Cooling Our Itch Ch. 01

I've been writing my own poetry for the last several years, but I had not thought about reading it in public until recently when I saw a sign about an open-mic night at a local coffeehouse. The sign said that this new coffeehouse was to start having an open-mic night every Wednesday evening at 6 o'clock.

The idea was planted in my head, but I was still unsure. Like most people, I have a fear of getting up in front of people. I knew that with open-mic nights, I didn't actually have to memorize my poem, that I would have the lines right there, but I was still scared of getting up in front of a bunch of strangers. What if I stumbled on my words? Or didn't put enough "theatrics" into my reading? Indecisiveness can be most annoying. But ultimately I decided to take the plunge and just give it a shot. If I did a crappy job, it wasn't the end of the world. And taking that plunge changed my life, because that's how I met Bobby.

I was 18 years old and had started dating about three years ago. Although I had only been in the dating scene only three years, it felt like a long time. Men get so frustrated with women, but I've also found boys/men to be so exasperating. But I call it "affectionate exasperation". Men can be frustrating to be around, but just when I feel like buying a revolver and shooting every man on the planet, some guy somewhere cools me and I ask myself, "Now what could I possibly do without boys in the world?" And that's when I realize that when it comes to boys it's like this: can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em!

Well, right now I guess is the point in the story where I should tell you a little bit about myself. As I said, I'm 18 years old. I have long, wavy red hair and green/blue eyes. I'm 5'2" 105 lbs. I'm a senior in high school and am currently looking for a part-time job. And, like most kids in high school, I still live with Ma and Pa and my big brother, Gordy. Gordy is 20 and recently moved back in with us after flunking out of college. For some odd reason, he thought that he needed to attend classes.

When it came to a boyfriend, what I wanted was very simple: someone kind, intelligent, funny and free-spirited. I had never found all those qualities in one boy. Shoot, I never even found half those qualities in one boy. But that all changed when I met Bobby.

It was a Wednesday evening and I was getting ready to go to the open-mic that evening. I had chosen a poem and folded it, putting it in the pocket of my jeans, making it well hidden in case I decided to chicken out at the last minute and just pretend I was a spectator at the coffeehouse checking out the local poets.

I walked into the coffeehouse and there was a lot more people than I had expected! There was maybe about forty or fifty people. There was buzzing conversation going around the room. There was a microphone and a small stage, maybe a foot off the ground, just enough to actually see the writer reciting their work. I took a seat at a table and tried to blend in. I observed the people. It was a very diverse group. There were blacks, whites, older people, younger people, the heavy and the thin.

About fifteen minutes later, a man came up onstage.

"Hello everyone!" he said enthusiastically. "Welcome to Mrs. Lane's open-mic night!"

We clapped and cheered. The speaker definitely was feeding off of our energy and excitement and cracked a few jokes. They were kind of stupid, obvious jokes, but they made me laugh.

"Anyway, we welcome any kind of poetry," he said. "And without further ado, I'll leave it up to all you writers out there!" At that he stepped down off the stage and the microphone stood there naked. We looked around at one another and started laughing quietly at our discomfort.

Finally, an old lady broke the tension and took the stage. She introduced herself as Miss Mable and she read a poem about her late husband that actually brought tears to my eyes.

After Miss Mable had stepped down, we finally got into a rhythm and the tension we had felt at first faded and eventually passed. After the fifth or sixth person had stepped off the stage, I decided I had observed it enough to know what to do and approached the mic. I stepped up on the stage and looked at the small audience before. They all had such friendly faces and I smiled.

"Hello all," I cleared my throat. "My name is Amber Lawson and I'm going to read a poem entitled 'The Red Rose'. I've never actually gone to an open-mic night before, so please bare with me," I said.

The audience laughed, which helped me relax some, and then I launched into my poem. I had written it a few weeks back and it was about a boyfriend of mine who had broken up with me. I guess pretty routine, teenage stuff, but it felt better to get it out of my system and down on paper, and it actually felt good to be reading it aloud too. After I was done with my poem, the audience clapped and I stepped down off the stage and went back to my seat.

