So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie)

If the atmosphere got any chillier around my house, I’d have to start wearing a parka inside.  Dad had just rolled his eyes and given me his patented ‘At least she isn’t pregnant, how long til she graduates and gets out of our hair?’ look. Mom wasn’t speaking to me.  She was currently downstairs, banging around in the kitchen, doing the dishes as obnoxiously loudly as possible.

Sheesh, for all the drama, you’d think I’d robbed a bank or something. On second thought, maybe I would start wearing that parka.

It seems I was doomed to be the perpetual disappointment, the bad daughter. I tell you, I could not fucking wait to get my own apartment!

Downstairs, the phone rang. Mom picked up.

She hollered up the stairs to me. So much for the silent treatment.

“Would you mind terribly picking up your grandmother and giving her a ride to the senior center on your way to class?” Would you mind terribly not fucking any random strangers while you’re at it, you filthy amoral slut. You know those are your father’s genes, not mine. Is there anyone in this town you haven’t fucked?

“Sure Mom, no problem.” Go sit on a corncob you old prude. When was the last time you had an orgasm?

I actually didn’t mind one bit.  Gramma was 83, but she didn’t look it. She was kind of thin and frail now, but her sea-blue eyes were bright, and her mind was sharp as a switchblade. She was smart as hell, and she had a pretty twisted sense of humor. I couldn’t really see any of my mother in her. Except for the eyes.

Gramma still lived alone, in a split-level ranch painted muddy yellow. She walked herself out to my waiting car, leaning heavily on her cane. She suddenly looked old to me, old in a way she never had before, and I found myself wondering how much longer I’d have Gramma in my life.

She got in, kissed me with thin, dry lips, and buckled up. She looked a little like a baby bird, fresh out of the egg; all awkward bones and stretched out skin, and thin, shellacked, bluish hair.

“So,” she asked as I pulled out into traffic, “How are Spike and Bunny?”

I nearly choked, and caught myself swerving into the opposite lane.

“Word gets around fast, doesn’t it?” I asked bitterly.

“Word always gets around fast,” Gramma said, “Get used to it, Dear. So how are they? I have to assume you three are having a ball?”

My parents had barely gotten used to the idea that I was a lesbian. Then they had found out that I was involved in a three-way open relationship. That, and they had just recently discovered my porn stash on the computer. Amused, they were not.

“We are having a good time.” I told Gramma.

“Good.” She said, “I want to tell you a story. If that’s ok with you?”

“Go ahead,” I said. I maneuvered the car through suburban streets, slowing down if not actually stopping for each stop sign as Gramma told her tale:

“Let’s see, this would have to have been 1949. That was before your mother or your uncle was born. Theo and I had just moved to New York City, and I didn’t know anyone. I was lonely, and I was bored, and I felt like an ingrate for feeling that way. I taught a few piano classes in the afternoons, and I insisted on doing my own grocery shopping, but that was the extent of my responsibilities.

Theo was working terribly long hours — I think that’s what killed him in the end — and many days I didn’t see him at all. He’d be off to work at the consulate in the morning, and he wouldn’t come home until I’d already gone to sleep. Can I tell you that our sex life at this time wasn’t exactly cracking? And I’d just started enjoying it, too!

I wouldn’t say we were rich, exactly, but Theo and I were certainly comfortably well-off. It was strange for me; up to that point in my life, I’d always been poor as a dormouse. The piano lessons weren’t really for the money; in those days you were sort of expected to do something like that, up until you had children.

Anyway, this was a Monday, so that morning I went down to the grocers to do my shopping for the week.

I was in the checkout line, and the boy behind the register kept looking at me and looking at me… I was starting to get all flustered. By the time it was my turn to pay, I was all higgledy-piggledy. He was a couple years younger than me — I was only 20 at the time, you know — and he looked like a Juvenile Delinquent. You know, all the boys his age look like that now, but back in those days, he really looked like a thug. He looked like the sort that might abduct you and hold you hostage with a switchblade knife. He wore tight blue jeans and a white t-shirt that was too small for him under his apron. His hair was black and thick, with one impudent curl poking out from beneath the stupid little paper cap all the cashiers had to wear. I was ashamed to be thinking what I was thinking — I was a married woman, a proper lady and all — but I thought he was Hot, with a capital ‘H’, and I’m afraid even then I possessed a dirty mind and a vivid imagination.

He says to me, ‘That’s and awful lot of groceries you’ve got there Mrs.…?’

‘Whittaker’, I said. It still sounded strange to me, and I had to think a second before I said it. ‘Mrs. Whittaker.’

‘That’s an awful lot for a pretty little lady to carry.’

‘Yes…’ He had me positively flummoxed now, and I’m sure I was blushing. There was no way he could tell what I was thinking, was there?

‘We do deliver, you know. I could bring these by this afternoon for you if you want. No charge.’

‘Oh… well… yes, that would be nice.’

‘Sure thing.’ He grinned at me. Our eyes met for a second, and I felt suddenly dizzy. ‘So, where do you live?’

I told him. There was no harm in it, I thought; it wasn’t as if I’d let him do anything. It wasn’t my fault he was so cute. Besides, it was an awful lot to carry.

‘Ok Mrs. Whittaker, I’ll see you this afternoon then.’

‘Call me Molly’ I said.

‘Alright Molly,’ he said, ‘and my name is Ron.’

I left the grocer’s empty-handed and flustered in a pleasantly giddy sort of way. I felt… naughty. And I’ll tell you one thing: I was just starting to discovering that I really liked feeling naughty. Naughty beats nice, any day of the week, in my book it does!

Next up on my agenda was tennis lessons. What a bizarre turn my life had taken! Imagine… me, little Molly Hugger, taking tennis lessons in Central Park!

Since I was early, I sat on a bench and watched my instructor, Andre. He was working with another client, a girl my own age.

She was a better tennis player than me (though who wasn’t!), and she was blonde and she was busty. Watching them together, I felt a jolt of jealousy that surprised me with its intensity. It was like sticking my finger into a light socket. Where had that come from?

Andre was beautiful… tall, fair-skinned, sandy-haired, a natural athlete, and he moved across the court like a big cat, a panther or a jaguar: lithe and strong, almost lazily. He seemed to expend no effort, always arriving just where he needed to be just in time to hit the ball. It was like watching a classical dancer.

I suppose I’d always known that I’d found him attractive, but this was the first time I let myself really think about that fact, and what that implied. And I did think about it, sitting there on my shady bench under an elm tree, watching him in his white shorts and shirt. I caught myself thinking some very naughty, very unladylike thoughts about him.

Maybe he read my mind. When it was time for my lesson, he seemed to stand extra close to me, and kept touching me: correcting my swing, adjusting my stance. I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I may have encouraged him. I’d never played better.

After my lesson, we were both hot and sweaty. I felt like I was glowing.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, “I’d love to buy you lunch.”

He did buy me lunch, tiny and very expensive sandwiches which we ate at an outside table on the fringe of the park. I remember feeling shy and girlish and unsophisticated. Andre was an ‘older man’ — he must have been in his early 30s — and he was a charming conversationalist. He seemed so confident and experienced!

After lunch, Andre asked if I’d like to get a cup of coffee.

“I’d prefer a Bloody Mary” I said.

“That sounds delicious.”

“You could come up to my apartment,” I heard myself say, “I make an excellent Bloody Mary!” I couldn’t believe how brazen I was being. I don’t know what I was thinking… Well, yes I do, but I was just enjoying the attention and the flirtation. I didn’t really mean for anything to actually happen.

I mixed us two Bloody Marys — which were excellent by the way — and we sat on the couch together, sipping our drinks and chatting about nothing in particular. Andre was sitting very close to me and I was very aware of his body and how near it was to my own. He kind of casually put his arm around my shoulders and I didn’t object. I pretended not to notice; but in fact his proximity was having quite a physical affect on me.

