I could see something didn?t fit as when I was still 25 yards from the creek. It was a bright orange color in the sunlight, nothing that would appear in nature. I was naturally curious, but with no real reason to hurry. As I got closer, my heart moved farther up into my throat. When I was right on it, my fears were confirmed. It was Stacy, lying there beside the water, a small patch of blood clearly visible on the side of her head. Terrified, I moved toward her slowly, glancing around to see if whoever had done this might still be lurking about. The forest air was still but for the chirping of a few birds. When I at last summoned my courage, I moved up and knelt beside her. She was not breathing, I could find no heart beat, and though I shook her, her body was limp. She was still warm, but there was no life in her. I was in shock, not knowing what to do. In movies, you always ran and told someone when you encountered a body, but somehow movies could never convey the realness of such a situation. I sat there for a moment, my mouth agape, no idea in the world what to do. Tears sprang to my eyes after a while. Tears over this beautiful girl, this girl who in some childish way I had loved. I had dreamed sometimes of hugging her, and I had had orgasms thinking about her hair, the way her teen perfume smelled when I sat beside her on the swing. Now I would never be able to smell it again. I would never have the chance to hug her, never be able to kiss her.
With tears blurring my eyes, I crawled over to her and looked down. Her eyes were still open in a stare, but reflexively, I bent down and sniffed her. It was still there, her smell. A fruity, violet sort of smell, like candy almost, very faint, but very sweet. I followed the smell, something in me wanting to know where it came from, and I discovered that it was strongest at her neck. It was so incredibly sweet my tongue darted out and tasted. Her flesh was soft where my tongue touched. Raising my head again, I looked into her beautiful eyes, and drying my tears with the back of my hand, I said gently into her face, ?I?m sorry. I?m sorry. I?m sorry . . .? I didn?t know what I was sorry for exactly. Sorry for kissing her? Sorry for what had happened to her? Sorry for finding her? But something in her eyes was reassuring to me. Something told me that it was all right, everything was all right, and a sense of peace spread over me. That was the moment when I kissed her. I didn?t think about it, I just knelt down next to her, and kissed her childish lips with my own. They were soft. Far softer than her neck even, and though she could not return the kiss, I imagined that she did. And then, I did something that I should not have, though something in her eyes had invited me, had told me that, yeah, if I wanted to, it would be ok. I made the decision that Stacy would be the first girl I would see naked. I don?t think to this day that they have discovered who actually killed Stacy. Probably some drifter passing through; murderers never actually live in small towns, just pass through wreaking their havoc. I?ll state emphatically that I had nothing to do with it. I found her just the way that I have said. But I am bound to confess, after all these years, that I was the one who undressed her. I found her lying there in her orange tank top, her cut off shorts, orange socks and Keds, and I took them all off, and tossed them in the creek to make it look as though the murderer had done it. Slowly, I pulled her tank over her head, her arms seeming to fight me at every maneuver. Without pausing, preferring to wait until I was finished, I unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts and slid them down her muscular tanned legs. She was wearing a pair of Barbie panties, white, with pictures of Barbie in hearts polk-a-dotting the fabric, and two holes in the side from where they were old and worn. Looking down at her, I realized, almost laughing at myself, that her shoes and socks seemed incongruous with her nakedness, and I popped the shoes off one after the other and rolled the socks off her ankles. She lay there before me now, her eyes looking up at the sky, her hair in an orange ponytail holder spilling out unkempt, her body brown from the summer sun. I looked at her for a moment, unable to catch my breath at what I had done. A naked girl, a beautiful naked girl, lying before me. Her chest was freckled lightly in the same way as her face, the freckles fading as they neard her breasts. They were only mounds, really, her breasts, just developing, with soft brown nipples sitting perfectly atop each. I could tell when I looked closely that her left breast was slightly larger than her right, and it was sad to think that the other one would never catch up now. I knelt down beside her and took one of her nipples in my mouth and tried to suck, thinking in my ignorance that perhaps there was something there to suck. And though nothing was there, it felt good to have this rubbery nipple in my mouth, on my tongue, between my teeth. I moved down then, lower on her body, touching her feet, feeling her thighs in my hand. I pinched her a little, half-expecting her to complain, but there was no sound, no movement. Then, I parted her legs, bending the knees and raising her legs up when I found that this allowed for the best view. Her pussy was small, the lips thin and long, and only a bare tuft of hair had begun to cover her. I moved still closer now, wanting more than anything to see what lay there, between those odd lips. Using my fingers, I stroked her there, and was surprised at how amazingly soft it was. It was almost like stroking a soft cotten. Then, with my thumbs, I opened the lips and was amazed at the many wonders that lay there. I stretched them wider and wider, looking deeper and deeper, discovering the hole, small but dark and sticking a finger inside to feel what it felt like. It was still warm inside of her, and slippery. Then I understood. I understood what it was that sex was about all in a rush. Perhaps I had seen something of it as a child, interrupting my parents and then repressing the memory, or heard something on television, but it was as if the knowledge was already there and I had only forgotten it for a time. I pulled my own t-shirt over my head, and took off my shorts and underwear in a rush. I had never been naked out of doors that I could remember, and the wind was ticklish, but frightening as well, in its suggestion that being caught was a real possibility. My four inch penis was hard already, to the point that it almost hurt. Unsure what to do, I positioned myself between her legs, and lay down on top of her, my chest against hers, my penis lying between us against her flat belly. I began to shift myself, trying to figure out exactly what to do. I wiggled lower, searching for the opening. Finally, thinking that I would never be able to do this with a real girl, I took my own penis in my hand, and using my other hand to find the hole, I pushed myself in. She lay there motionless beneath me as I went in. I was unsure what to do at first, and I lay still inside of her, feeling what it was like to have a part of myself inside another human being. Then I began to move. Maybe it was only to get out, at first, thinking that perhaps I had gone to far. But as I moved to get out of her, the feeling was so good, so intense, that I pushed back into her. I began to move slowly in and out, feeling the rubbing sensation, looking into her eyes, encirling her waist with me hands and feeling the softness of her ass. At last I came, and it was like nothing that I had ever experienced, allowing my own s**en to flow into someone. I rolled off of her and lay there for several minutes panting. There was nothing else to do. I knew that I had to get away from here, that there would be no coming back for more, no way to preserve this love of my life. I gathered my clothes and dressed slowly. Then, after a last gentle kiss, I made my way back to the house where I spent the afternoon watching cartoons and trying to look innocent. They found her a couple of days later, and there was quite a stir for a while. A murderer/ rapist in our little home town, a true event. It all died down eventually, and people went on with their lives. I was never able to forget though. It was my first time. It was her first time. Part of me will never be able to love anyone as much as I loved Stacy.
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