I was feeling very high that I had actually gone up there and did it! I actually got up in front of people and I didn't make an ass of myself. I was proud.

For the next half-hour or so, there wasn't any poets or poems who moved me particularly until a young man stepped up on the stage. He caught my eye immediately. He had brown hair and brown eyes and was maybe 5'8" or so and had a skinny frame. His plaid shirt was tucked into his jeans, and his jeans fit him well, which surprised me, because the "in" thing with young men's jeans is that they're always five sizes too big. But this pair of jeans fit the guy nicely, and he looked adorable in them.

He introduced himself as Bobby McMurray and began reading his poem simply titled "Natalie". If his looks hadn't caught my attention, his poem certainly would've. It was definitely a poem that would go under the category of "erotica". It was a very sexual poem, but in a very subtle way. There was no "let's fuck on the beach" crap - it was more sensual and erotic and creative than that. Before I knew it, he was done and stepped off the stage. I really wanted to know this guy.

A while later, the enthusiastic man came up on stage again and thanked us for coming, and to come again next week. Being eight o'clock, the open-mic night was over this week, and I still didn't know what to do about that boy I had noticed. He was sitting in a corner table, smoking a cigarette talking with a man and a woman; a couple it looked like. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't approach him, I was afraid of interrupting his conversation. But I just didn't want to leave either - what if this was the only time I was to see him? What if he wasn't going to come next Wednesday night?

I realized I was in a coffee shop and that they also sold coffee. Problem solved. I went up to the cashier and bought a coffee and took my seat. By doing this, I would be able to wait for the boy without looking like a stalker. I knew he introduced his name when he was on stage, but what was it? I was so distracted just by looking at this boy. Brad? Buck? I knew it started with a "B". I sighed at my hopelessness.

Most of the people from the open-mic night filed out of the building, but a few, like myself, hung around and had coffee or whatnot. About fifteen minutes later, the couple that the boy was sitting with got up and left. The boy then got up and got himself a coffee and sat back in his seat. I figured out the best way to approach him. I had an idea. I walked over to his table.

"Hello," I smiled down at him.

"Oh hi," he said with a grin. "Would you like to join me?"

This was going better than even my plan. My plan was to invite him to my table, but he solved that problem.

"Sure, hold on just a sec."

I fetched my coffee from my table and sat across from him.

"I'm Bobby," he extended his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Amber. I thought you were really good tonight, your poem was great."

He thanked me and we started talking about our writing projects. I told him I wrote just poems and short stories. I learned that he wrote a variety of things, from poetry to novels to book reviews. In fact, he was a writer for a living. He was writing a novel for his publishing company.

The conversation took the natural flow of our favorite writings and writers and literary works. He loved E.E. Cummings. I didn't. He hated Sylvia Plath. I loved her. One thing we did agree on was this: we both despised William Shakespeare.

"The guy wrote with such BS!" exclaimed Bobby.

I giggled, "I know. He was really a drag."

We laughed. He leaned closer towards me and politely studied my face. He didn't look disgusted - he looked rather pleased at what he saw. This made me smile.

He grinned, "What's the smile about?"

"Oh, well, Bobby with the way you look at me, it seems you like me," I teased.

He laughed, "Well, I do. I liked your poem too. Is it non-fiction?" I nodded. "I can't believe a guy would leave you like that," he commented.

"Thanks," I replied.

Our conversation went onto more personal things. I explained my situation, being in high school and such and he explained his. He was 23 and lived in an apartment on his own across town. He lived about 200 miles from his folks. He said he moved here to live with his girlfriend at the time, but it didn't work out and she threw his ass to the curb. That's when he found his novel-writing job and his new apartment.

"It's not easy being a guy," he joked.

"It's not easy dating them either!" I quipped.

He laughed, "No, I guess we're a little difficult."

I knew he lived alone, but he still might have a girlfriend, I thought to myself. He just doesn't live with her. It seemed only natural that the conversation steer into the direction of our dating lives. It was an awkward subject, but I decided to approach.

"So Bobby-" I started.

"Amber," he interrupted. "Do you mind me asking, do you have a boyfriend?"