There was one of those awkward pauses in the conversation, it was as if we were both holding our breath, and then he leaned in to kiss me. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t stop him. I liked it. I kissed him back.

I felt his hand on my bosom, cupping my breast through my cotton blouse. It felt good. Part of me was wondering just how far I was willing to let this go. He was a very good kisser, quite talented. Another part of me was already quite far gone, let me tell you! — Gramma looked at me over her glasses from the passenger seat — My panties couldn’t have been wetter if I’d gone swimming in them!

I let my own hand slip up inside his shirt, exploring his broad, muscular chest. I liked the way he felt: smooth and strong. Theo was a very hairy man. I enjoyed the contrast.

Andre was still kissing me, passionately kissing me in a way I hadn’t been kissed since Theo and I were first married, and his fingers were now deftly unbuttoning my blouse. I was kissing him back, as hard as I was able, losing myself into his mouth. I only hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed with what he found inside my blouse; I wasn’t flat-chested, but I certainly wasn’t as buxom as that blonde girl whose tennis game was so much better than mine.

Meanwhile, I was petting Andre through the front of his trousers, and I had succeeded in creating a very promising-looking pup tent in the front of his slacks. My blouse was hanging open and my brassiere was going to be next. I knew it and Andre knew it. My breasts ached for his touch.

I still wasn’t sure just how far I was willing to let this go. Birth control wasn’t really an option in those days, and it wasn’t an auspicious time of the month to be pushing my luck. I supposed we’d just cross that bridge when we got to it. There are, after all, many more than one way to skin a cat! Gramma smiled at that thought. Yes indeed there are!

I was completely absorbed in Andre and his fabulous body and the attention he was lavishing on me; I barely noticed the perfunctory knock at the apartment door.

The door swung open with a bang. Andre and I froze, mid-grope. I’m sure we looked exactly like the cover of one of those five-cent “adult” novels: “Sitting Room Sinners” or “Lust In The Afternoon” or some such trash. I certainly hope you don’t waste your time reading that sort of tripe! — Gramma smirked, and it made me giggle. — They didn’t have internet porn in those days; they didn’t even have an internet!

It was Ron, the boy from the grocery store, carrying two heavy-looking, over-stuffed canvas bags, one in each hand. The door swung closed behind him. He seemed totally unfazed by the scene laid out in front of him.

“Hi Molly,” he said, “Hello there”, he nodded to Andre. “Is this a bad time? ‘Cause I can just leave if you want me to.”

Andre looked at me. I looked back at him, and I thought I saw a mischievous glimmer in his eye. ‘Well what the heck,’ I thought, ‘In for a dime, in for a dollar!’

“No,” I told Ron, “You can stay.”

“Do you mind if I join in?” he asked, setting down the bags, “Is there room on that couch for a third?”

Ron was no longer wearing his silly apron and hat, and he looked even more like a motorcycle thug. And you understand, I mean that in the sexiest kind of way. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he would pull out a switchblade and threaten to rape me at knife-point. I wondered if he and Andre would get into a fight. I couldn’t see Andre winning that one.

Andre’s hand slid between my thighs, lifting up my skirt, and revealing the front of my undies. “Come on in,” he said, “The swimming’s fine!”

I found myself sandwiched on the couch between these two hot men, neither of whom was my husband. I felt like an Oreo cookie! Andre kept playing with my inner thighs and stroking me through my underpants while Ron felt up my breasts and ran his fingers through my hair. The special place down between my legs — can you believe I didn’t even know what a clitoris was — was throbbing like an air raid klaxon.

I stood up and turned to face them. My blouse fell to the floor, my skirt was not far behind. I reached behind my back and unsnapped my brassiere, tossing that implement aside. I was brazenly bare-breasted, in broad daylight, right in front of two men! I felt deliciously out of control.

I looked down upon my two paramours, expecting to see them ogling my bosom. I wasn’t disappointed. They appeared to be suitably enthralled. I felt flushed and gratified.

So I got down on my knees in front of them. Zippers came down. Andre shrugged off his shorts. I couldn’t quite believe what I was doing, but, well I imagine you know how it is: I was horny, hornier than I could ever remember being before, almost painfully horny, and it felt great!

I didn’t know a lot about penises at the time. As a matter of fact, I’d only encountered two so far in my life: my husband’s, and one before. The one time before had been rushed and embarrassing and in the dark, so that hardly counted. I took a moment to admire the two specimens quivering hardly in front of my face.

Andre’s tool was circumcised, which I understand was something of a rarity in those days. It was long and skinny, and had a bright red head on it, like the nose cone of an ICBM. Ron’s, on the other hand, was shorter than my husband’s cock, but notably fatter. The head was a livid purple and bulbous like a mushroom, and was leaking sticky clear fluid out the pee hole. Both of them looked absolutely delicious.

I may not have had a ton of experience with penises, but I didn’t let that stop me! I started making up for lost time, flitting happily from prick to prick like a hummingbird in a flower patch. I love the way cock tastes, don’t you? A nice, clean, horny, excited man in your mouth? Have mercy!

I may not have had a ton of experience, but neither of the guys were complaining. I was making it up as I went along; sucking, fondling, stroking, kissing, licking. I was, I can tell you, in a state of giddy bliss. Andre in particular was getting really excited, rocking his hips and humping, trying to shove his long cock all the way down my throat, which threatened to make me gag.

With a wet dick in each hand, I came up for air. I looked up at them, and do you know what? They weren’t paying any attention to me at all! They were kissing, lips mashed together, arms intertwined, petting and caressing.

I’d heard of fairies of course. There had been one boy in high school who everyone said was queer, but I’d never really believed it. What would two guys do together, without a, you know, a pussy to play with? Well, it looked like I was going to find out.

I don’t know about you — Gramma looked at me confidentially — but I find there are very few things sexier in this world than the sight of two hot men making out. I relaxed my grip on their cocks, and their hands replaced my own, criss-crossing over their bodies.

My own hand found its way inside my panties, where, my dear, I can tell you I was absolutely drenched! We didn’t really talk much about these things back in those days, but if we did refer to it, we girls called it ‘fiddling’. I started fiddling right then and there, inside my undies, watching my two lovers kiss and fondle and play with each other’s dicks.

Andre maneuvered Ron over onto his hands and knees, and in a flash I knew what he was going to do. I couldn’t really believe it, but still I knew. And I wanted it, I wanted to watch, and I wanted it for myself. Ron was making little noises, whimpering like a small, frightened animal, saying he wasn’t sure, he wasn’t ready, and Andre was saying reassuring things, stroking and petting him even as he slid his long skinny penis up and down the length of Ron’s darling butt crack.

My panties had to go. They weren’t exactly the sexy things you girls wear these days; they were mostly just in the way. They joined my other clothes on the floor, and then I was naked, naked as a newborn, with about three fingers getting busy with my slippery cunny.

Apparently, Andre found what he was looking for. Both men froze, like a still picture taken from some perverted stag film. Ron’s back was arched like a yogi, he was still wearing his tight white t-shirt and his tiny hard nipples were poking out. Andre had both hands on his own penis, taking careful aim, his face was a mask of concentration, and then slowly, very slowly, he rocked forward, burying himself into Ron’s tight virginal asshole.

Ron made a noise that was half cry and half moan, and then Andre started fucking him in earnest, slowly at first, then faster and faster as he grew more and more excited. Both guys were grunting like animals. I could see Andre’s cock sliding in and out, and that just turned me on all the more! Part of me wished it were my asshole he was violating; part of me was just enjoying the show. Ron’s cock was hanging straight down beneath him, harder than hard, bouncing with every thrust Andre delivered, and leaking a steady stream of sticky, clear, boy juice. I just had to reach out and touch it. It was hot, hot and hard. I could feel his heart pounding all the way through his cock. I started moving my hand up and down in time with Andre’s thrusts, and the grunts became more urgent, louder and more frantic.

