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presents:

Christian High School Sluts In Heat Gone Berserk!

More tales of depraved debauchery from my one year 8^th grade sentence at Christian School!

My first hand job

Right off the bat, the first recollection my mind conjures of that incident whenever I look back on it is that I was listening to Guns N’ Roses “It’s so Easy” from the Appetite for Destruction album as it happened. That’s a good tune to get jerked off to, some good sleazy rock and roll for some good sleazy teen hand action.

Culturally speaking I was a late bloomer I guess you can say. I’m Cuban, and Cuban kids start fucking around at an early age with the opposite sex. When it came my time to start vacilando, I did not at once jump on that bandwagon. Not that I wasn’t already a horny little fucker at 7^th grade. It’s just that I was an awkward little motherfucker with a lot of insecurities. Being short and fat didn’t help, but there were a lot of home life issues and other unfortunate woes that can fuck up your whole youthful carelessness and turn you into a self-wrecking ball of insecurities. I felt a chick’s ass in my hands for the first time on the last day of 7^th grade, and that was a covert operation in itself because it was not exactly 100% consensual. On that faithful day, amid the aiding chaos of an all out shaving cream war, I scoped the Gluteus-Maximus that I wanted to give a pat in the school hallway, then I just ran down the hallway full sprint, getting a good clutching grab and kept it moving at warp speed around the corner, unidentifiable through the haze of screaming teenagers and Gillette. That was my sexual awakening. There were a couple of chicks that I was chummy with who would let me have mercy gropes here and there, and a couple even let me feel some boob-age (thanks to Michelle Tamargo), but that’s about as far as I would go for a while.

Meanwhile, guys like my Punk as Fuck private school 8^th grade associate and co-defendant White Bobby were knocking off broads left and right, during school hours and in leisure time! I had to get in on the action, man! But with my stout appearance and inability to confidently interact with female beings, my name wasn’t exactly getting scribbled onto some cuties trapper keeper with hearts around it if you know what I mean.

I think another part of the problem was that even though I was pretty damn fucking rebellious at that point, I was still basically a non-threatening little boy. My teen angst at that point had begun to manifest itself, but just not in the form of outward anti-social rage. It wouldn’t be till a year or two later when psychedelic drugs would enter the picture and other factors that would morph my depression into outward aggressive action. Rage totally gets “rocker” chicks wet! And even though I had already made the decision to walk among the “bad kids”, I still wasn’t really one of them yet. In other words, I had yet to have taken part of bona fide anti-social behavior.  Have I had been throwing Molotov Cocktails through the attendance office window, I would have been knee-deep in pleated, plaid-skirt poonani. 

But I had not yet begun my perfection of the art of blasphemy, drug-use and hate-mongering just yet; and incessant emo-ness may have been why the chicks that hung with me and Bobby at school used to instantly cast me in the role of the male best friend. I hated being the Male best friend! What a fucking horrible thing to be. You get to be on the receiving end of pseudo-affection from a member of the opposite sex in the form of cute note passing, night-long phone sessions and empty playful caresses and embraces, that  although fill that void for human contact, deep down inside you know that it all means nothing because in the end you end up being the advice columnist when things go bad between her and her boyfriend/love interest. You get to clock in all the quality-time hours and do shit that her man doesn’t want to do with her like hanging out with her or talking on the phone, but then when he wants some quasi-pussy he just cuts into the dance and says “I’ll take it from here, thanks for getting her wet for me.” 

In particular, there was this one girl from the rocker chick crew, her name is/was Lisette Perez. Lisette was my BFF from day one in that school. By Junior High judging guidelines, she was like the Megan Fox of the school! She had a very nicely developed body, like seriously, she looked like a grown-ass woman. My mother and I gave her a ride home from school from time to time and my old lady was in shock and awe that this broad was in my junior high. She was a Little Havana special with all the works. She had a cunty expression on her face, the classic “fuck me like a dirty whore” face that gentlemen callers lose all reasoning over. She was a knockout. This chick was sneaking out of her house in the wee hours to go hang out at old-school Miami venues like the Thrash Can, and the Kitchen Club and not once had an issue with ID! Clearly I conformed myself to the role of ‘male best friend’ in her case just to be able to hang out with one of the hottest chicks from the wrong-side of the cafeteria. Unfortunately, I had to hear all about how on the weekends she would get impaled on the massive cock of some eleventh grade Nicaraguan thrash-metal dirt head named Milton.
Milton?! Are you fucking kidding me with that name? 
Milton!
 Fuck My Life!

