. I promised I’d say hello again during the morning recess.

When morning recess came, I was startled to see Trudy sitting all by herself in a grassy area of the playground. She was obviously crying. I quickly approached her, took her hand in mine, and asked her what was troubling her. She pointed at four boys, all new classmates of hers, whom she accused of being “very rude” to her. “They came up with a nickname for me that I didn’t like. They called me ‘Titty Trudy’. I guess it’s because I have noticeable breast buds that poke out of my chest.”

I gave her a quick, consoling hug and ran towards the giggling foursome. They seemed alarmed when I, two years older and much larger than they were, laid down the law. I promptly stated, “If I ever hear of any of you boys making fun of that girl again, you will instantly regret doing that! You can tell that to all your classmates, too!” I slammed my right fist into my left palm for effect. “Do you understand?” They all mumbled yes. I turned around and returned to where Trudy was sitting. I told her she wouldn’t be harassed again. Before I left her, I suddenly got a dose of courage. I said, “By the way, Trudy, I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. You are more attractive than all the girls in the seventh grade, at least.”

Her tears stopped and Trudy gave me a quizzical look. Then she smiled. I walked away. I later realized I had probably missed an excellent chance to kiss her.

Part Three

I stayed for about 30 minutes after school that day, hanging around the library, reading various magazines and newspapers. That was not unusual for me. I was the only one there. That, too, was not unusual. By the time I got home, Mom was eagerly waiting at the door for me.

“I have a telephone message for you, Danny,” she stated.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked.

“Yes. Mrs. Weston called to thank you for helping Trudy today. I don’t generally agree with threats of physical violence, but those crude classmates of Trudy’s deserved it. I’m proud of you, Danny. Mrs. Weston is proud of you, too…and Trudy can’t say enough about you. I wrote down their phone number and address for you. Tonight, after dinner, maybe you should pay a social call on Trudy to see how she’s doing.”

“Now that is a superb idea!” I said. “I’ll just stay for a few minutes, though.”

Mom said, “I’ll call Mrs. Weston right now to say that you’ll be there at 7 o’clock. I’ll let you determine how long you want to stay. That will be up to you. Make it more than just a few minutes, though!” Mom paused and said, “I take it that you are rather smitten with this girl who is two whole years younger than you are.”

I said, “Yes, that’s right, Mom. You are very perceptive, as usual. But why did you bring up our age difference? Dad is four years older than you are, right?”

Mom had to concede, “You raise a good point, Danny.”

I also made a point of showering and putting on a higher grade of clothing than I had worn to school that day. Dad gave me a subtle thumbs-up as I exited the house. It took me nearly 20 minutes to walk to the Westons’ apartment even though I was moving at a relatively quick pace. Trudy opened the door for me. The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing the same attractive summer outfit she had worn at the supermarket on Sunday evening—with one notable exception: She was now wearing a training brassiere underneath her white top. It didn’t matter to me. I think she was about to draw my attention to her new undergarment, which would have been extremely awkward for me. I stopped her by acknowledging her wardrobe change without really addressing it. I said she was still the prettiest girl in the world—and I kissed her on the cheek. Trudy quickly hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, too. I loved it!

Part Four

When school resumed in September with Trudy now in the sixth grade and me in the eighth, I noticed a change had come over her male classmates. None of them wanted to make fun of Trudy; instead, they all seemed to want to make out with Trudy! She wasn’t interested in any of them, though, because she had me as a boyfriend. Oddly, I seemed to gain social status by having a romantic interest in a girl two grades below me. (It stupidly took me a while to figure out I wasn’t the only boy my age who was captivated by Trudy’s good looks.) Similarly, it worked out for Trudy, too. She told me she was the envy of the girls in her class because she had a boyfriend in the eighth grade.

