Thoughtlessly, her mouth opened, a simple surrender, and she felt the hot pillar of his most private flesh pass between her lips and stroke slowly against her tongue, moving into her accepting mouth, filling her there as well. Each new shock of feeling drawing another tensing that would move them still further. He dragged her by one arm to the bed and tossed her down on it. She began to drift, focusing on the sensations, until she felt his palm against her chin, gently raising her bowed head. He laughed, bitter and short. In moments, the rope slipped from her completely and a new sensation, of even more nakedness, even more vulnerability invaded her. This was something different. She was 17 then. I knew it was inevitable, and I thought I was prepared for it. I returned last spring, a little earlier than I was expected, and saw the real girl that she was at 18.