Jack and Jill - The Legend Continues

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Jill kept her voice low, “Don’t worry, they won’t move for another hour. Rub my back. Down the middle.”

Chapter 4 (v.1) - Jack's Story

Submitted: September 11, 2019

Reads: 20

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Submitted: September 11, 2019



I don’t remember the first time I met Jill. I’m sure it was after the school year started, when she started first grade. We rode the same bus to school, and there she was—waiting on the side of the road for the school bus, with her brother AJ. Until I started a friendship with Jill, I rarely ventured beyond my cousins’ house two hundred yards to the south, or my grandparents’ house 150 yards to the north. I was in second grade—the first of two times in second grade. It’s not that I couldn’t do the work—home life was tough, even for a seven-year-old.

Jill told me her full name was Jillian, but she didn’t like it because it was three syllables long. I never heard anyone call her Jillian; I never saw her birth certificate, or even a school report card; so I don’t know if it was true or not. Doesn’t matter; I figured I would find out in about 15 years, when we got married.

Meeting Jill should have been memorable, and it was, because she and her brother AJ were the only kids within two miles of our house who weren’t related to me. In addition to two younger brothers and three younger sisters, I had cousins who lived just south of us, and more cousins who were constantly living or visiting with grandma and grandpa on the other side of us. That’s the price grandma and grandpa paid for having a huge old house—it was always full of kids. We all lived within two miles of Lake Erie.

I remember hanging out with Jill on the school bus and during recess at school. She was tiny, seemed almost too little and frail to be in school. Well, she was tiny, but she definitely wasn’t frail. She could hold her own in our conversations, and wasn’t afraid to get scrappy in the grass. I loved that activity with her. She was the only one who couldn’t beat me up, and I could even sneak a kiss now and then. She hated the first few kisses, but after we figured it out, she was the aggressive kisser.

Sometimes, after the bus dropped us off at home, we would meet at the corner near her house and we would sit on the concrete sides of the bridge over a creek and talk. The bridge was close to her house, and I could also see my house not far away. Up to that time, the bridge and Jill’s yard was the farthest I ever ventured from home by myself.

When I think back on some of the things we talked about while hanging out on the bridge, I’m amazed. My older cousins must have had more influence on me than I thought at the time. I didn’t know who was influencing Jill, but she could talk non-stop about things that I didn’t know at six, and still didn’t know much about at seven or eight. But, she did have three older siblings, a brother and two much older sisters, and a lot of older cousins.

According to the prophesies of Jill, she and I were going to get married and live happily ever after—that’s the one thing she knew for sure.

Jill was a constant companion for the next few years, but not my only companion. As I got older and bigger, I ventured farther from home. I had a bicycle, as did most of my cousins, and we would take rides farther and farther from home, either five miles into town, or to our favorite swimming hole in a large nearby creek, or to the lake to swim. I don’t recall Jill being on any of those bicycle trips. We also did a group skinny dip in one of the swimming holes in the big creek, and I don’t recall seeing Jill there either. I would have remembered seeing her naked. We had fun skinny dipping until one of the cousins noticed a leach on her leg and freaked out. All the girls were screaming and carrying on; one of the boys grabbed the leach off her leg and she was out of the water, up the creek’s bank, and dressed before anyone could say, “Let’s get out of here!”

When not hanging out with Jill, I kept busy during the summers by helping local farmers plough and disk their fields, baling hay and straw, and even helping neuter piglets. The summer farm jobs didn’t pay much, if anything, but the experience was priceless, especially driving tractors, and even pulling a disk with a small Caterpillar tractor. I guess that makes me a ‘cat skinner.’ One of my favorite farm jobs was riding on the back of a baling machine and pushing the wire through and tying it off to make the bales. No two bales were ever the same size.

