"Oh," Chrissy said, "I don't know. Don't you think that he'll miss his pubic hair?"
"Why should he miss it?" Debbie asked. "I should think he'd be glad to be rid of it. His thing shows up so much better when there's nothing all around it."
Waldo sat between the girls and wondered what had made him such a wimp. Sure, they were two exciting looking chicks. Sure, they were hot young teens, sisters, to boot. But they were going to shave his balls. They were going to denude Little Waldo.
Waldo didn't know how he felt about that. He liked the feel of the young girls' hands over his cock, but he didn't know how he felt about the lock of the bright and shiny razor as it approached his groin.
He clenched his teeth, If Little Waldo could stand it, he knew that he could. After all, anyone who had lived with his mother for as long as he had could endure yet another mock castration scene.
"Just don't cut it off," he pleaded.
"We're only going to suck it," Debbie said, sliding her lips over his glans.
Waldo quickly ran through the only prayer he knew. "How like a pensive nun she gives head," it began.
CHAPTER ONE
I was a very pretty young boy. Since the surgery, that has changed a little, but I don't let it get in the way of my sexual enjoyment. I take it any way that I can get it and I can get it any way I like.
It hasn't always been that way. Oh, don't get me wrong, I was the prettiest young boy you or anyone you know has ever seen, or will ever see. I mean I haven't always had the inclination to choose a man when a woman was not available. That option was revealed to me only slowly. That I was a pretty boy, who should probably have been a girl-that was revealed to me almost right away.
My mother started in on it when I was old enough to hold my own spoon without drooling a load of pabulum down my front. She never gave me a chance to think I was a normal kid.
She started in with the beauty pageants. From the age of two months, I was entered in every beauty pageant that existed, from my mother's house to Timbuktu and back.
I often think that if the old man hadn't lamed outta there so early, that I might have had a decent male influence around the house.
What man wants to let his wife parade his only son around in dresses until the kid is old enough to know what girls are made of?
Surely my father would not have cared for the way my mother treated me. But I was her only one, her one and only and she made damned for sure that I remembered it.
She might have gotten me a leash, for all the good the clothes did me. effectively preventing me from wanting to stray very far from her, ever.
She dressed me up and kept me dressed, not in women's clothing, mind you, but in the prettiest little items she made herself, at home.
I looked like Lord Fauntleroy half the time and like the Blue Boy the other half. When I protested, she put on the big act. Like it made me blubber every time.
"Oh," she'd sigh, holding her folded hands to her breasts, like she oughtta been a Bernhardt, the Elenora Duse of Sedalia, Missouri, "I can't believe you would say those things to me. Here I am your only mother and you my only son and I slave away as a waitress night and day and day and night, just so I can buy you decent clothes and keep you away from the riff raff so that you don't grow up to be a heel like your father was and all you do is complain. How did I get such an ungrateful child."
I tell you, she was suicidal. She put on that performance for me at least once a week, every week, for years, until I could of done it for her, word for word.
Whatever it was that drove that lady, I'll never know and don't care to. I can't blame her much-I suppose she was terrified of having a man around the house after the way my old man knocked her around-but I can't condemn her. She was making her way as well as she knew how to make it and how much more than that, can you expect from anyone.
Besides, I had a secret weapon. I was hung like a race horse. My secret and only mine, a private arsenal kept stocked against the day when she invaded once too often.
I didn't come to terms with this great asset right away. I was sixteen before I realized how much of an advantage I had over any other boy.
The way I found it out was through the help of two young girls, who moved in across the street from us in Sedalia. A whole house full of girls, there was and two of them, Chrissy and Debbie, were rather near me in age, fifteen and seventeen, I think.
They were the two that introduced to me my secret weapon. I will always hold a place in my heart in fond memory of those two girls.
I was a shy little thing, afraid to go out much, taunted by boys who called me a sissy, avoided by girls who thought that I was a pouf.
But these two lovely young ladies had moved all the way from New York City and I guess they thought I was dressing right in fashion.
Who knows just how they dress in New York City, or what they do with all of the equipment that they have. What mattered was that these two girls existed.
I had been observing them silently for long enough. There were dozens of girls in that family, it seemed and a big, shaggy sheep dog. However, Chrissy and Debbie were two who seemed to have formed a bond apart from all the rest.
They used to play together on the front lawn of their house, two nymphets, as nubile as any Lolita or Annabelk Lee you could possibly imagine.
I had not yet discovered whacking off. I could only sit inside my mother's kitchen window and stare out longingly at the two girls as they frolicked.
Oh, I was certainly hard between the legs, but I didn't yet make any real connections. I didn't know just how to relieve myself of this frustration.
There didn't seem to be a way. The situation was hopeless. And ray mother would certainly have vetoed any requests I "made that I be allowed to saunter over to the two of them and say hello.
So I sat in the window and watched and lamented. I was a moody child. They were lovely girls. I am sure now that they must have known that I was watching them, because no one performs that way for just themselves.
Chrissy was brown haired. She was the older of the two, which I could tell because she was the taller. She had a lankiness which her sister Debbie lacked and an awkwardness. She was in the middle of a late adolescence, which I later heard had lasted into her early thirties, right before menopause began.
Some women are like that. They never recover from their first period and they never recover from their last. Chrissy became one of those women, but I couldn't tell that at the time. All I could tell was that her limbs were long and lanky and bony and sharp and that her hair was deep brown and full and hung nearly to her flat, high ass.
She moved like a child growing into a body which never would quite suit her and managed in the process to heighten each and every one of her various physical attributes.
Thus, because she couldn't adjust to her incipient breasts, she couldn't hide them, either and they were far more prominent on her than much larger breasts on girls her age who had grown accustomed to their bodies. Her breasts were always small, as long as I knew her and her nipples were very large, though not especially pointed and scratchy. Against the underside of my palm, her nipples always fell just short of seeming rose thorns.
The remainder of her maidenhead, to remain maidenhead throughout my friendship with her, for though Debbie was interested in any kind of experience, Chrissy never let me put it in her secretly, I think, she feared she might do something to it I could not repair, as if she was worried that she had teeth and not I; she was always very gentle with me and never stern, stroking my ears and cooing, "Baby doesn't want to lose his thingy up inside of Chrissy, does he?" I sat down between her thighs like a Persian cat.
I always had the feeling that her mound was visiting her from far away, a distant relative in for a whirlwind tour, but bound for the six fifteen express.
Not that she wasn't luscious down between her lanky thighs. In fact I always found something about her cunt far more desirable than Debbie's, which, though constantly available, seemed somehow fat and squat and just a little grubby. But Chrissy was not made for intercourse, she was made for soothing and for empathy and it was to her that I ran when I needed guidance. Chrissy made me understand schlong, whereas Debbie only wanted to eat it. When you're gifted with a tool like mine, you need to be told not only that it's desirable, but that it's human.
Thus Debbie and Chrissy were perfect for me. Chrissy was the humanist and Debbie, the nymphomaniac. Never have I known to sisters so different. Often I have suspected that one of them was adopted, though I never confided in them on that score.