I did not attend my eighth-grade dance a week before graduation because it was restricted to only eighth-grade students. Instead, that night I took Trudy out on our first real date—to a movie and then for ice cream treats afterward. Dad served as our chauffeur, dropping us off at the movie theater, picking us up when the flick ended, and then driving us to the ice cream parlor. I think Dad was living vicariously through me. He was always commenting on how attractive Trudy was. I kidded him later that night by saying, “She’s mine, Dad—not yours!” I also told him we hadn’t actually spent much time watching the movie in the theater. I couldn’t tell him a thing about its plot. I doubt that Trudy knew much about it, either.

During the summer before I began high school—and before Trudy started the seventh grade, I dropped by the Westons’ apartment just to spend the afternoon with the love of my life. Trudy had left a few minutes before to pick up some items for her mother at the grocery store where I had first spotted her a little more than a year ago. Mrs. Weston politely invited me inside. She always adored me since the day of the “Titty Trudy” incident at school. She often told me she couldn’t wait, as she liked to say, “for that glorious day when you marry my darling daughter.”

“That day is definitely coming!” I always told her. “You can count on it. You can also count on a huge number of grandchildren to enjoy.”

“I hope you and Trudy haven’t been practicing making babies yet,” she said to me, not expecting me to answer.

I did answer her though. “No, not yet,” I said, “but we’ve certainly had our amorous moments. Trudy—and it was she who took the initiative—got quite friendly with me at the movie theater a couple of weeks ago.”

“Like mother, like daughter!” Mrs. Weston surprisingly noted. “Trudy doesn’t know who her father is because of my hedonistic lifestyle. He was a one-night stand at a resort in Costa Rica. He told me his name was Antonio Fernandez—but that turned out to be a fake name when I tried to track him down four months later to inform him of his impending fatherhood.”

That explained Trudy’s slightly swarthy complexion—which made her extremely beautiful in my eyes—and probably the eyes of 50 other boys at her school.

“Frankly, Danny,” Mrs. Weston told me, “if I were Trudy’s age and had you as an older boyfriend, I would have fucked your brains out by now.”

I burst out laughing. Then I kiddingly said in reply, “How long do we have before Trudy gets back from the supermarket? Do we have enough time for a quick screw. Hey, I’m willing to make your wish come true.”

“As tempting as that offer is, Danny, I’m not going to steal my daughter’s boyfriend,” she told me. “But as far as I’m concerned, you and Trudy can go as far as you wish sexually.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I love Trudy with all my heart, and because she’s such an obvious beauty, I’d fuck her brains out tomorrow—but it would bother me. The law of the land says I can’t do anything sexual with your daughter until she is 14. I intend to stick by that law. I only have to wait about a year and a half, right?”

Mrs. Weston seemed impressed by that reply. “Since you are such a gentleman, Danny, if you do wait until Trudy is 14 before giving her the screwing she richly deserves, I’ll book you two a suite at the hotel where I work as an assistant manager. It will be my absolute pleasure. In fact, it will be my birthday gift to Trudy. I’m sure she’d love it.”

Mrs. Weston wasted no time in divulging her lascivious plan to Trudy—who indeed liked the idea very much. Whenever Trudy and I would kiss over the next 18 months, Trudy would cutely give me a countdown regarding her fourteenth birthday. She’d whisper in my ear, “Fifteen months and six days to go, Danny. Hang in there.” I found it adorable that she was keeping track of time with such dedication and accuracy.

Part Five

On March 15, 1980, Trudy would turn 14. By chance, her birthday fell on a Saturday, which was great because it didn’t coincide with a school night. According to our long-established arrangement, I was invited to her special party at the Four Seasons Hotel. I told my parents half of what would be happening: The party consisted of just me, Trudy, her brothers, and her mother enjoying a fine meal at the hotel’s steak house. I deliberately omitted the major part about me fucking beautiful Trudy in a luxury suite until I dropped from sheer exhaustion. I didn’t even tell Dad about it because I figured there was no way he’d be able to keep it a secret from Mom. Instead, I lied. I said I was to be a houseguest of the Westons that night, so we could enjoy a fabulous buffet breakfast the next morning at the same hotel restaurant.