Andre yelled out something like “Oh shit I’m going to come, take it slut-bitch!” Ron yelled something I couldn’t make out, squirming, trying to get more of Andre inside him and hump back against my busy hand at the same time. And then both men were coming; Andre deep inside Ron’s cute little ass, and Ron all over my couch, his cock twitching in my hand as he pumped what seemed like a never-ending stream of hot white semen onto the couch cushions, making an enormous sticky pool of the stuff.

They collapsed into a heap, just as I found my own peak. They both watched me, smirking sleepily, as I came, hiccupping and squeaking, too turned on to feel one iota of self-consciousness about what I was doing.

Andre disengaged, made his excuses, got dressed and left. He was in such a hurry to get out now that he’d gotten his rocks off, I was a little embarrassed for him. Ron, naked from the waist down, flushed and sweaty and sticky, now looked less like a thug and more like a regular boy. A cute boy. He smiled sheepishly at me.

“To tell you the truth, Molly,” he said to me, “This wasn’t exactly what I had pictured happening this afternoon.”

I laughed. “Me either!”

“My butt is kind of tender…”

“I bet it is!” I said, feeling more than a little bit jealous of him and his butt.

“Do you suppose I could use your shower?”

“Well of course!” I said. I was already scheming about what would happen once he came out of the shower, pink and clean and wet and ready for more action.

I fetched him a clean towel, and he went into the bathroom and closed the door, and I pulled on some clothes and went about cleaning up the mess we’d made of the living room. (I ended up wiping his come stain off the couch with a dishrag, and then simply flipping the cushion over. The stain stayed there for years. Theo never noticed it.)

I poured myself another drink. If Ron was willing to do to me what Andre had just done to him, I wouldn’t have to worry the least bit about getting pregnant. Why, it hardly counted as cheating at all! I wondered idly if it would hurt…

I was contemplating making a third drink when there was a perfunctory knock, and the apartment door swung open. I had forgotten all about Sally, my two-o’clock piano lesson!

I could hear the shower still running in the bathroom. Sally was an intensely freckled redhead, sixteen or seventeen years old, a stout girl who liked to show off her sizeable bust in tight sweaters. She tended to wear skirts that were just a shade too short to be really decent, and liked to make me blush with off-color jokes and innuendo. She flounced right in and sat down in front of the piano. She was a lackadaisical student, and her musical talent was mediocre at best.

Sally noticed Ron’s clothes, neatly folded and stacked on the seat of the armchair. “Oooh, Mrs. Whittaker! Am I interrupting something?” she asked.

I must have blushed redder than a sugar beet. At that moment, the water from the shower cut off, and we both swiveled to face the bathroom door. I suppose we looked like the cover of another cheap and sleazy novel, one with a different theme entirely.

Oh look! We’re here.”

I had just pulled up in front of the senior center. I double-parked the car right in front of the handicap ramp.

“And then what happened, Gramma?”

“What happened after that? Well, I had your mother and then your uncle, and I raised a family and got old.”

“You know what I mean!”

Her old blue eyes twinkled merrily. “I’d better get going,” she said, opening the passenger door and maneuvering her cane out onto the pavement. Laboriously, she hoisted herself out of the car. “There’s a bingo game this afternoon. You never know, maybe I’ll get lucky.”

END

Once upon a time, probably not that long ago, it had been a fashionable, expensive, upscale resort. The place had gone downhill. It was now kind of run-down, rather seedy, and cheap.

My boyfriend –now ex-boyfriend– had turned me onto the place three summers ago. It was run by an old Latvian couple; the rooms were on the small side and the beds were kind of lumpy; and though there was technically lake access, there was more mud and cat-tails on the beach than sand. Most people preferred to walk the half-mile or so to the public bathing area.

One of the nice things about the place (other than it being cheap) was that it was never crowded. I imagine once upon a time working class vacationers had flocked in by the busload; this particular summer there were only four other guests. Six if you count the kids. There was an older Jewish guy, and his younger, fatter wife; and there what I dubbed the Wall Street family: a frosty, Nordic-featured married couple who looked like they might be investment bankers or stockbrokers and who spent a lot of time typing into their Blackberries and complaining about the spotty cell service; and their kids. The girl was sixteen or seventeen, and I had a raging crush on her from day one: she was all soft and fluffy and bubbly, and she had big bouncy boobs and a big squeezable butt. Her boobies looked to be bigger than mine, and were definitely perkier. She kind of reminded me of a bunny rabbit. A very sexy bunny rabbit. I wondered if she was a virgin. I wondered if she fooled around with girls. I wondered if she masturbated. And then there was her younger brother, a young teen, on the portly and doughy end of the spectrum. The kids had their own rooms, presumably so that the parents could get some much needed quiet time. I wondered if they ever powered down their laptops. They never seemed to even look at each other.

On the morning of the first full day of my vacation, I ate my breakfast downstairs while the Jewish couple kvetched and the Wall Street family squabbled; I downed a Bloody Mary, grabbed a towel and a smutty book, and headed out for the lake.

The Wall Street family left just ahead of me, hiking off toward the public beach. Mom and Dad had their laptops in hand, and were both yacking irritably into their cell phones. Their teenage daughter wiggled and jiggled behind them in a skimpy little purple two-piece swimsuit. She had a mop of curly blonde hair, and her pale skin glistened with sunblock. I thought about how nice her skin would look glistening with my girl come. The younger brother skulked along behind in a red pair of swim trunks. Lucky little shit; he’d probably seen her naked!

Tempted as I was to follow them to the beach, perving on my teen-dream and her bikini bottom the whole way, lusting after that cute little dimple that demarked the beginning of her butt crack, I turned off the road and took the half-overgrown trail toward the resort’s private beach access. Hardly anyone ever used it. The trail was muddy and indistinct in places. It ended abruptly in a little clearing right on the water. A pair of beach chairs were decomposing there amongst the reeds. Not a human in sight. Perfect.

I spread out my towel on the least rotten looking of the chairs, slathered sunscreen, lay down on my back and read my smutty book. I was having trouble concentrating, but that was ok. My thoughts kept drifting back to that jail-bait teenage girl. I imagined coming back to the resort late that night, a little drunk. I imagined stumbling into her room by mistake. It could happen to anyone! The door wouldn’t be locked, and she would be lying on top of her sheets in the un-air conditioned summer heat, wearing nothing but a pair of panties, her hands busy between her shapely thighs. I’d strip without a word, letting my summer dress fall into a heap on the floor, sliding into bed next to her, pressing my sweaty flesh against hers. Our lips would meet, soft lips brushing against each other, tongues shyly, tentatively exploring as my hand replaced hers inside her panties…

I was getting seriously hot and bothered. What the hell, that’s exactly why I came out here, right? Taking a quick look around, just to be sure, I pulled my top off over my head.

Usually, more often than not, I masturbate in conventional fashion. Fingers on clit; vibrator on clit; or if I’m feeling particularly ambitious maybe a dildo in my pussy or possibly my asshole. Sometimes, however, I don’t even touch my pussy. I can, with a lot of work, make myself come just from nipple stimulation; it takes a while, but the result is well worth the effort.