Everything that Chrissy was, Debbie was not, or vice versa. Debbie, the younger of the two, fifteen "when I first spied her rolling on the front lawn of her parents' house with her older sister, was far more developed than Chrissy and very comfortable with what time had done to her.
She was brown haired just like Chrissy, but her hair was cropped short like a boy's, up around her ears. On her the effect was stunning, as it served to emphasize her lines. And what lines.
She was built like a racing yacht. Curves, curves and more curves. Big busted, wide, hipped, hard muscled, rock jawed Debbie, the earth mother of whom we men dream late at night.
Debbie could out wrestle you, out run you and out fuck you. She could down a stein of beer quicker than you can say nymphet. She could play with the boys, but she was so clearly a woman that one was afraid to touch her, for fear of not being able to stop.
And if she liked you enough, you wouldn't have to. Stop, I mean. She greeted me with open arms and with open legs, from the very first.
She had big features, to match her breasts-or was it that her breasts had grown to match her feature?-and a workmanlike build, both sensual and substantial. She walked and ran and gestured and moved like a boy, without any of the obligatory hip swinging, but she loved just like a woman, holding you between her thighs as you want a mother to hold you in your arms and make you feel a man.
Her breasts were plump, almost exotic in their shape and size and capped with tiny nipples which, unlike her sister's, were very pointed. Down between her thighs her mound burrowed into her, well hidden between a brown, shaggy fur rug and well worth searching for.
A fellow could get lost inside a cunt like that and on occasion I actually did. At times the hair above her glistening lips was auburn red, at times nearly black, depending on the light and always as smooth and as full as any head of hair.
I used to kid her that if she ever really got down and out, she could shave her cunt and sell the hair to a wig maker and no one but the intimate few would be any the wiser. This excited her so that she suggested I get a razor and shave her right away; she wanted to know what it would feel like to have my cock inside her when her lips were smooth. I talked her out of that-I would hate to have her go without that lovely hair-but not after I had firmly quelled my own temptations.
Of course that first day, when I sat in the kitchen window and stared across the street at the two woman, I didn't yet know any of these things about them. I only knew that they were young and kind of exotic, if not pretty, that their jeans were grass stained and dirt smeared, that their hair was full of leaves falling from the trees around the lawn that autumn, that one of them, the shorter one, was squeezed into a sweater so clinging that not a bit of bosom was left to the imagination, that the taller one was slower moving and apparently a little in love with her sister and that something rock hard was growing between my legs, something the idiosyncrasies and intricacies and functions of which I had not yet plumbed.
Watching them, I could smell the dying leaves in their hair and their sweat. Or maybe that was my sweat. Sweat is sweat. It goes good with autumn leaves and even better with girls.
I was as afraid of them as I was of my own mother and far more interested. I wanted badly to walk out of the front door and cross the street and roll down their lawn with them, but I couldn't have imagined the repercussions.
Thank God the two of them were as precious as a couple of nosing little chipmunks burying their nuts against the winter chill, because they found me, finally.
That same day, not a month after they had moved in across the street, as I sat down with my tumescence and more or less resigned myself to a life of permanent and terminal wimpdom, they hurled a big brown ball, greasy and spherical, across the street at me and it came crashing in through the window where I sat.
I could not have been more thrilled and appeared more mortified. My mother was away at her restaurant, doing the Mildred Pierce thing and I was alone with these two nymphets and with my John Thomas, just the four of us.
The two came running over, Chrissy out in front, tripping over herself, Debbie lagging behind, slowly, confidently, as if she had nothing to apologize for.
"Gee," Chrissy said, reaching the window and peering in at me, squinting her eyes, "I'm real sorry about this. Are you alright?"
I said, "Uh huh." I was fine. The window was shot to hell, but it couldn't have mattered a whole lot. I might otherwise have feared my mother's wrath in the long run, but in the short run I was more interested in these two girls.
Debbie wandered up behind her sister. She looked closely at the window and said, "You shouldn't oughtta sit there in that glass."
"Oh," I said. I hadn't moved at all. I didn't know what to say to either of the two of them. Shards of glass covered my lap.
"Debbie, come one," Chrissy said, "we've got to help him clean that up." She smiled at me, in apology, but Debbie didn't move.
"How come you're just sitting there?" Debbie wanted to know. It was a legitimate question. I must have looked rather stupid to the two of them. "Come on around and open the door for us, so we can help you clean it up."
I turned a hundred and fifteen shades of red, muttered something only nominally intelligible and got up from where I was sitting.
"No," Chrissy warned, "don't move. You might cut yourself. The door's open, isn't it?" She raised her eyebrows, inquiringly. I nodded. "We'll let ourselves in."
I felt like a lump on a log, but it seemed easy enough to do what Chrissy had told me. If I had gotten up, there would have been a great deal of difficulty in rearranging myself. I was pointing like a hunting dog, on the scent of a beaver.
I had time while they were on their way into the house to slide a hand into my trousers and push my hard cock flat up against my stomach. Quickly, I rehearsed a brief internal monologue which I had developed to help ward off the hardness that comes suddenly and unexpectedly. I thought of the least sexy things I could.
The Holocaust was always good for starters. The atom bomb. My mother, mutilated. My mother, any way at all. Jane Bryant. Alfred E. Neumann. Richard Nixon's dog. Also his daughters.
I had achieved moderate repose by the time the two girls found their way through the house to me. I say moderate repose. I should also say short lived. At the nearness of the two of them, I was again full sail ahead.
"I'm awfully sorry about this," Chrissy said. "We really ought to be a little more careful. I'm Chrissy and this is my sister, Debbie."
She held out her hand and I shook it. It was cool and long fingered. The two girls smelled of grass and of leaves. My hard on was raging.
"He's cute," Debbie said. Chrissy frowned and asked me where she could find a broom and a dustpan. Glass shards covered the floor.
"A vacuum cleaner would be Ideal," she said. "Do you have a vacuum cleaner?" She picked up the largest of the pieces of glass and gathered them in her palm.
"I think he's a deaf mute," Debbie said. "He doesn't seem to be able to say anything." She leaned forward and yelled into my ear. "Can you hear me?"
Chrissy was on her way to the closet, where she located a broom and a vacuum cleaner. "Don't torture him, Debbie," she said, searching for the garbage pail.
"How come you don't talk?" she said. She poked at me, as if she were observing a specimen in Biology lab. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Parlez vous Francais?"
"He's just a little upset, that's all," Chrissy said. "Don't patronize him." She flashed a smile at me. "My sister can be a little inconsiderate, at times. She doesn't mean any harm, really." She emptied bits of glass into the garbage pail, which she had brought over to me, along with the vacuum cleaner and a broom and dust pan. She swept up around me. Debbie didn't help her at all. She sat very close to me, as close as she could be without getting in her sister's way and examined me.
She lifted strands of my hair. "He's got such nice long hair," she said, to no one in particular. Her breasts heaved about an inch in front of my face. It was all I could do to keep from reaching out to grab them.
