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A door-to-door sales encounter.

And I'm bored to tears, been goin' to this crap for years and, like any good Irish girl, don't believe a word of it, so I reach over, unzip him, and pull out his dick for him.

Now, he was a good Catholic boy, Seannie. One of them been an altar boy all the way through school and, for all I know, still readin' the Epistles in Mass to this day. I doubt anybody'd ever touched his dick for him but his ma to wash it. And, Christ, he damn near screamed. I says, "Shut the fuck up, Sean, if yeh know what's good for yeh." And by now, I got me hand on him, he's hard as a rock, and he's a kid y'know, the two of us just weeks away from getting' out of Secondary and never havin' to go to this stupid class again. I mean, virgin birth, can you believe it? But isn't he so shocked to have me grabbin' his little Johnson, I didn't give him five strokes and he shoots off like fuckin' fireworks and half stands up, near knocks over the table.

"The priest up front is talkin' about the Beatitudes or some fooking thing. He looks at us. The other kids look at us. And I'm sitting there, lookin' all virtuous but with me hand still on Sean's pecker down under and Sean's just jizzed the whole bottom of the table. And I'm thinkin', Oh Jesus, we're fucked to hell now and what'll me ma say? And doesn't little Catholic Seannie just look at the priest like a fookin' trooper and, "Cramp," he says and sits back down. And the old priest and everybody else in the room none - including the two kids sittin' right next to us - any the wiser. So I give him a little squeeze and just tuck the wee feller back in where it belongs. And we go on learnin' about the virtues of chastity.

"He was a champ, that kid. I was as proud of him as if I was his own mother."

And, goddess-like, forms a small ring with two fingers and moves them up and down through air.

"So, tell us, Tommy. When'd you get your first hander?"

Beside me, Liz lifts an eyebrow.

"In college. I think."

"You think. You don't know?" Liz asks. Three beers in, her voice has become more languorous. She leans into me. I feel her breast through her coat against my arm, her warm breath on my cheek.

"Well I dunno if it counts. It started as a hand job. But then it turned into a blow job. At the end."

"So some girl wanked you, but ended up suckin' you off?" Tess asks. I have never met a woman who talked so casually filthy. Even with my "wee feller" back safely inside my pants, she was making me hard without touching me. Shave-headed, small tit, freckle sprayed girl. And on the other side of me: Lizzie - her somewhat more capacious breasts assaulting me through leather and my thin, cotton shirt.

It's alright, Tommy, I want you to.

"Yeah, basically," I tell Tess.

"It counts," Tess opines. "Tell."

I shift in my seat. Liz pulls slightly away, as if suddenly aware and embarrassed of the way our bodies are touching, and

"College," I tell them. "But senior year of high school. I was on a college trip out to UMass in Amherst, where I knew some guys lived in one of the high rises. So there's a hall party on Saturday night and I'm getting drunk on crappy beer with all the big kids and there's this one girl, we get to talking and after a while, she, like, asks me if I wanna go up to the roof with her."

"What was her name?" Lizzie asks me.

"Uh, Naomi. Something. I mean, do not remember her last name. This is, like, eight years ago."

"What'd she look like?" Tess asks.

"I don't know. A little heavy. Not fat. Zaftig. I mean, when she took her sweater off, she had these really, really generous breasts with big, brown, whaddaya call 'em? Areolas. She had long dark, really curly hair. I think she was Jewish."

"Ah," Tess judges happily from her corner. "First tits y'ever seen and you never seen their like again."

"No, not first, I say. But close.

"So I go off with her.

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