Sherrie Visits the Physiotherapist
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I Always Knew She Was BrokenChapter 1: In The Beginning free porn video
I always knew she was broken.
But maybe I projected and it reflected off her.
Twins of different mothers, our birth happened at eight when my family moved beside her family and she played alone until I wandered out of our busy moving in to join her.
"Hi," I said timidly. Excitement at meeting my new neighbor--pretty and blonde and my age--stifled a free flow of words.
"Hmph," she snorted.
"Uhm, what'ya doin'?"
"What's it look like?" asked the eight year old girl.
"Playin' I guess."
A Barbie Doll occupied one hand on the steep hill behind both our houses, moving forward and back like the way Punch and Judy puppet show characters represent talking. Taking center position in a brown patch of the patchy lawn, the girl surrounded her with nested Russian figures, a rotund woman shaped like a jar times six and progressively smaller. "Figured it out, hunh? Queen Gertrude commands her subjects."
"Where's the king?" I asked.
"Off adventuring," answered the girl.
"Maybe he's come home," I suggested.
Bess looked up at me and smiled. Her face crinkled from the bright sun casting my shadow over her. She looked so pretty I gulped. "So where is he then?" she asked.
"Give me a few minutes to find him."
"Got captured, huh?" she smiled.
"He's gonna a make a great escape with the help of his clever knights."
Racing inside, I ran to my room where boxes hid my toys. I broke open two before finding my army of HO men and my GI Joe. Grabbing the box of tiny soldiers and the Barbie sized soldier doll I raced to join Bess's fantasy. My mother stopped me in the kitchen. She looked unusually casual in jeans and a chambray shirt tied under her small breasts revealing her slight roll of tummy flesh--her brunette hair held recklessly in a pony tail. She looked dirty and sweaty. All things she rarely revealed, being a careful dresser. She gardened occasionally in the outfit, but even that was rare. When she did household work, aprons protected her stylish blouses and Capri slacks. "Where are you rushing off to Joseph Solomon?"
"To play with my neighbor," I said.
"You met the neighbors already?"
"I met a pretty blonde girl," I explained.
"Fast work, stud," she said. I smiled sideways not understanding the complement. "What's her name?" she asked.
"Don't know yet. Can I go? I'll finish unpacking later." She nodded. I dashed by her. She followed me out.
"Cool," said the girl when I brought out the doll. "But he's not dressed for the castle."
"He's still wearing his campaign clothes."
"I think the queen likes his uniform."
"What's your name?" I finally asked.
"Bess Jensen," she said.
"Joe Solomon." I offered her a hand to shake. Her hand, dirty from playing shook it.
"Is that your mom?" asked Bess. I nodded. "She seems nice." I shrugged.
A medium tall slightly thick buzz cut blond man emerged from the patio door of Bess's house and yelled to my mom who looked embarrassed. "Hey!" he shouted. "Want a beer?" raising his.
"Uhm, no thanks."
He walked towards her. "You sure? You look like you could use one. Brandon Jensen." He stuck out his hand to shake hers. She reluctantly accepted it.
"Naomi Solomon. Thanks, but ... I'll call David, my husband. I'm sure he'd love one. David!"
Eventually my sisters and Bess's mother emerged along with my dad. Once everyone got introduced and Dad accepted a beer and drank with Bess's mom and dad, I noticed my mom make faces so no one but me and Dad could see. She escaped the gathering.
Bess and I stayed playing. "Where are the princesses?" asked Bess.
"No thanks," I said.
"The King and Queen should have pretty princesses that the knights all want."
"I'd rather have a prince. I got enough princesses at home."
"You're sisters seem nice," said Bess. "If I can't have sisters, there should at least be more than one princess."
"No sisters?" I asked.
Bess shook her head sadly. "I'm an only child."
"You're lucky," I said.
"I'd give anything to have a sister to play with," said Bess.
"If I could I'd give them all to you," I said, "except Myra, my little sister. I think she actually likes me. The others ... like to torture me. My older sister is the worst, but my younger one's almost as bad."