"Let him alone," Chrissy said. "Debbie! Can't you just let him alone?" She plugged in the vacuum cleaner and turned it on. It started up from a low hum to a loud blast. She vacuumed all around me. Her sister continued her examination.
As Chrissy was still vacuuming, Debbie finally found her way to my crotch. I suppose that it was inevitable. I hadn't merely put up a tent for her. I had put up a barracks. Only a blind, lame, ignorant fool could have failed to notice my tumescence.
Chrissy shut off the vacuum cleaner. In the silence, almost deafening in contrast to the abrasive noise of the machine, Debbie blurted, "Chrissy, look! Isn't it a big one."
Before I could even protest, she had it out in the open. "Oh," Debbie said, turning it over in her hand as if she were measuring a precious stone.
"What is it?" Chrissy asked. She was hardly paying attention, returning the vacuum cleaner and the garbage pail and the broom and dust pan to their respective closets and cabinets and drawers. She walked back over to us.
"You tell your mother that our father will pay for the window," she said. "I'm awfully sorry about this. It seems we're always getting into things."
"Get into this," Debbie said. Chrissy raised an eyebrow-a mannerism she had perfected, even then-and looked down to Debbie's area of concentration.
"Oh, Debbie," she said. She saw my rod in Debbie's tiny hands, a wet, stiff looking, slightly meaty, mushroom capped, blue veined sausage resting between a pair of pink, diminutive, dirty nailed hands.
"Isn't it something?" Debbie said. "He's bigger even that Muffin."
Chrissy was too shocked to comment. She could only explain, "Muffin is our dog," as if to right any wrong impression I may have gotten about Debbie's virtue
"Oh," Debbie laughed, "that's right. We've never seen a man before, Neither of us. Actually, we had promised ourselves to one another, but, you know, I think that it's an impractical idea, at the base of things."
Finally Chrissy recovered what was left of her composure. "Debbie, now, you give that back to him and the two of us should be on our way."
But Debbie was already in the process of getting the rest of me out into the open. She had unbuttoned my trousers and slid them down to my knees.
"Oh, look," she said, "his skin is so smooth. I'm green with envy." She leaned over me and stroked my inner thighs lightly with her fingertips.
Her breasts hung down and brushed against the tip of my mammoth prick. I sucked in a sharp burst of air, through my teeth and winced.
"Did I hurt you?" Debbie asked. She moved her fingers back to my cock and caressed it. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm awfully sorry."
"Don't be dense," Chrissy said, standing apart from us, but staring intently at me, nonetheless. "You haven't hurt him. Pain isn't what's on his mind, right now."
"Oh," Debbie giggled. "I like it." She moved her hands up and down the shaft of my cock. "He's got such pretty long eyelashes and such smooth skin."
Chrissy tried valiantly to retain her composure, as her sister stroked my cock, up and down it, along its underside, around my balls.
Chrissy opened her mouth to speak. Debbie said, "Shh! I think he's having some kind of reaction." She continued to stroke my cock.
Some kind of reaction. That would be the mildest way to put it. My balls were filled with semen, pumping rapidly up the length of my shaft.
I was as unaware of what was happening to me as either of the two girls and if I had had a chance to stop myself, the time had passed, without announcing itself to me.
I could feel a harsh rush at the base of my cock and then a warm tingling sensation as what was apparently my very first emission.
It happened to me. I seemed to have lost control of my penis, a sensation entirely new to me. I was as surprised at its reaction to Debbie's attention as if I had begun salivating, letting droplets of spittle run down my cheeks.
Waldo, my boy, I said to myself, something funny's going on around here, I can just feel it in the air and as the thought flashed with lightning speed through my head, so did a trail of thick, milky, cloying liquid spurt out of the head of my prick and all over Debbie's sweater. Like ticker tape falling from the tops of Broadway buildings onto returning servicemen, my semen dropped down out of me, down onto Debbie's lap.
"Wow," Debbie said.
Chrissy said, "Oh my God."
"My name is Waldo," I said to the two of them. "It's okay about the window."
CHAPTER TWO
"Waldo, that's the most terrific thing I've ever seen!" Debbie exclaimed. Chrissy stared, her mouth fallen open. Neither she nor I could think of what to say.
We all looked down at my cock. It was no less hard than it had been, though much less aching. Debbie scooped up a bit of semen on her index finger and put it to her tongue.
"Mmm," she said. "Tastes alright. Like tapioca pudding. A little salty, maybe." She scooped up another fingertip full and offered it to Chrissy.
Chrissy demurred, but her curiosity got the better of her, finally. "Do they always come in such an overwhelming size?" she wanted to know.
We looked down at it again. It was shriveling, just a little. "Gee," I said, "I don't know. I've never seen another one."
"Neither have I," Chrissy said.
"I don't need to see another one," Debbie chimed in. She touched it, again. "It's so nifty. It does that all by itself, huh?"
"Uh," I said, nodding with more rue than she might have expected, "all by itself. It's not as much fun as you might think."
Chrissy nodded, but Debbie took ahold of me again. "It's more fun than anything in the entire world," she said and at that, she lowered her mouth to the head of my prick and wrapped her lips around it. Suddenly, it was on the rise again.
"Oh," Chrissy blurted, watching me grow larger outside of Debbie's mouth. Debbie pulled her lips away from me. They were slippery and wet.
"Look at it grow," she said. "I wish I had one like that."
"You don't wish any such thing," Chrissy scolded.
"You can have mine, if you really want it," I said, surprised that a portion of my anatomy which for so Song had caused me nothing but silent grief, suddenly seemed my ticket to instant popularity. I had only just met Chrissy and Debbie and already we were on more intimate terms than I had been with anyone, ever.
"It always sort of embarrasses me." I said. "I've never known quite what to make of it." I spoke of my cock as if it were a little child, a fourth party in the room. I spoke in hushed tones, as if it might be able to overhear.
"Oh," Debbie, said, "I wouldn't be ashamed if I had one of those. I'd be proud. I'd show it to everyone I saw."
"Oh, you would not," Chrissy said, ever the voice of reason.
"Well," Debbie said, conceding, "maybe not to everybody. But I certainly would show it to you. Think of what fun the two of us could have together."
"That would be incest," Chrissy objected.
"Isn't incest any fun?" Debbie queried.
"I, um," I said, ever the articulate wag.
"Oh, look, now we've embarrassed him," Chrissy said. "Debbie, I think you've done far too much damage today. Maybe we'd better leave him alone."
"You were the one that threw the ball in the first place," Debbie objected. "You don't have to be such a stuffed shirt about it."
"I don't mind," I said, feeling bold. "I mean, if you don't mind." I looked from one of the girls to the other, measuring their glances.
Chrissy started to laugh. She started softly, slowly, as if she was afraid of hurting someone's feelings. She held a hand to her mouth and laughed.
Debbie watched her and then let out with a belly laugh. She punched me on the shoulder and clutched her stomach, laughing.
Chrissy laughed more loudly and I began to snicker. My snicker grew to a chuckle and then to a guffaw, within a few seconds, the three of us were having a real yuck session.