This guy was making it easy for me tonight! I smiled and told him there was no guy in my life. It was the sweetest way he asked me. He said it casually, but I could tell he would've been a little disappointed if there had been. What a sweetheart! I thought to myself.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I asked him.

"Nah, I'm going stag for right now," he replied.

"Do you like it that way?"

He shook his head and laughed, "Not really. Every straight man enjoys female company - no matter how much they confuse us."

I nodded, "Yeah, I hear you."

At that point, we decided to separate for the night. He said he was in the dull part of his novel and that he wanted to get home and hurry through it to get it out of the way. We exchanged phone numbers.

"I'll call you tomorrow morning, say, around 10 o'clock?" he asked.

"Actually, I'll be in school," I said.

"Oh that's right, you're still a high school girl," he retorted.

I giggled, "Am I too immature for you then?"

He shook his head, "No Ma'am. I'll give you a call around five tomorrow evening. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," I agreed.

I was hoping he might give me a kiss on the cheek or something before we parted company, but nothing happened. It was still a good night though. A wonderful night, in fact.

The next day in school I gushed to my girlfriend Lacey about Bobby. We stood at my locker, talking and getting ready to go to history class.

"So is he tall? Is he a hunk?" she asked.

I laughed, "Noooo....He just looks like a normal guy."

"Blech," she said. "I wouldn't go out with him."

I nodded and laughed, "That's your problem! Lace, there no Ralph Lauren models around here. You need a reality check."

"Whatever," she retorted. "So does he have a big cock?"

"How should I know?" I exclaimed.

"Well, did you make a move? You should, you know...I can't believe you're going out with a 23 year old. He's, like, a totally grown man and like, stuff!"

I giggled, "Yeah, I know."

The bell rang and we rushed to class and slithered into our seats.

Bobby did in fact call at 5 p.m. on the nose. I wasn't able to talk long though, as I was making dinner with my Dad. It was a pretty direct conversation. He asked if I would go out with him Friday night. I agreed and gave him my address so he could pick me up. I was so excited!

That evening in bed I laid in bed and thought about Bobby. There was something completely different about him than other young men. His writing was well beyond his years and he carried himself like a young man, not like an overgrown boy. Again, I have to go back to his writing. Of course, I only knew that one poem of his, but it was so sexy, so intelligent and clever. He had extreme talent and this added to my attraction for him. My feelings for him were also different than they had been for any other guy. It was like a fire in me, an itch. That uncontrollable itch that every adult knows about that drives every adult crazy till they get what they need and want.

I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I became self-conscious when I thought of my virginity. What if we eventually got to the point to having sex? How would I ever tell him? I put it out of my mind and thought again about how cute he was and how talented. I had definitely formed a massive crush very quickly. And I could see myself falling for him just as quickly. In the natural direction where my thoughts were going, it was only fitting that night to get myself into a frenzy, orgasm and fall into a dead sleep.

For our date I wore a cute top and short shorts. We were going to dinner and mini-golfing. The doorbell rang and I answered it. There stood Bobby, not looking handsome and refined, but just cute as a button. And off we went.

Mini-golfing was a lot of fun. We didn't keep score, we just enjoyed being together. He really didn't know much more about it than I did, but he pretended he did and often stood behind me and held my hands, guiding me on how to putt.

I laughed, "Typical man. Think you know everything!" I turned around to face and gave him a friendly shove.

He gave me a push, wearing a grin on his face. "Oh, you're getting tough with me, eh?"

I shoved him again and he pulled me tight against him, we were laughing as we were teasing each other. As our laughing died down, we looked into each other's eyes and tilted our heads for our first kiss. It was so romantic. It was beneath the night sky, but just enough lights from the golf course to see what we doing. There was so much tenderness in his kiss.

After our golf game, we decided to go out to dinner. We sat across from one another. We definitely got each other's humor. We could pick on each other and not take it personally. We talked more about lives - our families, our hobbies, past boyfriends/girlfriends, favorite things, least favorite things, etc. It was fun just getting to know him.

With our plates polished off clean, the waitress came by to scoop them up for us. I really didn't want this night to end. What do we do now? I asked myself.