"Poor baby. Myra's a cutie," said Bess. I nodded. My four year old sister seemed to have all the beauty in the family except my mom I guess. "Okay, I'll let you have a prince if I get three princesses."
"It's your funeral," I shrugged.
"I hate that he'll one day be king when the king dies. Except..." I saw the evil glance--the twisted smile. As later castle adventures proved, she realized the princesses would be the true rulers--playing the prince like he was the king of instruments--the organ--manipulating his keys and pedals and buttons--commandeering his every movement.
"I heard a boy about our age got drowned in the creek during a storm," said Bess several weeks later. Our feet dangled from a trunk bridge over our creek which meandered through the woods behind the houses across the street. The water remained unusually swift and plentiful from a storm the day before but had receded from the dangerous. "Can you see Josh or Mindy?" asked Bess.
"No," I replied. Our friends--Josh being my best male friend and Mindy being Bess's best female friend--had gone off looking for wild berries.
"Good," said Bess. She balanced on the trunk bridge walking to the other side of the creek and stripped naked.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Come on, Joe. It'll be fun!"
Jumping into the water, she pulled at my sneakers dangling above her. One came off, and she tossed it near her clothes. "Hurry," she said.
Shrugging, I carefully limped to her clothes and removed mine. She splashed me and giggled as I approached. Her blonde hair shimmered--dappled with water. Her lithe body moved effortlessly. She reminded me of a fairy. Jumping in as close to her as possible, I used my body and hands to create a wave that covered her. We battled to see who could submerge the other. She tricked me into missing her and falling in. I tackled her. "Hey, no fair," she exclaimed.
"What's fair?" I asked.
She shrugged and suddenly swung her leg behind my knees and toppled me. "Ow," I shouted--my knee landing on a rock.
"You okay?" Bess asked, briefly concerned.
"I'll live," I said, rubbing my knee under the swift water.
"Baby," she proclaimed.
We traded splashes for awhile then settled down--resting near the edge. My hand felt the tug of current pushing against it. "I'm glad you moved next door," said Bess.
"Me too," I said.
"I really like you Joe."
"I like you too, Bess."
"I hope we stay friends forever."
"Me too. I'll build us a castle. We'll be king and queen of our own little island."
"We'll rule all we survey. Our prince and princesses will rule when we grow old and die and they will honor us and their kids and their kids kids will honor us forever. Oh no!"
"What?"
"They're coming back. Hide."
"Uhm, our clothes."
"I know, Joe. Let's hide anyway."
We kept the log between us and our friends. Josh eventually spotted me. They stripped and joined us. But after that we kept the skinny dipping as our own, me and Bess.
"Mom figured it out when my hair was wet and my clothes weren't," said Bess a couple years later. She dunked her shorts.
A couple years after that, I noticed her developing chest. Her nipples became more elongated too. I acquired a little hard flesh myself. The next time we slipped out she said, "Mom insists I keep them on," revealing her cute little bikini she hid beneath her shirt and shorts.
Like Eve, the following year she brought me knowledge and shame. At thirteen she no longer expanded upwards alone like me, but outwards--her breasts expanding. And then she showed me blood. Pulling my arm, she led me to her lair and proudly showed the stain--a round reddish brown circle in the middle of her bed.
"My menarche," she proudly exclaimed.
"Your what?" I asked baffled by her joy at bleeding. Blood represented damage when adventures went too far. It represented the cuts and scrapes, numb and then painful, worn as brave badges. Letting out the fluid of life they needed suturing or if left streaming, death followed.
"My first period. I'm a woman."
From one moment to the next awareness spread before me like a valley below a high peak as I first thought of my Bar Mitzvah just a few weeks before making me a man ceremoniously through my family's Judaism--the hard work achieving it helped by my best friend listening and, at first joking, and then encouraging my memorization and even editing my speech. After months of hard mental work, how could a stained sheet represent adulthood? Then all the whispered words between sisters and silly sex jokes between my male friends formed awareness. I knew what she meant. As children we pretended to be king and queen and our children got conceived like Athena out of Zeus from our heads. I suddenly realized she could conceive children the way humans actually do. And my penis could deliver seeds for the next egg. I knew this before but abstractly like Hebrew words on a scroll. Her excitement and declaration made sex real.