We laughed until we stopped. I looked down at my prick. It was flaccid. "Look how nicely it sleeps," Debbie said, patting it gently.
"Oh," Chrissy said, "you woke it up."
Indeed, she had awakened Little Waldo. He was on the rise again. He had an appetite to match his size. The Insatiable Immensity, I call him sometimes.
"I think he needs a shave," Debbie said, curling my pubic hair in her fingers. "Let's take him home with us and shave him," she said to Chrissy.
"Oh, Debbie," Chrissy said, in a tone which indicated that she was waiting to see my reaction to the suggestion before she vetoed it.
I looked from one girl to the other and nodded. "I didn't realize it was of any use," I said. "I thought I was a freak. I was even afraid to tell my mother."
I stuffed Little Waldo back into my jockey shorts and pulled up my trousers, zipping them and fastening them. Looking like a coat rack, I got up from the window seat.
"Oh, he is cute, isn't he," Debbie said, glancing up and down my lithe, young, fine boned frame. "He's absolutely adorable."
"Let's go," Chrissy said. "Maybe we should leave a note for your mom," she said to me. I grunted. She went to the phone and found a message pad and a pencil.
I scribbled something remotely intelligible on the pad and handed it and the pencil back to Chrissy. I was hardly aware that I was in the room.
Chrissy looked at the note and frowned. "What about the window?" she said. "You haven't mentioned anything about the window. Won't your mother wonder?"
"Oh," I said, "she's never home til late, anyway. She won't get home before I do."
"Well," Chrissy said, "you never know." She had a sour look on her face, as she crossed to the phone and propped the note up in the dial.
The three of us proceeded to the door and out of the house, across the street, to Chrissy's and Debbie's. Never having been as far as the mailbox before without my mother's permission, I was exhilarated, light headed and excited.
It was a big day for me. I had only moments before had my first conscious emission and now I was on my way across the street, with two girls I hardly knew.
I could only just process all the information. Debbie and Chrissy took care of all the rest. Debbie took my hand in hers and swang it back and forth.
Chrissy led the way, with Debbie and me following along behind. Debbie's hand was cool and her grip was sure. I had to walk quickly to keep up with her; her legs were shorter than mine, but she took very large steps.
We stumbled up the lawn and towards the house. I had never been in anyone else's house before. I was awed and excited and rock hard between my legs.
Debbie's hand held more tightly to my own, as we got closer and closer to the front door of the house. If I was worried that there was going to be someone home, my fears were allayed when we bounded up the front steps of the house and to the door.
Inside the house, pandemonium held court. Never in my life have I seen so many people running in so many different directions all at once, talking so rapidly and not noticeably listening to one another. Even the dog was in on it, a huge fuzzy sheep dog, running this way and that throughout the maze of feet which covered the floor of the entryway from end to end. Chrissy, Debbie and I fit right into the general confusion.
In short, no one noticed us at all. "Let's take him up to the attic," Debbie said. If Chrissy said something, I didn't hear it.
I don't remember climbing any stairs, although there must have been a lot of them. Somehow, we were transported to the attic, a low ceiling, crowded little space, smelling of old leather volumes and crumbling missives within hand tooled and ornamented trunks.
A bit of light struggled through a tiny window in the far wall, falling down in a slice across the center of the room, the walls of which ended just at the height of my chin, giving way to the ceiling, which formed together in the crotch of a V just above my head. Debbie pushed me down on a trunk.
Debbie sent Chrissy downstairs, "For Daddy's straight razor and some shaving cream." My flesh tingled. Were they going to slit my throat? Shave me? If I lived to be a hundred and seventy five, it was doubtful that I would ever need a shave. What were they planning?
"Uh," I said, "maybe I better get on home. I mean, I mean, um ... "
"Don't worry, baby," Debbie said, squeezing me. She pressed her breasts up against my chest. My nostrils filled with her smell. I could feel her erected nipples pressing through the material of her sweater up against my chest.
I decided I might as well stay a little longer. After all, there were girls and I was supposed to be a boy. No reason why I couldn't exert a little of my manly strength if they wanted to do something fatal to me. I flexed a muscle, hoping to frighten Debbie into submission.
"Oh," she said, "you have such nice smooth limbs. Just like a ballet dancers. You're the only boy I've ever met who wasn't a total bully."
She smiled at me, expecting me to be pleased with this compliment. The way I felt, if she had called me a communist spy she could not have phrased a greater insult.
"You mean I'm a wimp," I said. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"
"You're so cute when you pout," she said, leaning forward to hug me, once again.
"Debbie, what is going through your head?" Chrissy demanded, returning to the attic with her father's straight razor and a bowl of shaving cream.
I eyed the tools and vowed to keep my courage. If they attempted to slash my wrists, I thought perhaps I could bore them to death. My mother forced me once to memorize The Gettysburg Address and I had it on good authority that no more powerful emetic existed than my word by word recitation of that renowned work.
"Help me get him out of his pants," Debbie commanded. Chrissy glanced from her to me and back. "Do you think he's as interested in this as the two of us?" she asked.
Debbie looked up at my face. "He's a lamb," she said. "He'll do anything that we tell him to do. Don't you worry about that."
She put Chrissy to work untying my shoes, as she unzipped my fly and unbuttoned my nicely pressed trousers. It flashed briefly through my mind that my mother had just had the trousers cleaned and pressed and that she would be angered when she saw the dust marks across the seat of them. However within seconds I had a more pressing matter to attend to.
A matter of rising importance. Little Waldo, lighting up like a fireworks display on the fourth of July. Little Waldo in all his glory, the Insatiable Immensity.
As soon as Debbie had my trousers to my knees, he began to swell up, pressing against the crotch of my jockey shorts, leaving a wet stain there where the tip of him came in contact with the material of the shorts. I tried to cover myself.
"Oh," Debbie said, "don't be shy. He's beautiful. He must have a name."
"Little Waldo," I burped.
"Huh?"
"I said, 'Little Waldo.' "
"Perfect," Debbie said, pulling my jockey shorts down to my knees and passing them with my trousers onto Chrissy, who had gotten off my shoes and whose job it now was to pull off my shorts and trousers "Just perfect," she repeated.
Just Perfect now was wobbling back and forth between my white, hairless thighs, leaning like the Tower of Pisa, jutting out like the nose of a DC 10, prancing like an organ grinder's monkey
Little Waldo was as red as the bleeding sunset on a late September afternoon, as hot as a branding iron, pulsating like a fire engine hose and damp like sand beneath an ocean's spray.
He was out of control. He was out of my hands and into Debbie's. With chilling efficiency, she prepared me for the shearing of my youthful pubic locks.
"Cream," she said to Chrissy, her second, standing loyally beside her, holding the chosen weapons. Chrissy dropped a small whisk into her sister's hand, a face brush, with a short carved wooden handle and soft, short bristles.
Debbie repeated, "Shaving cream," and her sister wrapped Debbie's left hand around the circumference of a china bowl, out of which flowed in fluffy driblets masses of thick white cream.
Debbie giggled. "Hold still, baby," she said, as if she were talking to her dog, Muffin, rather than to a real boy, with a real cock and a real throbbing need for her.