“When you are staying overnight in Trudy’s home, keep your pants on, son!” Dad cautioned me.

I replied, “Do you really think I’d fuck Trudy when her mother and two brothers are in the same house and just a few feet away? I’m not that crazy!”

Dad replied calmly, “It’s not a matter of being crazy, son, it’s a matter of self-control. Hell, I’ve wanted to screw Trudy since I first saw her nearly three years ago at the hot dog stand. Your hormones must be at the absolute breaking point.”

“Well, you finally said it out loud!” I laughed. “Remember, Dad, Trudy is mine—not yours.”

That night, dinner at the Four Seasons’ restaurant was superb. The hotel was famous for its thick steaks with all the trimmings—and I had an excellent cut of meat smothered with buttered mushrooms. A huge piece of chocolate fudge cake was a great dessert to finish things off. Mrs. Weston handed me the key to the honeymoon suite and she and her sons went home. Both of them were surprised when Trudy was not accompanying them. The older of the two, Colton, figured out what was going on immediately and giggled. He stopped to shake my hand and wish me well. “Now you’ll really be the envy of every guy at our high school,” he told me with a smile. “But you already are.”

Trudy and I had both brought along overnight bags which we had stored at the front desk. We collected them and proceeded up the elevator to the top floor of the hotel where the honeymoon suite was located. At our combined age of 30, we may have been its youngest occupants ever.

I opened the door and saw that the décor of the room was basically Valentine’s Day on steroids. There was artwork of cupids, nude statuary, and sexy charcoal drawings on every wall. There were even some hard-core pornographic magazines on a coffee table in case we hadn’t figured out why we were there.

“Trudy, honey, I think we are supposed to fuck. Is that what you think, too?” I asked her with a big smile plastered all over my face.

“I don’t think we are here to discuss philosophy, Danny. Look at these books!” I hadn’t noticed there were several coffee table books of erotic art dating back to the time of the ancient Romans. I leafed through one and saw a 2,000-year-old image of a smiling middle-aged man with his penis impaled inside a very young girl’s vagina. For some reason, that made me think of my father.

I noticed something that Trudy hadn’t: There was an envelope addressed to the two of us on the pillow of the bed. Trudy opened it up. It was a message from her mother. It said, "Enjoy your big night, the two of you—and happy birthday, Trudy. Danny, if Trudy doesn’t make you come three times tonight, I will be disappointed. Best of luck! Margaret Wilson.”

“She’ll be disappointed?” I said in amazement. “I’ll be devastated.” Actually, this was going to be a first for me, so I was just hoping to be a passably good lover for Trudy. That was now out the window. I had a specific quota of ejaculations to meet.

“I think Mom is referring to the sex lessons she’s been giving me for the past month so I will do a good job pleasing you in bed, Danny. She’s shown me all sorts of sex manuals and personally advised me how to best entertain a man. I hope I don’t disappoint you, Danny. I do love you.”

With those words, I picked up Trudy—she was about 5’7” to my 6’2”—and lifted her onto the huge bed that dominated the room. I later found out that Trudy had borrowed a red peignoir that she intended to briefly wear to turn me on and then sexily drop it to the floor. I was sorry I deprived her and myself of that wonderful show.

Within seconds, we were both undressed. For the first time in my life, I was sharing a bed with a girl—and what a sexpot she was! Her breasts were gorgeous. She had prominent areolas that stuck out—no doubt the remnants of the glorious breasts buds that had first caught my attention (and my father’s, too) in the supermarket parking lot three years earlier. I finally got the chance to suck on them to my heart’s content. Fifteen minutes worth of licking and sucking seemed to suffice. I then licked her vagina. Trudy had shaved it for me at her mother’s insistence! I happily licked it until Trudy experienced a large orgasm. Then I licked her pussy juices with growing alacrity. We were off to a great start!

“That was simply fabulous, Danny!” declared Trudy as she recovered from her significant squirt. “Let me give you a blowjob next. I’ve been practicing with a sex toy for a couple of weeks. I think you’ll like it!”