"Listen, Amber, would you like to go back to my apartment, just for a little while. I promise won't try anything."

I laughed, "Alright, I can go with that."

We got in his car and drove to his apartment complex. It was a nice place, well lit-up and not far from our dating spots.

"We can go in and get a cup of coffee," he suggested.

I smiled, "Sure, that sounds good."

I knew exactly what men wanted when they asked a girl if she wanted to come to their place for a cup of coffee. Even though I was a virgin, I wasn't completely naïve to these things. But I also knew that if I was uncomfortable with a situation, Bobby wouldn't pressure me and that I would have the strength to stop before it progressed to something I might not be ready to do.

I did want to cuddle and make out with him really bad. Even if that's all there was during this date, that would be okay by me. I just wanted to be close to him.

Bobby walked over to my side of the car and opened the door for me. I thanked him and stepped out. We walked up the sidewalk and he slipped his hand in mine. I was slightly nervous. I'm not sure if I had ever gone out with anyone who I liked so much before. And he was 23. That's not really a big age difference, but I'm sure he had been with at least a few girls and that there was at least one girl who was an excellent, experienced lover who had her first boy at the age of 12. I sighed. Whatever we did, I just wanted to do it in a way that would wow him, that would make him want me as much as I wanted him. And I wanted him bad.

We walked into his apartment and I looked around. It was a nice little place. I thought it was sexy that he was such an adult to be living on his own. I loved the contrast of our lives. Me still living at home with my parents, still a high school girl and him, a young man who was an independent adult in the world.

"Just make yourself at home," he said. "And I'll get that coffee ready."

I was just about to take a seat, but I stopped in mid-air. He was actually making coffee? I walked into the kitchenette and leaned up against the wall, grinning.

"You're actually making coffee?" I asked.

"Mm hmm," he said seriously, as he poured the coffee into the filter. There was a slight, tense pause, then he looked over at me and smiled. "Why are you surprised? Think I was inviting you up here for some other reason?" he walked over to me playfully.

"Well..." I blushed slightly.

He laughed, "Come on, let's sit down."

We took a seat on the couch. He turned on the lamp and I looked down at my body. I wanted to look sexy for him. And I think I did. I had on short shorts that showed plenty of leg and a top where the sleeves hugged my shoulders, baring my neck and making some cleavage available to see at certain angles.

I sat on my side facing him, with my legs curled up underneath me. Bobby looked into my eyes for a moment and then looked down at my boobs. I looked down at my boobs then back up at him with a questioning look.

"Sorry," he said with low chuckle.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to look at me - that's why I wore an outfit like this," I said.

He slowly tucked my hair behind my ear, "You want me to look at you like that, baby?" he asked.

I bit my bottom lip, "Yes, I do."

He leaned in and gently planted his lips on mine. I opened mine up to his and he groaned. I couldn't help it when I began to squirm, and this seemed to turn him on more. His hand caressed the side of my body and made it's way up to one of my tits. This time I moaned into his mouth as we kissed. I loved my tits being touched and played with.

I reached over, putting my hand on his thigh and trailing it up to his dick. I couldn't believe what I felt. I was rubbing him through his pants and I could tell he was just huge. I only thought men with cocks like that existed in porn movies and all that.

"Mmm," he groaned. "Sweetheart, let me take your top off."

I sat up and he pulled my top up over my head. I sat there, naked from the waist up looking at him. He loved my big tits, I could tell just by the way he was looking at them. He put his hands on them and started to rub them.

"Ohh," I whimpered. "That feels nice."

"God, it feels good to me too....Oh my," he said with a hint of curiosity.

"What is it?" I asked him.

He laughed, deep and low, "Your tits baby, they're real. I was sure they were fake."

I smiled, "What made you think that?"

"I guess because you have such a little body," he said.

I giggled and rubbed his cock through his pants a little rougher. I just couldn't believe how big he was. It was turning me on so much.

I sat with my legs under me and leaned over to kiss him, this time more passionate and hornier. My left hand was on his chest and my right hand slithered from his crotch up to my other hand to start undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"Oh God," he moaned. "You like this, don't you sweetheart?"