By the time I was twelve I was using the tractor to plough and disc our own 15 acres; but my favorite activity with the tractor was pulling a trailer full of siblings and cousins, and Jill, to the local beach two miles away. I wasn’t old enough to drive a car, but there was no age or license requirements for driving a farm vehicle on the highway. We had a Ford-Ferguson tractor and the fastest it would go was about 15 miles per hour, unless I put a string on the governor. Then it would go much faster, but it was scary, and even I knew it was dangerous.
We always had fun at the beach, and it was always an adventure getting there. A couple times I wanted it to be just me and Jill going to the beach, but mom said I had to take all the kids . . . or go plough a field. Mom was very nervous when Jill was around.

I assume Jill already described her house, so I won’t repeat it. The most memorable thing about the house—for me—was Jill didn’t have her own room. She had to be in bed early on school nights, and her bedroom was the dining room, and her bed was a cot in the corner. For some reason I never noticed it until I was there late one evening and she asked me to stay a while after she had to go to bed. I didn’t quite get that, but I stayed and her parents didn’t tell me, or even suggest, it was time for me to leave. I think her parents liked me and trusted me more because by then Jill, AJ, and I were a three-piece polka band. Up to that time we actually behaved ourselves most of the time. Heavy petting in one of her dad’s old truck was about the extent of our excitement.

I remember this vividly because it only happened once. Jill was lying on the cot, on her stomach, head on her hands, not quite fully covered by a sheet, and facing me. She raised up to whisper something to me and I noticed that she was nude, and all but the nipple of her right boob was exposed. I panicked; her parents were sitting about twenty feet behind me, watching TV and drinking homemade wine from their own vineyard.

Jill kept her voice low, “Don’t worry, they won’t move for another hour. Rub my back. Down the middle.”

I slowly and gently rubbed her back, down to her waist, and she was enjoying it. But, I guess I wasn’t doing it right. She said, “Go all the way down.”

I complied, slowly easing my hand down the middle of her butt, back and forth, a little farther each time. Finally, I reached bottom, bottom being the back of her thighs. I rubbed back and forth a few seconds, while she wiggled a little. I thought I heard her quietly moan, then she told me to rub her shoulders.

I rubbed her shoulders for a few minutes, noticed that she was nodding off, and decided it was time to go home. I whispered, “I’m going home. See you tomorrow,” and caressed her cheek.

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, “Okay. See you later.”

Hopefully, in your dreams, I thought.

While telling this story now, I reflected back on this exciting but dangerous incident in our young lives and realized that we never once talked about it after it happened.

I covered Jill, stood up, made sure my ‘excitement’ wasn’t obvious, told her parents good night, and was soon out the kitchen door and headed home.

It was a very dark night and I had some very dark thoughts on my mind. And questions that needed answers. Most of all, why did she want to do that with her parents sitting only a few feet away. And why did I go along with her? That was very risky. Was doing dangerous things part of her personality? I never noticed that before.

There was no moon during my walk home; there was never much light out in the middle of nowhere without the sun or moon, and I was having trouble staying in the middle of the road. All of a sudden the night lit up, like a message from God! And I knew exactly where I was—almost half way home. Whatever lit up the sky scared the shit out of me and I ran as fast as I could until my feet hit the front porch of our house. It turns out the light source was nothing more than a large meteor hitting the upper atmosphere and burning up. I had never seen one that bright. Maybe that was a sign.

My burning love for Jill continued for another year or two. One of our favorite places—a secret place—was on the front seat of an old truck her father left in the front yard of their house, keeping in mind that the front yard of a house in the country might be as large as an acre, or more. I thought it was a secret place because no one ever bothered us there.

Her dad had taken the engine out of the truck and put it in a race car, and I suppose he was waiting for another engine to show up for the truck. In the mean time, Jill and I had some torrid times on that seat, me on my back, and her lying on top of me. My arousal was constant and I’m sure she was aware of it. Or, maybe she wasn’t. Sex-ed wasn’t taught in those days, so it’s possible she had no clue. She didn’t ask about it, and I never told her. Maybe, like most young girls, she thought it was a big pocket knife, or a roll of walking libery half dollar coins.

We spent many a day, and more nights, in the front seat of that old truck, walking away frustrated, but fully aware of the risk of consummating our love.

© Copyright 2019 Jen Lewis. All rights reserved.


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