I started living vicariously through my The Smiths records at that point, feeling like some asexual weakling loser. Not a fun time for me, at all. I was too depressed to even jerk off. Like ol’ Morrissey said “I am so far from where I intended to go…”.

Enter Rebecca.

I’m not even going to lie. She was a pig. But what the fuck did you want from me? I was horny. Or maybe I just wanted to fit in. Wait a sec, why am I being apologetic about trying to get my dick waxed by “Any Means Necessary” like a horny teen Latin version of Malcolm X (Malcolm Sex… I like that… Mental Note: Consider Malcolm Sex as an add-on to my AKA list.) Rebecca Abreu was the lasses name, Cuban of Arabic descent. There’s a twist to her persona though. She was a preacher’s daughter. a big time preachers daughter! Her 'old boy' was the Pastor of a big Miami church back then called. I swear to Satan! Apparently, Rebecca’s home life had collapsed when her big money preacher daddy got caught having an affair with one of his church members. So, like any other teen, this was Rebecca’s cue to rebel and do things that would drive her parents crazy, like hanging out with us. Bobby and I were reluctant to let her join our coven because she was in essence the enemy by being a pastor’s daughter, making her a member of the Christian army. But she muscled in by appealing to feminine sensitivities. One of the girls from the crew had her for a class and they kind of chatted about the issues she was having at home. I guess she took pity over her and kind of convinced us to be open minded and “humane”. She pushed us to open up the books and allow one more to enter our miscreant flock. The other thing was that she was loaded with dough! You had to see this girl’s crib! And since her scumbag dad had a lot of guilt over his indiscretions that he wanted to smooth out between him and her, he would throw cash at her like you wouldn’t believe. Since she was loaded with dough, she in turn used to throw that guilt money around like it was nothing. In other words, she bought her way in to La Famiglia.

When Friday night came around, we would all go to the Movies at Mall of the America’s and Becky would pay… for all of us! Not to mention, she would treat everybody to pins, patches, cassettes, and whatever else our greedy hearts desired at Specs Music while waiting for a show time. “It’s my dad’s money and he’s an asshole, so who cares. He’ll just give me more” she sneered.

 It was probably the first time in her life she had ever used the word asshole.

We had a big fucking score here! I had no qualms with taking her bread. The way Bobby and I saw it, her dad just stole it from somebody else with his lies and psycho-theological manipulations, we were just taking it back in the name of Rock n’ Roll, like two Punk rock Robin Hoods.

About one month deep into Rebecca’s initiation into our misguided cult, I get a phone call from a friend named Claudia who was part of the crew. “Hey, Rebecca thinks you’re cute but she’s shy to tell you in person. What do you think?”

What did I think? I thought, “Why can’t it be you that thinks I’m cute, with those colossal Iron Jugs in your sweater, dancing in perfect unison on your chest for my eyes amusement.”  (By the way, remind me to tell you cunt-muscles the story of the time that this chick Claudia gave me one of the biggest scares ever.) I didn’t know what to say, but I can tell you that I was not flattered. Like I said, she was a pig. And yes I know that I was a fat little imp myself, but I knew that I was capable of getting better (even though I was not getting any, neither better nor worse.) “Claudia, I don’t know about her. First of all, I’m not attracted to her and second she’s a fucking prude. Besides, she’s a preacher’s daughter. That is so not cool.” My large breasted home-girl gave me a whole sales pitch on how she’s really a cool girl and how she looks a whole lot cuter when she gets dolled up. Apparently some of the chicks from my crew had been doing the whole sleepover thing at Rebecca’s mansion-like crib (obviously to enjoy the amenities) and the chicks were busting out with major slumber party make-over marathons. I’m sure Rebecca was a big job that required many girl-hours to get under control. According to Claudia, she was much less of a pig after they had gotten done with her.

I weighed my options. On the one hand, I had my ideals and Punk credibility to live up to. I did not like the idea of fraternizing with the enemy, i.e. the daughter of a lying Christian fuck-tard, a fucking herder of intellectual sheep. Asides from that, she wasn’t exactly winning any beauty contests if you catch my drift. On the other hand, I WAS FUCKING HORNY!!! Bobby had already gotten his first BJ, and at the very least was finger banging chicks left and right, and I still hadn’t even kissed a chick with tongue, or “frenching” as we used to call it. I was way behind my peers. Talk about indirect peer pressure! So I said “Fuck It!” If anything, I figured I would just “guinea-pig” her. You know, have her around strictly for the purpose of my initial sexual experimentations. That way, if someday some prime female specimen were to have been gracious enough to let me sample her wares, at least I’d have some know-how on how to work the goods. I remember thinking to myself, of all the chicks we hung with and were acquainted with that were all even somewhat attractive, why was it that this new-jack rebel would be the one to give me any play?

