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I was born and raised a Mississippi rebel. The “Stars and Bars” was my lullaby.

It was the late fifties, and instead of The “Star Spangled Banner” our segregated school band played “Dixie” before football games while my friends and I waved our rebel flags.

By the time I was a eighteen and a senior in high school, the world began to change. Integration started creeping into the state, and so did the sexual revolution.

In the backseat of a car, in an isolated wooded area down by the river, I gave my virginity to Junior Jenkins.

We’d been going out for a while and slowly, step by step, we got to that point. First, I let him feel my titties through my blouse, then through my bra and finally . . .

“Cindy Lou, I never imagined that titties would feel so good. They’re so big and soft.”

I should probably introduce myself. I’m Cindy Lou Cosgrove. I’m 5’11” tall and a bit overweight. I didn’t think I was all that attractive, and taller than many of the boys, so when Junior Jenkins asked me out, then asked me out again. I thought that if I gave him a little, he’d keep asking me out. He did.

Those titties he was talking about were 38DD. In the girls’ shower room after gym class, they stood out. I was certain the other girls were jealous of what I had, and they didn’t. Take Susie Holbrook, she barely had anything and no hair between her legs, either.

Anyhow, a couple of weeks after Junior felt me up for the first time, he kissed them. That felt so good, but I was curious about what he had in his pants.

Don’t get me wrong. We lived on a farm. I’d seen dogs mounting bitches, and bulls and stallions mounting cows and mares almost before I could walk. I’d always assumed boys had what those bulls and stallions had, but by the time I was letting Junior Jenkins play with my titties, I wanted to find out for myself.

One night, down by the river, “Junior, I like the way your hands feel, but . . .” I put my hand on his crotch. “Can I, please?”

I suppose there isn’t a boy in all of Mississippi who would stop me, even though they didn’t think I was all that attractive. Junior actually helped me. He unbuckled his pants, pulled down his zipper, and pushed his pants to his knees.

I did the rest. He was wearing boxers. I found my way inside. I was pleased. He’d been playing with my titties; his cock was already hard. Playing with my titties made him hard. I liked that.

I didn’t know exactly how to play with it. I mean I didn’t know how to give a hand job. Apparently, it’s just natural. In a minute, I had my hand wrapped around his cock and was stroking it. Then it was over, although I didn’t know it.

Junior shot all over my hand. At first I thought it was pee. I was disgusted. Once I realized what it was, I was so pleased with myself.

The bad part was when I got home, I had stains on my skirt. My mom did most of the laundry. I hid that skirt until I could wash it myself. She’d kill me if she knew what I’d done. She’d kill me if she knew that Junior Jenkins was feeling up my titties every weekend.

Speaking of skirts. It was just a month later, and every weekend Junior got to feel me up, and I gave him a hand job. This particular weekend, he put his hand under my skirt. I didn’t stop him. I mean we’d gone this far; it just seemed natural. Remember the first time I tried to get in Junior’s pants, and he helped me get them off?

That’s what I did. I mean I took off my panties, leaving my skirt on. I put them in my purse.

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