I rolled my nipples between thumb and forefinger, feeling them stiffen and swell, savoring the pleasurable twinges that radiated out all the way down to my clit. I tugged harder, distending my nipples, making it hurt a little. I thought about feeling her wetness inside her panties, tugging them distractedly off while we kissed, her breasts squeezed up against my own. I tugged harder on my tits, pinching them viciously. My hips were responding involuntarily now, squirming and humping against air. I imagined sliding my head down her soft young body until my head was between her thick, pale thighs. I imagined pressing my face into her fluffy muff, parting her puffy lips with my tongue, and sampling the taste of her already wet virgin little pussy…

A flash of movement in the corner of my eye. Red. I was not alone. I looked, and looked again. There he was, behind a tree at the edge of the clearing; the pudgy pasty younger brother. Spying on me. He had one hand down the front of his red swim trunks. Little shit.

I didn’t stop. Partly it was because I was already too far gone to quit; partly it was because my inner pervert liked the idea of having an audience, even if he was a shit head middle school punk kid. My clit was throbbing like a joy buzzer and my cunt felt wet enough to soak through my swimsuit. I tugged, twisted, pinched, pulled on my nipples, moving rhythmically, really getting into it, moaning out loud, arching my back, and not just for his benefit. I could feel myself slipping over the edge, into a long, slow, deep orgasm, and I surrendered to it. Mmmm, it felt nice. The tremors hit me again and again. When I was finally done twitching, I relaxed my grip on my tender nipples and sighed, slumping into the chair. My pussy was squishy and wide open; maybe I’d go for it again in a little while, only this time dabbling my fingers in the main attraction. First, though, a little swim. I sat up and retrieved my swimsuit top. No sign of the boy now. He was gone.

I ran into him back at the resort that evening after dinner. I was on my way up to my room after a session drinking solo in the dank little hotel bar; he was at the coke machine. He was shorter than me. Toe-to-toe, his face was level with my tits. He leered at me, and I scowled back.

“I saw you this morning” he said smugly.

“Well, duh.” I told him.

“You wanna give me a blowjob?”

“Who are you? I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Oliver,” he said.

“What’s your sister’s name? She’s pretty cute.”

“You’re pretty cute too. Her name’s Olivia.”

“Really? Oliver and Olivia? That’s kind of fucked up.”

“My parents are pretty fucked up. I think they’re getting a divorce.”

“Sorry. Wanna come back to my room? You can watch me whack off again, but no touching.”

“Ok!” There was a big fat smile on his greasy young face. What was he, 13, 14? I wondered if he’d ever seen an actual pair of naked breasts before mine. The thought made me feel oddly smug and self-satisfied.

He followed me into my room, closed the door, stood nervously in front of it. He seemed unsure what to say, what to do with his hands. I nonchalantly stepped out of my jeans and peeled off my top, setting my breasts free. The nipples were already excited, pointing up and out.

“Do you like them?” I asked, massaging my boobs, playing idly with the nipples.

“They’re pretty nice,” he said, “My sister Olivia’s are bigger though.”

Damn, kid! You sure know how to sweet talk a lady. Even if it was true…

I kept my eyes locked on his as I tugged and pulled on my nipples, getting myself nice and warmed up. It wasn’t taking very long, I was already feeling mighty juicy down there. I lounged on the bed, sticking one hand inside my panties. Good and wet.

He stepped closer. I could feel his eyes on me, I could see the boner in his pants. He wanted me. Good. I pet my clit inside my panties.

“Let me see your cunt,” he said.

“Call it a pussy, that’s more polite,” I said. I was drawing tiny concentric circles around the red-hot little pea that was my clitoris. Right now what would feel really good was a big fat cock jammed right up there.

“Can I see your pussy?”

“No,” I said. Mmmm that felt nice! I was going to make myself come, and soon.

“Can I masturbate?” he asked. Was that a touch of desperation in his voice?

“Be my guest,” I told him.

Quick as a squirrel grabbing a nut, he had his zipper down and his erect penis out. It was cute, definitely on the small side. It looked like it would fit easily in my mouth, the whole thing, no gagging. A practiced hand started jerking off. I matched his pace.

“I wanna cum on your face, slut.”

Little shit had obviously watched a lot of porn. “No way,” I told him.

“Can I cum on your tits then?”

I was close. Real close. “Sure,” I said.

My hand was moving like a banjo strummer inside my panties. I slipped over the edge into a strong, uterus-shaking orgasm, just as Oliver hollered out “Oh Fuck!” and shot off, squirting hot, sticky boy-come all over my face. It landed all over my cheek, on my lips, up my nose. I was still riding the waves of my orgasm, grinding against my own fingers. The whole scene was downright pornographic.

I’d never had a guy come on my face before. As rude, demeaning, and clichéd as it was, the perverted part of me kind of liked it. Probably for exactly those reasons.

“Okay,” I said when the last tremors had passed and I lay still on the bed, glowing quietly, “Time for you to go to bed.”

“Your bed?”

“Nope. Your bed. In your room. Alone.”

He looked slightly crestfallen, his limp penis hanging out his fly, still drooling come.

“I’ve seen her naked,” he said.

“Olivia?”

“Yeah.” He twisted his face into a grimace that was probably supposed to look sexy. “I ‘accidentally’ walked into the bathroom when she was taking a shower. She’s blonde all over.”

“Meet me lakeside tomorrow. Same place, same time. Don’t be late.”

Alone in the hot, dark room, I masturbated again, Oliver’s adolescent semen drying on my face. It had been a long while since I’d had a real, actual penis in my vagina. Oliver had a cute penis. I wondered what he’d think if I told him that; it might make up for the breast comment and the uninvited facial. Tactful little shit. No guy in history has ever liked having his genitals described as ‘cute’. I wondered if his cock was small because it was small, or if it was just because of his age. When I came, my head was filled with confusing, twisted images of brother and sister intertwined, naked, and me somewhere in the middle.

Through the thin plaster-lathe wall I could hear the Jewish couple; the fat lady and the elderly man, fucking. Their bed creaked obnoxiously. I wondered if they’d heard Oliver and me getting off earlier, and I suppressed a wicked case of the giggles.

*

He wasn’t late.

“Do I get to see your cunt today?” He leered at me.

“Fat chance,” I said, “Get undressed.”

No arguments there. He was kind of a pudgy little dude; he had a gut, and his boy-boobs could have fit an A-cup bra. There was not one trace of hair on his barrel chest. He had the barest patch of fluffy, whisper-soft, light brown pubes. His cock, I was pleased to see, was already hard, straining skyward.

I pulled off my top, setting my tits free, enjoying the look on his face as he ogled me. I felt a sudden thrill at the dangerousness of the situation: what would happen if someone happened to walk in on us? My clit twitched and tingled with excitement.

I lay down on the creaky, rotting beach chair, and had him stand straddling me, his bare feel planted to either side of my hips. I had a fantastic view of his gear: his jiggling, fuzzy balls, his erect dick. I slipped a hand inside my swimsuit bottom. My pussy was nice and wet. I brought my slippery fingers up to my erect nipples, pinching, pulling and twisting them cruelly as he jerked off above me. Within moments we were both moaning, groaning, and whining with excitement. His cock seemed to swell and pulse, his hand moved up and down like a metronome.

“Oh shit!” he suddenly wheezed, arching his back and squeezing his cock so hard his knuckles went white, “Take it, Bitch!”

Hot boy jizz squirted out of his over-excited cock, spattering come all over my tits in big fat drops like a summer rainstorm. I watched greedily, pulling hard on my nipples as he milked every last drop out of his diminishing penis.

He was panting, breathing hard as if he’d just run a mile. I stuck a hand back down my shorts. Wet does not begin to describe the situation down there. “Now lick it all off,” I told him. He did.

The image and the sensation of him licking his own semen off my breasts, combined with the action of my fingers inside my drenched pussy and on my clit brought me off like Fourth of July fireworks. The orgasm wracked through my body, making me twist and curl up, mashing my boobs into his hungry face. It was the most satisfying one I’d had in a while, and the aftershocks kept me twitching for a long time.

