The Minute Man

The year was 1988.  It was early autumn and football season was in full swing.

A certain football player on my high school team took a strong liking to me.  His name was Chuck.  He was  a tall, well-built, All-American guy.  The kind of guy your find in the yearbook voted, “Most Likely to Succeed” or “Best Athlete”.

Students looked up to him.  Some even idolized him.

Teachers respected him.

And he did nothing for me.  I think he was too “squeaky clean” in appearance to appeal to my decadent tastes.  But he was persistent.  Relentless, in fact.  I finally agreed to go out with him.  I was a sophomore and he was a senior. My friends thought I was crazy for not jumping at the chance to be on his arm.  But I really had no interest.

We went out on a couple of dates.  He mainly talked about himself.  About football.  About his oldest brother…who played football for Georgia Tech.  He knew nothing of me.  He had no clue who he was talking to.  I listened and wondered if my time with him would earn me popularity points in the social hierarchy of high school.

By the third date, he began to make his move.  I could see it coming a mile away.  I guess he was accustomed to the typical high school girl, who was naive to his game.  But I had years of experience on this joker.  I felt like a kitten playing with a ball of string.

He had his arm dangled around me, in an attempt to feel my breast.  I excused myself to the bathroom before he attempted his rudimentary grope.  Foiled….

Then when I came back from the bathroom (we were at his brother’s house watching a movie) he rested his hand on my leg.  I recall that I almost laughed out loud.  Let’s face it, by this time in my life…I’d already had relationships with much older, sophisticated men.  He eased his hand up towards my groin, when I grabbed it and said, “what are your doing?”

He was shocked that I’d stopped him.  He gave me this long explanation of how he was so attracted to beautiful I was…how he could have anyone and he wanted me…blah, blah, blah.  How we should take this next step. How we were meant to be together.

I snickered to myself and pondered my dilemma.  Do I let this bumbling novice have his way with me, or do I give him a run for his money?  I decided to play with him a bit.  I acted so innocent.  So scared.  He reassured me it would be okay.  He told me it may hurt, but that I would like it.

And then I got pissed…because I realized that he’d said these things to countless girls before.  Innocent girls.  Defenseless girls who didn’t know any better.  And he happened to pick the wrong girl this time.  I began kissing him and straddled his lap.  He was a bit surprised.  I know he thought he’d won the battle.  I began stroking his cock with my hand, through his jeans.  He took it out and I proceeded to give him the best hand job of his young little life. And right before he came, I stopped.

“I am sorry.  I can’t do this.  I shouldn’t be doing this.  This is wrong.”

He was a befuddled mess.  “What?  What do you mean you can’t do this?  You made me this way.  You need to finish what you started.”

And at this point, instead of finishing my handiwork….I gave the pompous bastard a piece of my mind.

“No.  I won’t be one of the girls you take advantage of.  Now take me home.”

He tried to be forceful, but I stood my ground and asked his brother to drive me.  His brother was surprised to see me ready to leave so soon, but took me home, nonetheless.

The next day at school, a defeated Chuck tried to walk tall and brag to his friends of his conquests.  He said we’d had sex all night.  And that he was my first, etc.  I knew it was coming…I’d seen it so many times before.

But I was ready.

My friends seemed impressed when word spread of our tryst.  They wanted details.  And here’s where I got my revenge…here’s where I vindicated the others who had been advantaged before me.

My friend Shelley, “Tell me what happened.  This is big news. How was it?”

I reluctantly said, “Well, it all happened so fast.  I don’t know how to describe it.”

Shelley was experienced so that didn’t satisfy her at all.  “Tell me more…I want details…all of them.”

I looked down and said, “Well…it only lasted about two minutes.  I thought it would be longer, since he’s older, but it went by really fast.  All I could think of was The Minute Men we just studied about in history.”

She cackled with laughter.  Before lunchtime word had spread of his less-than-stellar performance.  He was furious but knew it was of his own doing.  After all, he was the one who said we’d had sex.  I simply expounded on the story.

Ironically, the name stuck with him.  I recall the homecoming game that year.  When they announced the seniors on the football team, the called his name…”here’s number 24, Chuck Connor, the Minute Man.”

Guess this time, I was the one who scored the two-point conversion.


(Photo from Pinterest)

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