She covered my cock and balls with shaving cream. It was still warm and wet and clinging. She spread it all over my stomach, up around my balls nearly to my asshole, along the insides of my thighs and up and down the shaft of my cock.
"Please don't shave that," I said, trembling.
"Silly," she said, "I'm not going to do it where there isn't any hair. But isn't it fun just for me to spread the stuff on you, anyway?"
Yeah, well.
"Chrissy, hand me the razor," Debbie said. She reached for the handle of the glinting silver tool and turned it over and over in the light.
"Now then, my friend," she said, "now to your purpose. Patience, enjoy it." She held out the razor edge of it and slowly, carefully, lovingly shaved me clean of all my pubic hair.
Chrissy handled the shaft of my cock, moving it up and down and from side to side as it was required and Debbie stroked away at me with her razor.
I sat on the edge of my seat, my fists clenched. Every time she came near to the base of my prick, I shouted out in fright. "Relax, baby," Debbie said, over and over.
I could not have been less relaxed if I had been told I was sitting in the middle of a missile range and Eisenhower had jettisoned the bomb.
I could not have been less relaxed if I had been a Christian Scientist with appendicitis.
"Relax," I mumbled.
"Yes, relax," Debbie said, looking up from her work and narrowly missing the kind of amputation that no artificial limb in the world could successfully ameliorate.
"Debbie," Chrissy said, not nearly as disgusted with the proceedings as she would have the two of us believe, "you really ought to be a little more careful with him."
"I'm almost done," she said. Indeed, she was. I looked down at my prick and where once there had been hair, now there was a white, foamy blotch, spread unevenly across a patch of skin, out of which jutted a sausage like appendage..
"It looks just like a grasshopper's antenna," Debbie giggling, taking a towel from her sister and wiping me clean of all the shaving cream.
She was right. There between my legs was the biggest, hottest, juiciest, naked erection I had ever had. I was inclined to cross my legs.
Debbie got there first. "Oh," she squealed. She parted her luscious lips and slid them down the length of my hardened, excited tumescence.
She moved her head closer and closer to the base of my prick and the closer her head got to my stomach, the more keenly I could feel her hot breath between my legs, against my newly denuded flesh. I was still smarting from the friction of the blade and the flesh around my cock tingled almost as persistently as my cock itself, hot with excitement.
Debbie's short cropped hair brushed up against my inner thighs and over my stomach and her smooth cheeks brushed against my bare smooth flesh.
Her tiny, eager hands closed around my balls, as she licked my cock, coating it with her wet, cloying saliva. She made slurping noises.
Chrissy stood a little to the side and watched, as she often would in the future. She never looked at my face, but kept her gaze steadfastly on my crotch.
Debbie's mouth moved up and down the length of my shaft, sucking like a vacuum. Her hands moved over and over my balls and up and down my thighs.
Debbie's lips closed tightly around the shaft of my cock, almost as if they were hermetically sealed. Her lips were smooth and they were rubbery and wet.
They were slick, like the surface of a scuba diving suit and a little bit oily and they moved easily up and down the length of my cock.
Her hands were not as smooth. They were slightly calloused and they groped all around my lower torso, around my balls and up between my thighs and up and down my inner thighs and all the way down my legs, over my knees to my calves and shins, to my ankles and back.
Her hands moved up under my shirt and moved over my stomach and up to my chest. She played with my nipples, as she moved her head up and down on my cock.
Her hair was soft and thick and it tickled my skin as she moved her head up and down the length of my hot rod. I was terribly erect and excited.
She couldn't get the whole thing in her mouth and so she cupped one hand around the base of my cock and with the other hand, she held on tightly to my balls.
She moved her hand up and down my cock, at its lower half, as she moved her mouth up and down the top half of my big, excited cock. She flicked her tongue into the slit at the head of my glans and sucked on the juices that were flowing out of it.
Her fist was clenched tightly around the base of my cock and her mouth was glued just as tightly to the upper portion of my cock.
Her tongue lay up against the underside of my cock, moving up and down it and swirling around it as she moved her mouth up and down and up and down.
My cock was hot and covered with saliva. It fit neatly in between her lips and throbbed with excitement and with pleasure.
My balls were hot and aching and they pulled tightly up between my naked thighs. I could feel them throbbing with semen, which slowly pumped its way up into the shaft of my cock.
My cock tingled and I could feel a tickling sensation just below the base of my glans, at the underside of it and I could feel a contracting sensation all up and down the length of the shaft of my cock. My balls were beginning to ache.
Debbie worked up and down and up and down my cock, rhythmically and she stroked and pumped on me and I could feel myself lurching forward and suddenly it was almost time.
Then it was inevitable. There was a tight, hopeless feeling, a squeezing, exhilarating knowledge of what was coming, a quick, flirting relaxation and then an outbreak.
The dams exploded and my stuff came gushing out, first in one long spurt and then in two shorter ones and finally in dribbles.
CHAPTER THREE
Two orgasms in as many hours and the three of us hardly acquainted. I long have wondered how it came about, but then again, we were only kids.
Lots of things are easier and quicker when you're younger, though not necessarily better. That perhaps is the mistake we make in our old age, of assuming that the past, because it has seemed more exhilarating, was of a higher quality than the present.
I can only say in response to that that my blow jobs have improved steadily throughout the years and though that first one might have seemed apocalyptic at the time, it was only because it was my first. It was also Debbie's first and no girl, no matter how preternatural disposed she is to giving blow jobs, is going to hit the nail on the head the first time.
"Do you really think you ought to swallow all of it?" Chrissy asked her. "I'm not certain that that's really healthy for you, Debbie."
"Of course it's healthy for me," she said. "If you can make babies out of it, you can probably swallow it without having to worry any."
I winced. Make babies? No one had mentioned anything about making babies. I could only imagine what my mother would say if she knew I was making babies.
"Look," I said, "I don't really want to make anyone pregnant."
"You can't get anyone pregnant by shooting off into their mouths!" Debbie giggled. "Don't worry about it at all. God, what a silly boy."
"I don't think that he's had that many playmates," Chrissy said. "I think that maybe the two of us have frightened him a little bit."
"Have we frightened you?" Debbie said. She licked the last of my semen off her lips and off my thighs and off of my cock and balls.
"Uh, well," I said.
Chrissy frowned. "You see," she said, "we have frightened him. And look what we've done to him. Just look at that. We've shaved him clean."
Then it was that the three of us seemed to notice fully for the first time just what it was that had transpired that afternoon. We all looked down at Little Waldo in astonishment.
He was naked as a jay bird. Debbie started to giggle and Chrissy clucked her tongue, but I could only begin to cry. I couldn't help myself.
"Now look," Chrissy said, "look what has happened. No we've really got him upset." She nudged her sister, but Debbie had no use for cry babies.
"What's the matter with you?" she said, her tone mock serious. "What's the matter with the little baby boy? Did we upset him?" She was laughing.
I was a little bit ashamed, Debbie laughed and I hung my head, as if in shame. Debbie continued to laugh. Chrissy said, "Don't be so impudent, Debbie."