I let him lick my sticky fingers clean. His dick was getting hard again. “Get dressed,” I told him, “Get lost. Get out of here before somebody wonders where you are. Go play with your sister.”

“She’s a virgin,” he told me.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve read her diary.”

I bet you have, you little shit.

And then because I couldn’t help myself: “Does she like girls?”

Oliver leered knowingly at me. “I think she’s bi-curious. I know she’s had a crush on a girl.”

“Come back here tomorrow and we’ll do it again.”

*

The vacation days slid quickly by, turning inevitably into weeks. Oliver and I got together every single day, sometimes twice, for a jerk-off session. He still wheedled and cajoled me for a blowjob or a look at my cunt, but I suspected his pleas were mostly pro forma; he seemed perfectly happy with our arrangement. As was I.

He continued to call me a cunt, a bitch, and a slut, and I didn’t correct him. Sometimes, if I was in a generous mood, I’d let him play with my boobs while I whacked off; if I was feeling especially magnanimous I’d let him come on my face, which really seemed to do it for him. I remained somewhat amazed at the large quantity of come his body was able to ejaculate on a daily basis; but then again he was a 14 year old boy. Or 13, or whatever.

One morning, near the end of the holiday, we were walking up the road to the public beach together, with bad intent. That is, I knew I had bad intent: the two Bloody Mary’s I’d had for breakfast and the buzzing in my clit told me so; and I suspected he had the same kind of intent from the conspicuous lump in the front of his swim trunks.

A group of five or six poser skate punks about Oliver’s age were hanging out in front of the convenience store, and as we walked past they sneered at him:

“Wazzup Olly? How’s it hanging?”

He resolutely ignored them, facing straight ahead. I could feel the tension in his body.

“Is that your girlfriend? I bet it’s his babysitter!” Snorking derisive laughter all round.

I realized with sudden clarity that Oliver, for all his bluster and bluff, was not and never would be one of the cool kids. These guys were popular; they would join cliques, date cheerleaders, lose their virginity in parked cars, and get varsity letters. Oliver would be the fat kid they made fun of in the locker room; he was a geek, a nerd, a doofus; he’d spend his high school years jerking off to internet porn in the solitary darkness of his bedroom.

Still walking, I half-turned, grabbing the cups of my bikini top with both hands and lifting them up and off, flashing my breasts at the cool boys. Their laughter was silenced as if someone had pressed a mute button. Mouths hung open mid-taunt, eyes went round and wide. I covered back up and we continued walking. I took Oliver’s hand in my own, and felt his glow as we walked the rest of the way down to the beach.

In the water up to my chest and his neck, out by the buoys that marked the limit of the swimming area, I let him stick his hand down inside my swimsuit. The cool lake water mixed pleasantly with my wetness. I rubbed his hard-on through the front of his trunks.

Olivia flounced her way down onto the beach in her skimpy red bikini, boobs bobbing with every step, her blonde hair resplendent in the bright summer sun. I stared unabashedly at her, her thick curvaceous thighs, the sexy crease where they met her bikini bottom.

“God, I’d love to lick her pussy,” I sighed.

“Me too,” Oliver intoned wistfully.

“Really?” His dick felt like a Magic Marker inside his swimsuit.

“Shit yeah. I’d lick her cunt in a heartbeat if she ever gave me the chance!”

“Let’s go back to my room,” I said.

We left Olivia sunning herself on the pebbly beach, listening to her iPod and quietly enjoying being the center of attention. Oliver and I hustled back to the resort, my musty room with the lumpy bed and peeling wallpaper. I slammed the door behind us, peeling off my damp swimsuit and tossing it onto the floor.

He stared hungrily at my naked body. “Why don’t you shave your cunt?’ he asked.

“Because I don’t want to,” I told him, “Take off your shorts.”

“Ok” he said.

I lay flat on my back, sprawled lengthwise across the bed with my legs splayed so wide apart that the tendons in my thighs stuck out and ached. Oliver got down on his knees on the plank floor and buried his pasty young face into my crotch.

He was down there for two or three minutes. I have to say, it didn’t do that much for me. He was an inexperienced, indiscriminate licker. When he popped up for air, my wetness shone stickily on his face.

“Did I do ok?” he asked.

“You were awesome,” I said, “Come up here.”

We lay side by side on the bed, our bodies pressed sweatily against each other. I took his hand in mine and guided his finger down between my legs. I showed him how to touch me, moving his hand slowly up and down my pussy, darting inside, spreading the wetness all around. His cock was in my hand, harder than hard.

“A little higher,” I whispered. His fingertip found my swollen clit, and I jumped. “Gentle, gentle… draw little circles around it.” Our hands moved in tandem, my thumb and forefinger encircling his erection. Faster and faster we moved, our breath coming in pants and gasps, our bodies bucking and straining. He lowered his mouth onto one tit, capturing the nipple, sucking hard.

We came together. I felt his cock twitch in my hand just as my own orgasm exploded, wracking my body with shattering jolts of pleasure. His hand never stopped moving the whole way through it. I was crying out loud, shaking, and so was he.

I ended up lying on top of him, my boobs squished against his smooth chest, his come squishing in between our bellies. We were breathing hard and drenched in sweat. I kissed him, and he kissed me softly back, his lips trembling like a butterfly spreading its wings for the first time.

We fell asleep like that for a while in the hot, dark room. When we woke up, my arm had the pins and needles, and we were glued together. The Jewish couple next door was having their afternoon fuck session, and their bed squeaked like a desiccated accordion.

He got up and started pulling on his swim shorts and t-shirt. “I’ve jerked off into her underwear before,” he told me.

“I bet you have,” I said, “I probably would too, in your shoes.”

*

The last day of vacation dawned rainy and sullen, with low grey clouds hovering overhead. It was humid, and occasional squalls of rain lashed and rattled the windows. My period came on like a sack full of bricks.

I sat, hung-over, bleeding and crampy, in the dining hall, sipping my Bloody Mary and watching the Wall Street family across the room. The parents were silent, aloof. Olivia looked sulky and petulant. Oliver looked irritable and twitchy. The Jewish couple sat down next to me, complaining loudly about the weather. I killed my drink in one long swallow and made my exit.

He tapped on my door right after breakfast. I was packing up my shit, what there was of it. I was wearing cut-off shorts and a black tank top.

“So are you going to suck my dick today, or what?”

“Yeah” I said.

That stopped him short. “For real?” he asked.

“Yes, for real,” I said, not turning around, “Get your ass in here. Close the door.”

He stripped naked for me. Under his round belly, his dick stood straight out, parallel to the floor.

“Stand in front of the mirror,” I told him, licking my fingers seductively.

I knelt on the floor in front of him, his hard cock bobbing gently against my nose. I reached behind him, caressing, spreading his butt cheeks as I teased the shaft of his cock with my hot breath and the tip of my tongue. His dick seemed to swell and strain. Sweet clear pre-come leaked in a long strand out of his pee hole. I stuck out my tongue and caught it. His fingers petted my hair. I put one arm around his waist and sucked two fingers into my mouth, miming a blowjob. I glanced in the mirror at our image: we looked absolutely pornographic.

I took careful aim, and jammed one saliva-wet finger straight up his ass. He screamed like a little girl, his asshole clenching on my probing finger. He tried to pull away, but I held onto him with the arm around his middle.

His ass was impossibly tight. “Take it, Bitch,” I cooed. Ignoring his protests, I wormed another finger up alongside the first, molesting his panicked butt hole, stretching his virgin anus. Finally, both fingers were crammed up inside him, all the way to the knuckles. Even as he whimpered, I lowered my mouth onto his cock, swallowing him whole, sucking furiously like a Hoover gone mad.

He came almost at once, still howling and crying, humping my face as his asshole spasmed convulsively. He flooded my mouth with hot, slimy, salty semen, and I swallowed it all, every last drop. He was already growing hard again. I sucked with renewed vigor, wiggling the fingers up his butt like a maestro asking for a little more allegro from the violin section.