Here’s my theory… I think that even though she was rebelling, she wasn’t ready for rebellion without a safety net, you get me? In other words, she wanted to rebel but wanted to rebel safely. And who better to experiment her teen angst with then fat little emotional non-threatening me. Guys like Bobby were bad news too girls like Becky. This kid was already smoking joints, getting drunk on the weekends with his older brother (who was an old punk), fucking around with young bitches, etc. That’s too much experience for her to deal with. To get her feet wet in the proverbial pond of iniquity, she needed somebody like me. Someone on the verge of juvenile delinquency, but not yet well versed in it. She needed her experiments in teen debauchery and rebellion to be conducted in a controlled setting, being me in this case. I was the cold sterile room for her to conduct her clinical research into the depths of primal self discovery.

So the following Monday I kind of had to man up and do the whole “Let me get your number” bit. I knew from observing my peers that this was a project that involved clocking in time and work. I was aware that the first week you talk on the phone, second week you gradually work up to holding hands and quick pecks on the lips, then week three you go for the tits, at the one month mark- you move up to heavy petting and if you are persuasive enough -finger fucking. Remember, this was eighth grade, in like 88’ or 89’. By today’s Children In Heat standards I’m sure there’s anal sex already occurring in fifth grade, but I’m from the Reagan years and so it was a bit of a different world back then. Or so I thought.

After about a week or so, we moved up to holding hands and cuddling on the school bus. I wasn’t ready to hold her hand at school, it just felt awkward. It had less to do with her unsightliness and more to do with the fact that she was way fucking tall (or at least standing next to me she was) and it made me feel like I was getting walked to kindergarten.

I remember it was a gray afternoon. The crew piled into the school bus, and quickly Becky and I grabbed the back seat to ourselves, as this was prime real estate in junior high terms. She sat next to me and took off one of her ear pieces offering it to me. When I put it on, it was fucking Bon-Jovi. Um, Yea, that’s not going to be happening today toots! I was not about to cuddle to Bon-Jovi. “What else you got?” As she fumbled through her purse I saw the cover of G n’ R Appetite for Destruction and I figured this was as good as it was going to get so I grabbed it and said “Bump this!” Now we had to assume the position, you know, her head on my shoulder, holding hands, sharing a walkman. At one point, Becky made eye contact with Claudia and there was some kind of cryptic signaling going on because next thing you know, Claudia and Lissette got up from the second-to-last benches on the back of the bus, taking Bobby with them towards the middle rows, leaving us solitary in our Junior High Honeymoon suite. OK, this was obviously pre-planned. Becky then took her school sweater which was hanging from one of her back-pack straps and placed it over my lap.

Would you believe me if I were to tell you that the depraved creature started to rub her hands on my knee, then prudently upwards towards my groin? She had to have been clued off!

Her technique was subtle. Wax on, wax off. Shit, it worked, because before long I was raging serious baby Oak in my school uniform Dockers. Ah, sexual discovery… such an awkwardly beautiful thing. My eyes scanned her up and down to try and find an appealing part of her too fixate on. That took a while…

[insert time clock theme from JEOPARDY here]…

“OK, not much to work with here”, I assessed.

 I then figured I’d just go for the Gusto and put my hand up her skirt, and maybe even get to run my fingers through a little fur. I clumsily made it to the pinnacle of pleasure (aka her crotch) and started to wax on and wax off with my index and middle finger, just like I had seen Vanessa Del Rio doing in some hairy-bush 70’s flick I stole from my asshole Ukrainian step-father. I was blown away at how far I had gotten at this point. I had surpassed 2 weeks of procedure and went straight to third base. I smacked a triple the first time I stepped up to the batter’s plate. Not bad, even though she wasn’t exactly Alyssa Milano. And the best part from a rock n’ roll point of view was the soundtrack on the walkman. “It’s so easy ,easy, when everybody’s trying to please me, baby!”  G n’ R baby! I was like the John Candy of sleaze rock! I opted for a brazen move that was uncharacteristically bold of me. I reached under the sweater-tent and unzipped my Dockers, unleashing my untouched (by a stranger) virgin Pinga into her sweaty nervous hand. I noticed she froze up for a half second but then just went with it.

