FUKEING IN THE AGE OF INNOCENCE
The first time I got an invitation to fuck someone was when I got a note, gleefully delivered by my sister, from someone in her class.
On a piece of scrap paper, in pencil, it read:
“Hi Jimi. This is Amanda. Do you want to fuke me? I want you to fuke me. I will call you later.”
I was fifteen. She was twelve.
I was shocked. Of course I wanted to fuke her. I’d only been fukeing milk bottles up ‘till then.
But I was clueless and terrified. My idea of “fukeing” was getting totally disrobed and sticking my throbbing cock into a girl. So when she called me later, I was shivering and told her to fuke off. Admittedly, it was rude and insensitive, but I was very scared at the proposition, considering that my sister demanded to watch, and Amanda had an older brother who would have cut my balls off and kicked my head in.
So, poor Amanda was jilted, and I was left to masturbate about what might have been.
It gets better, when I learned how to fuke properly, my friends. I was in bed, really late, couldn’t sleep and needed to write something about this vague recollection.
That’s how the girl spelled it. The first part was about fukeing. The next part will be about fucking. Most of the last part will be about making love and heartbreak.