Later, when his penis was soft and tender-sore, and his balls were well and truly empty, we sat side by side on the edge of the bed.

“I wish you’d let me fuck you,” he said.

“I bet you do.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he told me quietly.

That one took me by surprise. I felt myself blushing, and gave him a little squeeze.

“Thanks,” I said, “You’re going to be all right.”

*

The last I saw of the Wall Street family, they were driving away in a monstrous white SUV roughly the size and shape of a Spanish galleon. Mom and Dad sat in front, both of them talking intently into their cell phones. The kids slouched in the back seat; Olivia with her mass of blonde locks pressed against the window, headphones on, lost to the world, Oliver next to her. He saw me, and raised two fingers to his lips, forming a V, and waggled his tongue obscenely between them, the international symbol for eating pussy.

I grinned and gave him the finger.  Little shit. I wished him all the luck in the world.

END

I snagged the first crap job that came my way, working the overnight shift at Barry’s Oasis, an independent filling station on Route 89, a couple miles out of town.  I picked up an used bicycle and a semi-furnished room in the basement of a sympathetic local chiropractor.  I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep.  I tried to masturbate, but my cunt was dry as dust, and phantasmal redneck cops kept lurking on the edge of my imagination.

For a crap job, it really wasn’t half bad, except for the sleep deprivation, which gave me a constant upset stomach and a permanent feeling of jittery disorientation. I worked six nights a week, midnight to eight, with the occasional morning or afternoon shift thrown in just to spice things up.

Barry was a jack-Mormon with three different ex-wives and an epic beer belly that spilled out over his belt buckle and threatened to burst through his shirt.  Barry didn’t trust banks and dealt only in cash.  Every Sunday night he’d drop by in his Chevy Astro minivan and his black cowboy hat, open up the lock-box, and count out a stack of twenties.  That was our paycheck, and if it was short one or two bills from what we thought it should be, we knew better than to complain.  Barry didn’t trust dudes, he only ever hired chicks.  He hated black, gays, liberals, and Mexicans, and I was pretty sure he was dealing dope on the side.  Barry was a good old boy.

Tammy was my co-worker and nominal boss.  She was Barry’s ex-step daughter by way of his first marriage; she referred to him un-fondly as ‘Uncle Barry’.  She’d been working at the filling station almost two years and supposedly was night manager, but that didn’t mean she got paid any more than me.  She was seventeen, but looked twenty-five; and was close to being pretty in the same kind of way that David Bowie was close to being female.  She had almost-blonde hair, with bangs straight out of the ‘80s, hairsprayed into a wave, boobs that stuck out from under her coveralls like a pair of sno-cones, a sharp hatchet-face that usually looked angry even when she wasn’t, and a constellation of raised white scars all over her upper arms, neck and chest that looked like they had been put there with a knife.  Her highest ambition was to be a stripper in New York City.

There wasn’t much to do on the overnight shift.  Boredom was the hardest part of the job.  We didn’t get much car traffic because Barry didn’t take credit cards, and the big rigs knew better than to stop at the Oasis.  Occasionally a car would stop in, the driver too drunk or self-important to pump his own gas.  Other than that, we had to mop the floors; we had to pump a couple hundred gallons of regular over into the high-grade tank; we had to dump used motor oil into the sink-hole out back.  Otherwise, it was mostly just a matter of staying awake.  Sometimes one of us would watch the store while the other took a nap, but that was dangerous because it was all too easy for both of us to fall asleep, and there was no knowing how long we’d be out.  So mostly we sat around, drinking coffee (or in my case Diet Coke) while Tammy chain-smoked, and we talked.

“How’d you lose your virginity?” Tammy asked.  We were sitting outside on the curb underneath the No Smoking sign.  Tammy took her coffee black, no sugar.  She tossed her cigarette butt in the general direction of the self-serve island.  Above the mercury-vapor flood lights, a million stars stared down at us like silent witnesses.  I’d never been in a place with so many stars before.

“I was eighteen,” I said, “and it was in the front seat of my Honda Civic.  I was dating this guy JJ, a sophomore who was almost three years younger than me.  We were both virgins.  He had a really big dick, but I don’t think either of us realized just how big it was at the time.  Neither one of us had anything to compare it with.  JJ was very sweet and kind of shy and awkward, like an oversized puppy dog.  He was good.  I was his first ever girlfriend.  I taught him everything: how to kiss, how to touch me, how to lick… he was an eager student and a quick learner.”

I smiled at the memory of those orgasms in the dark inside of my car, JJ squatting between my thighs, my feet propped up on the dashboard, his tongue all over my clit while I writhed and wiggled in the purest ecstasy.  He’d get two or three of those long fingers up my pussy and another would be tormenting my asshole, and he’d just dance the tip of his tongue over my aching clitoris just the way I’d taught him.  He could do that for hours, he never seemed to get tired of it.  He’d make me come until I couldn’t come any more, leave me as limp as an unstrung marionette.

My pussy salivated at the memory.  I swished the sickly-brown liquid around the bottom of the cup, making the ice rattle.  “I got really good at sucking his dick,” I went on, “I mean I’d done it before, but I perfected my skills on JJ.  I got to where I could take the whole thing into my mouth; I got so I could suck him forever, keep him balanced right on the edge of coming without pushing him over the edge until I decided to.  Then he’d squirt his hot come into my mouth, he’d be practically weeping by this time and I’d just devour him, suck him all down until there was no more left to swallow…”

I was definitely moist by this time, wetter than I’d been in a lifetime.  My clit was poiking obnoxiously out.  I shifted the way I was sitting on the cement curb, surreptitiously squooshing my vulva, making my clitoris throb and pleasantly ache.

“I wanted him inside me.  He was nervous about it.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe he was scared of hurting me, maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t be good at it.  Maybe it was the last step for him toward becoming an adult and he didn’t feel ready.  I don’t know.  But I finally talked him into doing it with me.”

“We tried it with me lying on my back in the passenger seat and him climbing on top of me, but that felt really awkward and JJ was having trouble getting it in.” I smiled at that memory. “He kept rubbing his cock up and down my crotch, which felt amazing, but he couldn’t seem to find the hole.  It was driving me crazy.  I was about to reach down there, grab his dick and take matters into my own hands when all of a sudden his eyes got really wide, his body went all stiff and he choked out “Oh Shit” in this quiet little voice and then he squirted all over me.  It was more come than I’d ever seen: all over my pubes, my tummy, all the way up to my tits.  The stuff filled up my belly button and ran over the sides, it oozed down into my pussy.  JJ was mortified, stammering apologies even as his dick dripped more semen onto me.  He was embarrassed, terrified that I’d be pissed.  I thought it was funny and cute, and kind of sexy too.”

Tammy lit another cigarette.  I seemed to have her full attention.  The night was dead still.  We could hear the trucks away on the interstate, and the occasional whir of a bat buzzing by the big Oasis sign. There was nothing else.

“We made out for a while, and I made clear to JJ that I wasn’t angry at him, and he started to relax.  Then I went down on him until his dick was nice and hard again.  When he was fully erect, dick straining upward and quivering at my touch, we traded places.  This time he lay on his back in the passenger seat and I clambered up on top of him.  I took his cock in both hands and aimed.  It was trickier than I had imagined.  Finally I got us positioned right.  I guided the head of his cock in between my hungry lips.  It felt incredibly good right there in the doorway to my cunt.  My clit seemed to bulge out like a mini-hard-on of my own.  I could have easily gotten off just like that.  I bore down on him, trying to get the whole pulsating, living thing up inside me.  It hurt more than I had thought it would.  I could feel myself tearing, but even so I kept at it, lowering my body gingerly down onto his girth.  His eyes were wide, like an owl.  I couldn’t believe how fucking wet I was.  The deeper in I got, the more intense the pleasure was and the pain sort of faded away into the background.  And then he was all the way in, I could feel his balls up against my thighs, his pubes were mashed up with mine.  I started rocking back and forth on him, like I was riding a bull, building up to this massive come.  His big hands were squeezing my ass.  I reached down and started rubbing my clit, the whole area down there was just soaked in my juice, and that sent me.  I came harder than I’d ever come before.  I think I screamed.  I collapsed onto his sweaty bare chest, covering him in kisses.  I didn’t realize for a little while he’d come too, at the same time as me.”

