I was watching TV. The only English-language station played reruns of The Partridge Family, Gilligan's Island, M*A*S*H, and All In The Family every afternoon. For me, at 15, living in Qatar, that was my so-called life.
We'd been in Qatar only since January - three months. We moved from Taiwan. Before Taiwan was Indonesia. Before that Kenya, Latvia, New Zealand... We moved a lot. No, my dad wasn't in the military - it was his business.
Taiwan had been pretty good. We'd lived there for almost two years. My sister, Janet, was sure she was going to be able to finish high school there. No luck. At Christmas, Dad called a family meeting and announced that we were moving in 3 weeks. The color drained from my sister's face. "No, no, no!" she shrieked.
Janet screamed. She cried. I seriously thought she was going to murder Dad. She begged to be able to stay in Taiwan. She pleaded. She slammed doors. She broke plates.
Really, I could understand. Qatar would be her fourth high school on the third continent. And she'd have to leave behind her friends (again), and her boyfriend - her first serious boyfriend - Dan. And going to a new high school just for second semester of senior year was going to be tough.
Miss Moore was my home room teacher in the seventh grade, and she also taught English. She was twenty eight years old and was unmarried, although I'm sure that she had received many proposals, because she was slender and beautiful. She had dark hair, and at school she always dressed conservatively. Still, one could see her bare calves and lower arms, which were so perfectly shaped that one could imagine, as I did, that she was perfect all over. She had modest breasts, and when she wore a jacket over her blouse, one could not detect any sign of them. Her face was so pretty, so lovely, yet one could discern strength in it. She knew what teaching was all about, and she was devoted to her job, her profession. Miss Moore did not tolerate any disorder or horse play in her classroom. Usually her stern demeanor was sufficient to maintain order. But when a situation got out of hand, she could be subtly, yet effectively punishing. Once, when I repeatedly disrupted the class with stupid observations about what we were studying, Miss Moore came over to me, placed her hand on my head and told me gently to calm down and to behave. What my classmates didn't know was that she pulled on my hair with her fingers and caused me a great deal of pain.
When I was half way through the seventh grade, I masturbated for the first time. I was then twelve, going on thirteen. We all remember that first time. For me it was unintended. I lay in the bathtub and played with my cock, soaping it and pulling on it with my fingers. It felt so good doing that. I continued until my little pecker erupted with a sting and enormous pleasure. I cried out in surprise, which caused my mom to bang on the bathroom door and inquire if there were a problem. I yelled that I had burned myself with the hot water. I knew about jacking off. Half of the guys in my class were doing it and talking about it. I sat in the tepid water and looked at the white globules of my semen floating in front of me. I washed out the tub after the bath, destroying any evidence of my sin.