"Oh, but he's so cute this way," Debbie said, "and now he's pouting about it. I think that Little Waldo looks so much better this way and yet Waldo himself is pouting."
"Well, now," Chrissy said, "maybe he really doesn't appreciate what we've done to him. I mean, men are very weird about their things, you know."
"I don't know why they would be," Debbie said. "I think they're fun to play with. I think his is fun to play with. I wanna play with it some more."
She tugged on it and pulled on it and inspite of every effort I made to prevent it from becoming excited, it grew as large as it could grow.
Debbie and Chrissy watched it getting bigger. They giggled and held their hands to their mouths. Even though Chrissy was the voice of reason, she still was able to laugh at me.
I couldn't do anything but watch it get big. It pointed out at the two of them. It made me feel like a bit of a freak. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do.
"Um," I said, "uh, you know-"
"Oh, look," Debbie said, "the little boy is trying to speak." She got up onto the trunk beside me and she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me.
"Don't worry about anything, baby," she said, "I think that your cock is very cute and I think that you're the cutest boy I've ever seen."
She held me very tight. My cock jumped up another couple of inches. She nuzzled my cheek with her nose and planted a kiss on my lips.
"There's more where that came from," she said, "if you're a good little boy, that is. Now you just sit right here and do what the two of us tell you."
"Debbie," Chrissy said, still staring at my cock, "I don't think that the two of us should toy with him any longer. I really think that he's probably had enough. Besides, shouldn't he be getting home, fairly soon?"
"He said that his mother wouldn't be home until late," Debbie reminded her sister. "I don't see that there's any rush, really. What is the problem?"
"Well," Chrissy said, "it's just that I thought that maybe we ought to consider his feelings in the matter, that's all. I mean, it is his cock."
"No, it's not," Debbie said. "It's not at all. It's our cock, now. It's all ours. It's our little man, belonging to the two of us."
I'm afraid that she was right. Little Waldo had betrayed me. He had sold himself into white slavery, to these two girls, to the girls who could make him feel so good.
A cock is a very dangerous thing. It will betray you whenever it gets the opportunity. Little Waldo has never hesitated to betray me, when he could.
"It's just that," I said, "he looks so funny not having any hair around him, and you know, it's not that I care, or anything like that, but when I have to go into gym class and stuff and change in front of all the other boys, well, they might laugh."
Yes, the dreaded gym class. How I hated the sound of those words and all the implications that they summoned forth for me. My mother had attempted in vain to get my special dispensation, so that I would not have to deal with gym class, because she was afraid that her little boy would break, or something silly like that, but she had failed.
It was the one time that I wholeheartedly supported her efforts in sissifying me, because I would have given anything in the world to get out of gym class.
However, her efforts had failed and so I was forced into the trauma of gym, with the weeks on end when I was the last choice among all the boys to play on anyone's teams.
But that was only the least of it. The thing about gym class was that it was a place where all the boys had a chance to stand around together and see each other naked.
I think that that was the purpose of gym class. Just so that the boys could get used to the way they looked. However, they were usually rather cruel about anyone who did not measure up.
Not that I didn't measure up. On the contrary, I over measured, but really that was the only reason that I had any respect at all among the boys, was because of Little Waldo.
The only reason that they generally left me alone and did not taunt me, as they taunted some of the other boys who were not talented out on the playing field, was because I was really hung the way that I was really hung.
However, if I walked into gym the next week with no hair at all between my legs, there was going to be hell to pay for it.
That would really do all of the boys in. They would go wild over that. They would really go out of their minds. They wouldn't know how to deal with it, at all.
So I wondered what the hell I was going to do about it. "When they see me in gym class," I said to the two girls, "they're really going to make fun of me."
"Oh, dear," Debbie said. "Oh, won't that just be too bad." She was giggling, at the thought of the way that I would be treated by all those bullies.
Chrissy, however, was far more sympathetic than her sister, as was always the case. "Now, Debbie," she said, "I don't think you're being very nice and understanding about this."
"I think that I'm being just as nice and understanding as I can be," she said. "I don't think it's fair of you to accuse me of not being understanding."
She stroked my cock. Indeed, it was difficult to disagree with her. She had a way of making anyone want to take her side.
Even if it was you to whom she was doing the damage, you would want to take her side, just because she had that way about her and it was a very appealing way.
I was very excited and I was very aroused and I was having a hard time making up my mind between my two impulses, one of which was that I was being patronized and the other of which was that I was really having the most exciting time of my life.
It really was terribly exciting and I was all hot and red between my legs, again. But there was the consideration this moment of bliss would have to end eventually.
"I don't know what I'm going to do about this," I lamented. I was not terrifically upset, but I could see that there was going to have to be a lot of explaining.
Debbie and Chrissy looked at me. "Debbie," Chrissy said, "you know that he really is right. You know that we really can't send him home looking like that."
"Well how can we send him home?" Debbie said. "Do you have any ideas? Maybe we could glue some fur to him. Cut some fur off the dog, and-"
"Debbie!" Chrissy said.
"Well, it's an idea. But," she said, thinking and then her face lit up, "I have a better idea, really. I have a really great idea, actually."
"And what is that?" Chrissy said, looking almost as if she was sorry that her sister had an idea, as if the very thought of it was nothing but trouble.
"Why don't we dress him up like a girl? I think that's a wonderful idea. Don't you think that's a wonderful idea? There's all this stuff up here. We could get out some of the old clothes packed away and turn him into a lovely girl."
"Oh, now, Debbie," Chrissy said, "I don't really think that that would solve anything at all." She gazed at me and then she amended, 'However, he would look kind of cute."
My heart sank, hearing her say that. I thought that Chrissy was my champion and that I could count on her to veto any of Debbie's most outlandish ideas. Apparently I was wrong.
Don't trust women, that's all that I can tell you. Don't ever trust them. Not a one of them is really worth the effort of trusting them.
Oh, they're wonderful and fine and dandy and everything and they can raise you up pretty high, but they can also drop you down really low and leave you flat.
They're wonderful but they're also fatal and I have only recently learned not to trust them. It hasn't put a kink in my enjoyment of them, any.
However, at the time, in the attic with these two nubile girls, I had not yet grasped the duplicity of women. I didn't know how to take care of myself.
As a consequence, they took care of me. But they did it their way. Or rather, they did it Debbie's way, which was a very special way, indeed.
"I think that there must be some stuff around here somewhere that we can use to dress him up," Debbie said, looking around the attic at all the trunks and all the cases.
The place was crowded to overflowing with all kinds of things and there was no way of knowing what was what or where anything was, but Debbie seemed to know.
She sat next to me on the trunk and pointed to this box or that, as Chrissy ran around from one box to another and checked the contents of each. Eventually, they found what they wanted.
They found a lot of things and they were quite thrilled. Even Chrissy was caught up in it now and it appeared that I no longer had any say so at all.
It appeared that there was no longer anything I could do but exactly what they wanted me to do. I was a little miffed, but Little Waldo was ruling that day.