“I bled like something out of a horror film.  I was on maxi-pads for like a week, walking bow-legged the whole time, but it was worth it.  He fucked me three or four more times after that.  I was training him up right, he was starting to get real good at it.  Then out of nowhere, JJ dumped me for a girl his own age.  My period came late, but at least it came.  I almost gave myself an ulcer waiting for it.”

“Nice,” Tammy said, grinding out her cigarette.  “Too bad he was a douche to you.”

“It’s ok.  I got over it.”

“Have you ever masturbated at work?”

“No.  Never.”

“I do it all the time.” Tammy smiled a crooked little smile.  “The girl who used to work here before you, we used to do it together sometimes, sitting across from each other right in the aisle.  She was a black chick.  It was pretty hot.”

Before I could even say anything, she shucked off her gray coveralls, and pulled the t-shirt off over her head.  She was wearing a plain beige bra and rainbow-striped panties.  She unsnapped her bra.  The words ‘Love Always’ were tattooed across her breasts in spidery blotchy blue letters.  Grinning wide, she slithered her panties down.  Where I’d expected to see a bush the same dishwater color as the hair on her head, there was nothing down there but soft bare skin.  Thick, purple labia flopped out of her pussy.  A clear string of wetness seeped out like a strand of spider web.  I could see her pink clit.

She did it right in front of me, legs spread wide apart, right there in the open on the cement curb under the harsh glare of the mercury vapor lights.  She held her cunt open with two fingers, making her clit stand out like a pencil eraser.  As I watched, enthralled, she spread her wetness slowly up and down, up and down, coating her entire vulva.  One finger started drawing little circles around her clitoris, slowly at first then faster and faster.  She locked eyes with me, biting down hard on her lower lip, and plunged two fingers deep into her pussy while her other hand kept busy, a hummingbird on her clit.  Her stomach heaved and contracted, and she lifted her naked ass up off the cement, fingers buried to the knuckle in her juicy cunt, her face a rigid mask of ecstasy.

When she was all done, she licked her fingers clean, like a fastidious cat, and lazily pulled her shirt and coveralls back on.  It was getting early.  The sky in the east was glowing pink.  To my sleep deprived eyes, all the colors seemed lurid and intense.   There were cars on the road now.  Our rush hour, such as it was, was about to begin.

“Shit man, I really needed that.  Thanks.” Tammy winked at me.  “’scuse me now while I go powder my nose…” She left me there sitting on the curb, horny and paralytic, as the first SUV rolled up to the full-service island.

That afternoon, in the stuffy semi-dark of my basement apartment, I tried to whack off.  My pussy was plenty wet, but I couldn’t quite push myself over that edge.  All I got was frustrated and sore.

*

“I saw Uncle Barry fucking another girl once, back when he was still married to my mother.”

It was just after two in the morning.  We hadn’t had a customer in over an hour, and we’d decided the floor could just mop its damn self.  We were sitting out back next to the dumpster, looking out over the sink hole, and the surreal nightscape of the desert beyond.

“I came home from school and my mom was still at work and Barry’s van was parked in the driveway.  I could hear them from all the way outside.  It sounded like someone was being murdered.  I stuck my head in the front door.  No one was there.  The noise was coming from the kitchen.”

Tammy got up, poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, snagged a pack of Camels from behind the counter.  I was sipping Diet Coke out of a straw.

“They were both naked.  He had this girl kneeling on a kitchen chair, bent over the back of it, her hair all over her face.  She wasn’t that much older than me.  I thought I recognized her, I thought she was in high school.  He was fucking her up the butt.  I had a really good view.  Her pussy was wide open, she was playing with herself while he fucked her.  She was screaming really loud, her throat sounded all raw, and he was pulling on her hair, but I didn’t think she was hating it one bit.  She had really big boobs and they were shaking and jiggling all over the place while they went at it.  Uncle Barry had these fat balls that hung down and slapped against her hairy pussy every time he shoved his dick into her.  All of a sudden he throws his head back and yells something like ‘HOLY SHIT I’M COMING! TAKE IT BITCH!!’ and he yanks his dick out of her ass and pumps it really hard in his hand and then he squirted white stuff all over her back.  She was breathing super hard and raspy and I knew exactly what her fingers were doing between her legs, I could even hear them squooshing in her cunt. “

She took a long drag off her cigarette.  “I thought it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.  I stuck my hand down my pants and found out that my pussy was sopping wet.  It was wet like I’d peed myself.  While they calmed down and cleaned up and disentangled themselves, I made myself scarce.  I slipped out of the house and went for a long walk.  By the time I got back, Barry’s van was gone and the house was empty.”

“My friend Vanessa and me had been fooling around for a while already.  It had started off with us comparing bodies, checking out each other’s junk, and it was all pretty much downhill from there.  You know.  We started with kissing, touching, exploring, and before you knew it, we were both sucking pussy and licking clit like a couple of grade-A junior dykes.”  She grinned, and stuck out her tongue lewdly at me.  “Its funny, I always thought it would taste gross, but it turns out I didn’t mind it one bit.  I got really good at doing it, too.  I used to go over to her house, tell our moms we were doing homework, and then we’d lick each other out for hours on end.  I got to where I could make her come so hard, just using my tongue.  She’d be chewing her arm off trying to keep from screaming.  Her mom would be watching TV in the other room, and I’d have my head in between Vanessa’s long skinny legs, licking her sweet little twat like a dog at a water bowl, making her come and come and come again until she was sobbing, ‘til her whole body was shaking.”

“I was so jealous of Vanessa, that she could come like that.  I pretended to have one sometimes, to make her feel like she was accomplishing something, or just to get her to stop when it got to be too much, but really, even though what she was doing felt nice, I was pretty sure I’d never had an orgasm.  Maybe a little tingly feeling, but definitely nothing that would make me want to writhe and kick and scream.  I tried masturbating, but that was even worse.  It was like being on a roller coaster that only went up and up, and never over the hump and down.”

“So anyway, that same night after I caught Barry and that chick going at it, I went over to Vanessa’s house to do some ‘studying’.  I made her come so hard she fell off the bed and we both got the giggles something awful.  It’s a good thing her mom didn’t come check up on us… Vanessa was naked from the waist down, and my face was all slimy with her come.”

“When she went down on me, I asked Vanessa to stick the handle of her hairbrush up my butt.  She was all like, ‘Are you sure?  Really? Eww…’, but she went ahead and did it.  I think she was just as curious as me, really.  She got me all nice and wet with her tongue, then I rolled over and got on all fours on her bed, and she stuck that thing right up my asshole.  She wasn’t as gentle as she should have been, and when she jammed it in, I almost freaked out, almost couldn’t take it.  But then my body relaxed, and she pushed it the rest of the way in.  It felt weird in there, not bad at all.  Vanessa got the giggles all over again.  But then she started licking my cunt and playing with the hairbrush stuck up my ass, and I knew I had struck gold.  I just started fiddling my clit while she licked and butt-fucked me, and it happened.  It really was like fireworks, I just slipped over the edge, it felt like my body was exploding, it seemed to go on forever and ever.  I really was screaming into the bed sheets, and her mom did come and check up on us this time.  ‘We’re fine mom, just fooling around!’  Getting the hairbrush out was trickier than getting it in in the first place, and there was a little poop on the end.”