I knew I’d like it—and I was right. I assumed the center of the bed. I lied on my back and Trudy crawled between my legs. She placed her face over my crotch. My dick was as hard as a diamond. It needed zero stimulation, but I was happy to allow Trudy to give me an abundance of it. She was right! She was very good at it—however she learned it. It was all new to me, of course, but I enjoyed the wonderful sensation—especially when Trudy licked the tip of my shaft.

“Oh, keep doing that, Trudy,” I instructed her. Then I quickly changed my mind. “Oh, no, please don’t do that or I’ll ejaculate way too fast. I want to come in your vagina, Trudy. I want to ensure that every cum shot tonight goes deep into your pretty pussy!” I really did want that to be the case.

Trudy and I switched positions on the bed, and she spread her legs invitingly. My first screw would be Fucking 101—the basic missionary position. I climbed aboard and shoved my aroused dick into Trudy’s warm, lovely pussy. It was the greatest feeling I had experienced with no runner-up coming to mind. I gave her slow, deliberate thrusts to please her as well as me. When I felt an orgasm approaching, I shoved my penis into her as far as it would go. Then I let loose with a huge blast of semen. I figured there was no way Trudy couldn’t be pregnant after accepting that amount of sperm in her vagina. Then Trudy, said, “I guess I should have told you I took a pill before I came here tonight, Danny. Fire away all night, my love. I can’t get pregnant.”

Upon hearing that happy news we must have romantically kissed for 20 minutes—which gave me ample time to recover my hardness. I hadn’t removed my dick from her hairless snatch, but I was rejuvenated. The feeling of my getting hard while already inside Trudy was obviously something unknown to me, but I made a mental note to do it again sometime in the future.

My second ejaculation came from Trudy riding me—something she insisted on doing because it “looked like great fun” to her from seeing photos in porn magazines. Trudy rode me like a pro, adding a few gyrations to her vertical movements. I moaned with delight as I fired a second spurt of jism into her pussy.

For fun, while recuperating, I picked up the book of ancient art and returned to the ample examples of ancient Roman erotica. I placed it between Trudy and me so we could jointly pick out something to bring me to my third orgasm. We both laughed at a depiction of two people screwing with the female holding onto the arms of a chair with her elevated feet wrapped around the male’s torso. Of course, his dick was penetrating her vagina. We gave it our best try but it was too awkward for us. We settled for simple doggy-style copulation in which my penis penetrated Trudy until my testicles met her bottom. I liked the rhythmic sound of driving myself against her making a smacking sound with our conjoined bodies. Cum shot number three was deposited where it was intended to go! Wow! I’d achieved three decent sized cum shots in less than 90 minutes of screwing. I figured that was a pretty good outcome for a first-timer. Dad later told me in confidence that, despite numerous attempts, he could never come more than twice a night—which made me even prouder of what I had accomplished as a sexual newcomer with sexy Trudy as my bedmate.

Trudy and I fell asleep in each other’s arms shortly thereafter. We were both very tired and very much in love. I was wholly satisfied with the night’s horizontal activities. Then I woke up around 3 a.m. with Trudy’s arms still clinging to me. I felt that something was missing—then I figured out what it was.

I positioned Trudy, who was still very much asleep, onto her back with her beautiful boobs staring at me. I straddled her, rubbed my aroused dick against her nipples for a minute or two, visualized Trudy three years before in her supermarket outfit, and managed to successfully masturbate myself until I fired a small rope of sperm across her tits. Trudy woke up just in time to see the first drops of semen strike her chest.

“What are you doing, Danny?” she asked me while still half asleep.

I gave her an honest answer. “I needed to come on your tits, Trudy—especially where your prominent breast buds caught my attention that fateful Sunday evening at the charity barbecue. If it wasn’t for that pair of sexy body parts, I wouldn’t be here tonight, sharing a bed with the most beautiful girl in the world! I did what I needed to do. You can go back to sleep now.”