I stopped caring in the fifth grade when Jane slept with my cousin on Valentine's. We weren't dating but it did disgust me, my cousin was 16, she was 12 and still had her braces on. No girl should be exposed to the violence of *** at such a pivotal age, but she liked it and she wanted it. No that my cousin cared, he was virile and only wanted a wet hole to stick his little pecker in. That he found in and all over Jane. I watched from my perch as they hungrily undressed and fell over each other on the floor. They looked like lion cubs playing and training, pawing and biting, colliding and caressing. Cousin **** fiddled with the ****** and she stopped him. Jane pulled off her ******* and opened wide her legs. The silhouette effect made everything seem bigger, **** notwithstanding. I tried to look away but childish curiosity pried my eyes wide open and with them my mouth too. I orgled, squinted and panted. I think I drooled at some point too. Then, as they were on intermission I started to feel sleep creeping in. The branch shook with the wind and for the first time I looked down at the expectant ground. I made my way down calmly and went home, still with Jane's image freshly imprinted on my now not so innocent brain. The walk home was long and tortuous. If I could communicate my inner musings and thoughts the adults would laugh and then sternly reproach. I was getting there, adolescence. I was ripe. ***.