Tammy tossed her cigarette butt into the sinkhole and lit a new one.  “I think that really grossed her out.  It’s funny.  I’d go down on her whenever she wanted, even at school, even when she was on the rag, I didn’t care.  I’d even lick her asshole sometimes.  She loved that, but she wouldn’t admit it.  She’d never do that to me… I guess she thought it was weird or something.  But she sure loved having it done to her.  Then she goes and dumps me for the first guy who asks her out.  She dropped out of school.  Now she’s got a little girl of her own.”

“So what about you?” Tammy asked, blowing a white cloud of cigarette smoke into the night air, “Have you ever fooled around with another girl?”

“Oh once or twice,” I said, “My last real girlfriend developed this nasty habit of forging checks and got us in a heap of trouble.”

“Really? Do tell…”

“The cops busted us right in the middle of getting in on.  They banged in the door of her trailer, I don’t know if they had a warrant or anything, it doesn’t matter now.  Four big fat redneck cops, guns drawn like we were dangerous or something.  One of them was female, I remember thinking she had huge breasts.  They were there to arrest Marla, turns out she had written over a hundred thousand dollars in bad checks.  But first they wanted to see some action.

“Marla had been going down on me when they busted the door in, and they were all ‘Oh no, don’t stop, don’t mind us!’  I was sprawled out on the bed, totally naked, and Marla was just wearing panties, nothing else.  They all stood over us while she licked and fingered me, making nasty comments and laughing.  They all still had their guns out.  I don’t know about Marla, but I was freaked out, so scared I was shaking, sick to my stomach.  I couldn’t come, but her tongue was driving me ape shit!  This went on for what felt like forever, and by the end I was squirming and gibbering with frustration, which amused the cops to no end.”

“Then the lady cop found our toy box (‘searching for evidence’, she called it) and they rooted through our stuff, hooting and snorting at our toy collection, calling us ‘Lesbo Preverts’ and ‘Demented Little Bull Dykes’.  It was humiliating.  In the end they made me put on our strap-on, and handcuffed Marla to the kitchen sink.  The female cop yanked Marla’s panties down around her ankles.  Then one of the guy cops made me stick a butt-plug, lubed up with dish soap up her ass, and then they made me fuck her from behind while they all watched.”

“Marla was sobbing, weeping into the sink at this point, but her pussy was also super-wet, and I knew she was really turned on too.  The cops were all pointing their pistols at us, shouting ‘Faster!  Harder!  Fuck her!  Fuck the shit out of that little cunt!” So I did.  I fucked her as hard as I could.  The harder I fucked her, the louder the cops shouted and the more Marla cried, until the end, she was screaming hysterically, slamming back against my every thrust.  Between the two of us, we were about as wet as Lake Michigan.  I could feel the juices running down my legs.  I could tell Marla was right on the edge of coming, and then I realized that I was going to come too.  I’d never had an orgasm from fucking her before, but between the friction from the base of the dildo bumping up against my clit, and the sheer intensity of the situation, the cops all screaming at us with their guns still out; it just pushed me over the edge.  I grabbed Marla’s hips and jammed, as hard as I could.  Somewhere I was still aware of the cops and their guns, I think at least one of them had his dick out, and I was distantly aware of Marla rocking her way through an orgasm, but mostly I was just coming.”

“I think I blacked out a little bit, it was that intense.  The orgasm just rolled straight through me, and all I could do was hang on for the ride.  It was like a massive thunderstorm inside of me.  My nipples felt like they were going to pop right off my tits.  When I was finally done gasping and shaking, we were still surrounded by chortling cops, and Marla was a limp mass slumped into our sink.  The cops un-cuffed her, and let us pull some underwear on; then they handcuffed us both and threw us in the back of a squad car and drove us down to the station.  It was the last time that Marla and I were together.”

“They took her away somewhere, and threw me into a holding cell with a bunch of drunk housewives and hookers.  I sat in there all that night and all the next day, and then they released me.  Marla ended up going to prison.  I haven’t been able to get off, not at all, since that all happened.”

“Wow,” Tammy said, tossing the dregs of her coffee into the sink hole.  “That’s pretty fucked up.”

“Its ok,” I said, “I’m getting over it.”

“I had an abortion when I was fifteen,” she said, “I never told my mother.  Barry drove me to a clinic across the state line.”

We sat together in the dark for a long while, just sitting and listening to the night.  I could feel her body heat next to me.  I wasn’t exactly attracted to her, but I wondered, just wondered if…

And then a car pulled into the station and the spell was broken.  We got up and went out front.  A blue sedan was sloppily parked in front of the self-serve island.  We watched the guy fill his tank.  He was stumbling drunk; he had no business walking, never mind driving.  He went in and paid Tammy, went back to his car, came back and asked for the key to the bathroom.  I could smell the booze on his breath from across the floor.

While he was retching loudly in the men’s room, Tammy went through the contents of his wallet.  She extracted five twenties; gave me two, and tossed his wallet into the backseat of his car.  When the guy finally emerged from the bathroom, he returned the key, thanked us, and drove away into the night.

Tammy fetched us two Budweiser tall boys out of the cooler.  We sat out back and drank them together.  “Do you mind if I whack off?” she asked.  I didn’t mind at all.

*

I tried to masturbate again that day, but when I tried to picture Tammy’s head between my thighs, all I could see was those fat cops.  And they all had Barry’s fleshy pockmarked face.  I finally gave up in disgust and wrapped myself around a bottle of cheap red wine.

I was an hour late for work, and viciously hung over.  The bike ride in helped me sweat some of it out, but I was still hurting when I finally rolled into the oasis at one in the morning.  I was queasy and my eyeballs hurt and the world sort of shimmered through a vibrato haze.  I thought I might just vomit.  It was payday, and Barry’s tan Chevy Astro was parked by the door.  I had been afraid that I might have missed him, and missed getting paid for the week.  He might give me shit for showing up late, might well dock my pay, but at least I’d have cash in my pocket.

Barry was sprawled out on the tile floor, his white seersucker pants down around his ankles, his black Stetson sitting underneath the rack of Pringles and candy bars.  Under the blue glare of the fluorescents his skin looked like it was made of rubber.  His eyes were wide open and staring, but he wasn’t moving at all.  He wasn’t even breathing.  His cock was still erect, like a weird little mushroom sprouting pinkly from his hairy crotch.  It may not have been all that tiny in reality, but it was dwarfed by his massive beer belly and his pendulous ball sac.

Tammy was leaning against the counter, smoking a cigarette.  There were three fat lines of powdery white cocaine on the glass next to the register.

“He had a heart attack.  Or a stroke or whatever.  What’s the difference anyway?”

We opened up the lockbox.  There was close to eight thousand dollars in there.  We split it down the middle, even-steven.  Tammy took the contents of his wallet, a couple hundred bucks, a fat zip-lock full of blow, and the keys to Barry’s Astro.  She kissed me on the cheek, wished me luck, and took off in the van, headed for the interstate.

I watched her taillights until they disappeared into the night.

The winds of change were blowing in from the east along with the rising sun.  My head finally felt clear.  I biked back to the chiropractor’s house, past eerie spectral images of scrub pine and cottonwood, wreathed in shadow.  I hurriedly packed up a little backpack with a change of clothes, extra socks and underwear, some letters and my notebooks.  Grabbed my toothbrush and some tampons.  Then I ditched the bike into a drainage ditch,   hiked all the way over to the Trailways station in town, and bought myself a bus ticket.

I got on the first bus that pulled in, and I didn’t get off again until I was Someplace Else.

END