"Oh, here," Debbie said, "I think that he would look just divine in this. Don't you think so?" The girls stood over a pile of clothing and they picked up one item after another and decided which thing would look good on me and which wouldn't.
"Oh, no," Chrissy said, "I don't think that he's the type for furs. I don't think so at all. I think maybe this, right here, something simple."
"But he's so pretty," Debbie said. "I mean, have you gotten a look at his eyelashes? He's just beautiful He's far better looking than either of us,"
Chrissy turned to look at me. "Yes," she said, "he does have very fine bones, but I think that that is just the reason that we have to be careful with him."
I sat still on the trunk and listened as the two girls discussed my feminization. I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing there, but then I had never been a one to do much of anything on my own. My mother had me well trained that way.
I was inclined to take orders front others, no matter how outlandish those orders were, no matter how detrimental to my own well being.
And so I sat there and I waited for them to decide my fate. I felt rather helpless, but it really didn't occur to me to ameliorate that situation.
I was at the mercy of females. I had been so all my life up until that point and I supposed that I would always be so. There was no reason for me to suppose that I could change the course of nature. Some men, I imagined, are made for leading and others for following and I was one of the unlucky ones made to be a follower. Or perhaps it was lucky. At the time, I couldn't be sure.
"Don't you see," Chrissy insisted, "that if we dress him up too elaborately, we will overstate the case and distort his natural qualities."
"Oh, but it's no fun to be so drab about things," Debbie said. "I really don't think that that is any fun at all. You're always so drab, Chrissy."
"I'm just being realistic," she said. "I think that if we really want to dress him so that the clothing complements his features, we ought to dress him as simply as we can.
The two girls argued for a little while and in the end they compromised. Each of them selected an article of clothing and they dressed me together.
I was dressed by consensus and perhaps that was why I ended up being dressed as foolishly as I was. The two of them combined their tastes and so I ended up a mishmash.
Debbie chose a very loud, very garish hat with a red feather boa, to place atop my head, at a slanted angle, but Chrissy prevailed and for the main event, my dress, she selected something very simple, a 1920's style dress with a low waist line and a high neck line.
Debbie bedecked my wrists and my check with bracelets and chains and she got a ring for every single one of my fingers. She even found an ankle bracelet for me.
Chrissy selected a pair of very sensible shoes, flats, black with a white pattern. I wouldn't have minded if they had put stockings on me, if you want to know the truth, but neither one of them thought of that and I was not about to go giving them the idea that I enjoyed what they were doing to me. So I kept my mouth shut.
Throughout the dressing, I was a little bit freaked out, a little bit shy and miffed and a little bit flushed and upset, but Little Waldo was just as happy as a clam.
Little Waldo enjoyed every bit of it. He enjoyed the sound of the two women fluttering around me, he enjoyed the feeling of their fingers against my skin.
He enjoyed it especially every time that one or the other of them brushed up against him, up against his head or up against his balls. He enjoyed it every time the material from the dress scraped against him, the fine silk material of the dress.
They had no underclothing for me, so the only thing that I had on was the dress and Little Waldo especially enjoyed the feeling of the dress against his head.
He was sticking out into the open like a bean stalk, making a protrusion in the middle of the dress and the dress brushed against the head of him.
Every time that I inhaled or exhaled, I could feel the material of the dress brushing against the head of Little Waldo. It was an exciting, tickling feeling.
It was also a rather aggravating feeling, because the head of Little Waldo is very sensitive and every time that the dress rubbed against him, I winced.
The girls were taunting me and they were having a very good time doing it. They were really very highly amused and I was their victim. There was no hope for me. I was at their mercy.
Not that I minded it, but of course there are limits. I didn't really know how I felt about being dressed up as a girl. I really didn't know how I felt about that, at all.
I was half amused and half upset. I really couldn't tell, one way or the other. I mean, that moment, when I was sixteen and first discovered my cock, was an important moment in my psycho sexual development and to have to be dressed up as a girl on that very day-well.
I mean I can't say that it warped me forever, but it certainly did give me a rather interesting outlook on things, one that I might not otherwise have had.
I mean there was my mother in the first place who was always treating me as if I had been a girl and not a boy and refusing to let me play with other little boys and behave as little boys behave and do all of the things that little boys like to do and now there were these two girls and they were finding me sexually appealing, but only if they could dress me up and shave my cock and balls and things like that. It gave me a rather distorted view of my sexuality, although I knew from the very first that I had an extraordinary weapon with Little Waldo
At least I knew that from the very beginning. However, that was about all that I knew and there were all these other weird things going on inside of my head.
Debbie put make up on me. She smeared lipstick across my mouth and put on eye shadow, dark, dark blue and eye brow pencil.
"I don't think that you have to put so much make up on him," Chrissy said. "It gets in the way of his natural beauty. I think that you ought to leave his face alone."
"Well," Debbie said, "I certainly am not going to touch his eyelashes, but aside from that I think that a little makeup would look kind of cute."
She patted me on the ass, as she had me stand up and turn around so that the two of them could get a look at me. "Oh," Debbie said, "isn't he lovely."
"He has to see himself," Chrissy said. "There must be a mirror up here, somewhere." She looked through the piles of junk to try and find a mirror.
She found a floor length model. She stood it up against a trunk. Debbie had me close my eyes until they could get it set up and then she said, "Okay, you can look now."
I was almost afraid to. I was afraid to because of what I knew would happen. I looked at myself and realized that I was almost too beautiful. The two of them were right, I was far more beautiful than either of them. I was far more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen. I could have been a movie star, I was that beautiful. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I was so touched that I started to cry.
CHAPTER FOUR
Debbie wanted me to go everywhere with them, dressed as a female. "You look so cute," she said. "You're the prettiest girl in the world."
Chrissy was a little disgusted. She was also terrified of men, but apparently attracted to me. Dressed as a woman, I was no threat to her.
"He does look rather harmless that way, doesn't he?" she said, "I'm not sure that he likes it, but I think I could like him this way very well."
"I have to be going home now," I said. "I really do. I don't know what I told you about my mother, but I should have said that if she suspects anything, she'll be enraged."
"Oh, now, that's nothing to worry about, is it?" Debbie said. "You just tell him that it was you and the two of us playing around in the attic. That's alright, isn't it?"
"I don't think that you know my mother," I said. I must have looked rather pathetic, standing there in the middle of the room dressed up as a woman.
I don't really think that Debbie understood. "Why wouldn't your mother think that you are as cute as you are? Huh? What could be wrong with this?"
Chrissy said, "Well, now, Debbie, maybe you don't understand that it's not exactly normal for boys to go around dressing up in women's clothing. Past a certain age, that is."
I might have said that what I was afraid of was not that my mother might object to the way that I was dressed, but that she might be pleased by it.
All of my life I had had to fight what I thought was her impulse to feminize me completely and I was a little worried about going home looking the way that I looked.
"Can you fix everything?" I said. "Can you make sure that everything looks just the way it did when I came over here?"
I was rather upset and while I didn't see that there was any way that they could restore my pubic hair, I knew that they could get me looking the same on the outside.