Then sitting on the stained bed, she leaned against me--her light brown eyes looking into my blues. Her eyes closed and she kissed me. Startled, I rose.
"Um, why'd you do that?" I asked.
"Why do you think?"
"We're best friends, Bess."
"Are you scared?"
She knew she might as well have dared me--the ultimate challenge for a boy who would be considered chicken not to accept the challenge. Truth was--though my best friend--she scared me. Not in an intense way. She certainly was no monster. But she kept me balancing precariously throughout our friendship and teased when I stumbled. Not maliciously and when she realized she went too far she soothed me back to friendship. This time she didn't when I stammered "Yes."
"Get out you baby," she commanded.
Thus ended our friendship, at least its first iteration.
The next day at school I had to grab her and tug her against a locker to get her to stop and talk. "I'm sorry," I said. "I want to try it again. I promise not to be scared."
"Too late, little boy." She swung her arm violently away from my grasp. "You had your chance and you proved a fool. Don't touch me ever again."
"But Bess, you're my best friend," I cried as she walked away.
Wanting by definition means not having. When what you can't have lives next door, wanting resembles obsession. I shivered inside everytime I came home from school passing her house or saw her in the hallway at school or worse--shared the same class. I stared at her bedroom window every afternoon and night and first thing in the morning. I acted like a complete fool.
"I heard what happened with Bess at school," said my older sister smugly.
"Fuck off," I said despondently.
"Mom!"
"What?" said Mom as unready to be motherly as ever.
"Joe's being an asshole!"
"Young lady," scolded my mother.
"He said worse. He said the F word!"
"What's going on Joe?" asked Mom trying.
"Bess ... isn't my friend anymore."
"Just as well," said Mom.
"What!" I screamed.
"Joe, they're ... trash. As long as you hung out with Bess I felt obligated to be neighborly. Thank god that's over."
"Jesus Mom. Bess is ... the smartest person I know. She always gets straight A's. How can you say that?"
"I just don't think she's right for you."
"You mean her family's not right. I don't care about her family. Yeah, her mom and dad get pretty loud and rude. But at least ... never mind." Comparing my parent's relationship to the Jensen's seemed bad timing. "What ever you might think of them it doesn't matter. Bess is ... was my best friend."
"I've seen her laugh at you," said Mom.
"I know, but that's just her. That's how we are sometimes. She ... she makes me realize my stupidity. She makes me learn to be smart like her."
"It's just cruel. Besides you shouldn't be with girls at your age. You've got Josh and..."
"I know. He's a nice Jewish boy with nice Jewish parents."
"Is that bad? At least they're not white trash without a gentleman's bone in their body."
"Just gentile's bones."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I hope you're not trying to make me feel better because you're not. Now I'm not upset with her or feeling sorry for myself. Now I just hate you!" I tromped upstairs and slammed the door to my bedroom, tossed on Miles Davis sobbing through his trumpet "My Funny Valentine." It actually sort of helped.
That night my parents added a couple decibels to their arguing. I could hear somewhat what they shouted. The subject concerned me and the Jensen's. Dad knocked at my door.
"Your mother..." he began.
"Yeah," I said. We actually laughed.
"You should have talked to me," said Dad.
"Too late," I said.
"Your mother's right about one thing," he said.
"What?" I asked incredulously.
"It just seems more normal to be friends with boys at your age. I mean you and Josh and..."
"I know. I have male friends."
"But you tend to be with Bess a lot more than them. She's not your girlfriend, is she?"
"Certainly not anymore."
"But you and she ... did you ... I mean how close were you?"
"Not close enough I guess."
"I don't understand."
"Never mind. She's not my girlfriend. I ... I wish she was. We were ... I like her, Dad. I never had a friend like her. We felt close. I wish ... Never mind."
"I'm sorry Joe. I liked Bess. I even like her parents."
"You do?"