Here’s where the story gets awkward…

I guess I was kind of expecting her to know what to do with a teen schlong in her hand, an activity to which she was clearly oblivious. She kind of kept on doing the wax on/wax off with the palm of her hand and at that point it just wasn’t pleasant anymore. Being my first time messing around with a chick, I wasn’t experienced at being assertive so I didn’t take it upon myself to place her hand on my knob in the correct manner and show her proper technique.

Then everything went horribly wrong…

She placed my hand around the elastic band of her panties, signaling me to enter past the shroud that guarded her virgin temple. I entered, slowly, cautiously, as this was all new terrain to me. And then, as I reached the inner sanctum…

I totally freaked out when my fingers touched the slippery wetness that lay beneath a mangrove like entanglement of pubis. It was like a fucking rainforest inside of there for fuck sake! I mean, I had seen a hairy Papaya before in flicks, but I got gun-shy I guess. I was out of there like Speedy fucking Gonzalez. I don’t really blame her too much for the pussy-fro because back then shaved pussy wasn’t all the rage it is today. And, after all, she WAS just an eighth grade girl!  I was nonchalant in my withdrawal, but when I wiped my fingers on her thigh on my way out she knew something was a doing, so she pulled back from chomping and slobbering on my neck and looked at me, “Are you alright?” she asked. “Yeah, just a little nervous, it’s my first time.” She grabbed my hand and redirected it into her repulsive moist cavern, “Well don’t stop, it feels good” she cooed.

What do you want from me? I’m being honest. The first time I felt some a slice of wet strange in my hand I got freaked out.

It was so fucking awkward. I had my index finger in their like if I was picking my nose, meanwhile she’s smearing her palm around my groin like someone doing a single handed right turn on a Cadillac steering wheel. “Do you like it?” she asked. “Yeah, Love it!” I replied. Geez, what a fucking disaster! This went on for about another minute and a half before I looked up and saw that we were already on 87^th avenue and SW 16^th street. “Yo, we’re close to your house” I whispered in her large ear. Saved, I thought. We both started to re-adjust our articles of clothing and before either one of us knew it the bus was at the front of her stately manor. She gave me a quick peck on the lips and was off.

 I needed to confer with Bobby. My dad had been long gone out of the picture so the only experienced male I could confide in was him. I basically got my birds and the bees talk from a fellow 15 year old. “Yeah that happens dude, it gets wet. You’ll get used to it, it gets better believe me” he counseled in his slight southern drawl, sounding very much like a Miami version of Richard Christy.

That night she would tell me over the phone that she kind of had some guilt about what she did because the Lord would frown upon it, how she was “raised better than that.” But by the same token, she said how it thrilled her to do something “bad”. I realized then that I had to man up one more time and just embrace the gooey goodness of vaginal lubrication because this chick was totally on the fence, and I could lose my chance to gain some experience points. We had about a month and a half of school left at that point and I figured I needed to get as much juice from the orange as I could. “Tomorrow, on the bus, round 2 mami”, I thought to myself. I knew I had to get my experience points from this chick while she was still down with OPP (obese prick’s pinga). So what if the kids in school called her Chewbaka Tits, who was I to look down on someone for being unattractive. It’s not like if I was any fucking prize either. What am I, George Clooney? I mean, for Christ sake, I looked like Danny Devito during the ‘Taxi’ years!

Well, Bobby was right, it did get better. I even experienced an increase in my attraction to my guinea pig, which was more pig than guinea, as I suspect she had no Italian blood in her veins. You see, when I began scanning her down for a fixation target the second time, I found one, her vagina! And in the end, that’s all you really need to own if you’re a lady looking for some hot action. Fellas, am I right?

I enjoyed about a month more or so of mutual hand sex and backseat-of-the-bus make out sessions, eventually culminating in full completion and the Clinton-Lewinsky style ritual desecration of her private school uniform.

Shortly after, school concluded for the year. I was off to be a freshman at Coral Puke Senior High and she was staying at Florida Christian School indefinitely. I guess it all worked out for the best. We didn’t stay in touch, though I did stay in touch with Lissette, whom kept me up to date with everyone’s shenanigans. According to her reports during the summer session prior to the 9^th grade year, Becky slightly blossomed from ugly duckling to presentable crow and became the blow job queen of Florida Christian School. She was dubbed “Blowjob Becky”, a moniker which I am sure she could live with, as it was a far cry from being called Chewbaka Tits! As for me, my further sexual awakenings would have to hibernate for another year or so before skateboarding would shave enough pounds of my portly rump in order to appear halfway bangable by the new breed of women in my life...

HORNY PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL Hos RUN AMOK!

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Coming soon..
Another installment of

Christian High School Sluts In Heat Gone Berserk!


'The Claudia incident'