"Sure. They know how to have fun, to be real, to be honest. Your mom calls that rude. I think she's rude." I nodded. "So ... uhm ... your mom and I ... Your mom ... It's nothing about you or your sisters ... It's between us ... We can't ... She's moving out."
"Really," I said unsure what to feel. I loved Mom even if she could be cold and overly mannered. She meant well. She wanted to raise a gentleman. She managed somewhat. And there were moments--several accumulated over the years--where closeness couldn't be denied. But I knew my parents had a hard time enjoying each other. Many times in their presence I could cut the tension with a butter knife and my sisters and I walked gingerly in their presence so as not to stir the air and create any irritation to set them off on each other. His statement hurt, but within the pain I understood the destiny, the inevitability, the benefit to both of them. "Where's she going?"
"She ... found somebody else."
"No shit!"
"Me too."
"Holy cow! Do you love her?"
"Definitely."
I felt completely confused. I didn't know what to feel. "Should I hate this? Should I hate you for this?"
"Maybe," said my dad sadly. "When people get divorced there's a failure. It's like giving up. But we realized some time ago it didn't work."
"I kind of got that," I said.
"Yeah. Sorry."
I nodded.
"I know it's not anything we do, but could you hug me?" asked Dad. We hugged.
My obsession towards Bess continued through our fourteenth birthday. Bess and I shared the same birthday and even nearly the same time of birth though several miles apart and had celebrated the event with joint household parties until she shrugged me off.
We didn't look like twins. Bess Jensen and her parents if we lived in Nazi Germany would rule as prime examples of the Aryan Master Race and would have my family exterminated. Except for her brown eyes, Bess was blonde through and through. Both of her blond parents towered over mine. My parents had blue eyes, but were lean and small, with wavy brunette hair and, especially my father, sported prominent proboscis as did I. Inevitably since they looked similar like Bess's parents looking similar, we looked like them. Until our teenage years, Bess and I stood eye to eye, and I ended up growing a couple inches taller than her upon my last growth spurt which Bess often compensated for with two inch heals. I liked looking eye to eye. Her light brown eyes almost tan were sexy. But being the same height didn't diminish our physical differences.
After being taken out for ice cream to celebrate turning fourteen at the boisterous ice cream parlor with my school friends and returning that evening, I heard a tapping at the back door. Bess stood outside looking sad. We walked to the creek--the scene of innocent naked fun--and sat on the log bridge letting the stream wash our naked feet.
"I miss our birthday parties," said Bess.
"Me too," I said. And I did. Despite my friends and the loud parlor, I felt her absence.
"Really?" she asked, looking into my eyes in the dark woods. Her eyes seemed illuminated in the darkness. I nodded. "What have you been up to?"
My distractions from obsessing over her consisted in spending more time with male friends and learning various sports, including fencing at the JCC and little league baseball and football at school. I discovered I hated football. We chatted about school and she gossiped and then asked me if I knew a boy a couple years older than us. Everyone knew of him. Unlike me, he liked football and did well.
"I think he likes me," said Bess.
"He's a bit old for you," I said.
"Jealous?"
"No comment," I said.
"I never kissed a boy. Someone wouldn't let me. I need practice."
We kissed. Not good at first, we practiced until it worked. I got hard. She straddled me and pressed against it. After a couple minutes rocking in my arms, she extricated herself. I neared cumming. "Thanks Joe," she said. "I better get home."
For a second I thought she'd run off leaving me stranded. "Hurry silly," she said. We strolled home hand in hand. When I dropped her off, she whispered, "Thanks for the present, but it's just for today, okay?"
I nodded, mystified as usual.
True to her words she kept her distance, frowning at my approach the next day, cluing me in.
The following year her birthday had her house alit with celebration while we had a more subdued acknowledgement, the mood soured by my mother and her rich gentile husband attending my small party of friends with my sisters and my father and his wife. Though restraining their discomfort for my benefit mom and dad's snippy attitude remained; a continuation of their pre-divorce attitude and no reflection against either of their mates. Their spouses actually turned out nice.
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