Both of the girls looked me over. They were a little bit concerned. Neither one of them really knew what to do. They giggled and shrugged.
"Well, we can certainly get him cleaned up and dressed properly, can't we?" Chrissy said. "I mean, I don't know about his pubic hair, but we can certainly get him cleaned up."
Debbie sighed. "Oh, but he looked so nice just the way that he is," she said. "It would be a crime, really, to do anything else to him, wouldn't it?"
They both agreed that it would be a crime, but everyone seemed to understand that I had to be returned to the way I looked when I walked into the house with them and so they got to work.
They undressed me and they cleaned all of the makeup off of my face and they took off my bracelets and they took off my rings and my necklaces and within very little time I was naked again.
I had occasion to glance in the mirror at just about that time and I have to say that, naked, I looked rather like a plucked chicken. I looked rather ridiculous.
No, it was more than that. I looked very ridiculous. I felt as if I had been returned to some gross natural state from a heightened artificial one.
I felt ugly and skinny and stupid and useless and boring and pale. I had not ever felt very good about myself, but being dressed up as a woman and getting such compliments from those two girls had done something for myself image and for the first time in a long time I was beginning to feel good about myself. Now that I was me again I felt rather silly
However, there was still the question of my pubic hair. If I looked silly without any clothes on, there was no saying how I looked without any pubic hair.
I looked like the strangest thing that I had ever seen. I saw myself in the mirror and I started to cry again. It certainly was a day for tears.
"Oh, look at him, will you?" Debbie said. "Nothing in the world will set him off crying just like a little bitty baby. Just like a little baby."
"I know," Chrissy said, "I think that we have got a real sufferer on our hands. I really think that we have. But then, you might cry too, to look at that."
We were all looking at Little Waldo again. He was a sight, the poor boy. He just looked so silly without any hair around him to protect him. He really did.
"I don't know what we can do about it," Chrissy said, "though we really ought to do something."
"Yeah, I know," Debbie said. Then she brightened. "What about Muffin?" she exclaimed. "I mean, I know that you thought that that was a stupid idea, but it's about the only thing that I can think of."
"But Muffin's hair doesn't even match," Chrissy said. "That would only draw attention to the problem, don't you think? I mean, maybe we should just leave it."
When she said this, I let out such a wail that I think I upset everyone in the room. I think that perhaps that wail could even have been heard downstairs.
"Look at him," Debbie said. "We can't let the poor baby suffer like that. We really can't let the poor little baby suffer like that, not at all."
They stood over me, like two mother hens, trying to decide what they were going to do about me. It was rather a difficult issue, actually. I would not have known what to do with me, if I had been them.
"I still think that Muffin is the only good idea," Debbie said and then she went to the stairs and she called out for the dog. "Muffin!" she called.
A huge furry sheep dog bounded up the stairs, the hughest and furriest that I had ever seen. The dog was wagging its tail happily and it wanted very much to be friends with everyone.
It walked right over to me and tackled me, throwing me to the floor and licking me all over. It licked my face and my chest and my stomach and my legs and it licked my balls.
Poor Little Waldo, desired by everyone. As the dog licked him, he started to get erect and once again he was hard as a rock. There was no keeping him down.
There really wasn't any way to keep him down. There was just nothing that I could do about it. He just kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger.
We all watched with awe as he grew to his largest extension. Chrissy said, "How can you deal with a thing like that. It's just out of control."
Debbie said, "I don't think that there's anything at all embarrassing about having a thing like that. I wouldn't mind having one of my own. Come on, Muffin!"
She got down on her hands and knees with the dog and the two of them started to lick I could feel their wet slimy tongues all over my legs and all over my balls.
It was terribly exciting. I think I was more turned on than I have ever been.
Their little tongues were lapping and licking and sucking like you would not imagine. They went at me as enthusiastically as they could. Chrissy watched.
"I don't understand what it is that is going on there," she said, "I just really don't. I really don't understand at all what is going on there."
She was the only one in the room, aside from myself, who had not yet had her hands on Little Waldo and I was beginning to wonder why that was.
I mean, she was the only one in the room who didn't seem interested in giving me a blow job and that seemed just a little strange, when I thought about it.
However, I wasn't thinking too much about it, just at the moment. What I was thinking about was that there was this dog and there was this woman and they were licking my cock.
The dog was licking my balls. The dog got down under me and really starting licking my balls. She had me pinned to the floor, licking away at my balls.
Her tongue was very long and pink and wet. It was much longer than Debbie's tongue. When Muffin really set to licking me, she could get her tongue into places where no man had ever been before. She licked at my balls and then towards my asshole.
"I think that she wants to lick the other side," Debbie said, "why don't you kneel so that the two of us can get to you at the same time."
I could hardly imagine that this was happening, two girls and a dog, but Little Waldo was insistent that I should carry out Debbie's wishes and so I got up on my knees.
Debbie arranged it so that Muffin could get at my ass at the same time as she herself could get at my cock and the two of them went to work on me.
I could hardly imagine a dog that wanted to lick out a person's asshole, but then I had never had a dog and I could suppose that dogs liked to do that kind of tiling.
If that was what dogs liked to do, then that was what dogs liked to do and that was all there was to it. I mean, not that I minded. The dog was rather good at what she was doing.
Her long tongue didn't have any burrowing capabilities but she could slide it over and over and over my asshole, from the base of the crack in my ass to the top of it.
She could leave wet strings of saliva over my asshole. She could lick and her cold tongue could really make my little asshole quiver.
As Muffin really did a job on my asshole, Debbie really did a job on my cock. She slid her lips down over it and sucked on it. She really sucked on it.
She held it straight out in front of me and she licked the underside of it. She moved her tongue slowly up the underside of my cock, from its base just at my balls, to its tip.
The tip of my cock was purple with excitement. It was hard and hot and mushroom capped and there were juices bubbling out of its tip. It was terribly hot and excited.
Her tongue was very sloppy and it was very wet. Debbie moved it up and down and up and down the underside of my cock, from the base of it to its tip.
Then she did a very interesting thing. I was surprised when she did it. I could hardly believe that it was happening. Even Chrissy was surprised.
She reached back and pulled off her sweater. She crossed her arms over her torso and grabbed with each hand a corner of her sweater and then she pulled it off over her head.
It lifted off swiftly and with finality. She raised her hands all the way over her head and her breasts bounced out into the open air.
Her breasts swang back and forth, very softly. They were creamy and smooth and their nipples were flat and round and only slightly pointed.
However, her nipples were clearly erect, though, never having, up to that time, seen erected nipples, I would not have known the difference between erected ones and unerected ones.
I am certain, however, that they were erect. I thought that they were lovely. I wanted to reach out and caress them. They were very large and very soft and very pretty.
Yes, they were pretty. They were lovely breasts, really the loveliest I have ever seen. They swang back and forth, until they came to a rest.
She took them in her hands and she carefully wrapped them around my cock. Little Waldo was blanketed in Debbie's breasts. I was astounded.
It was a good, exciting feeling, to have the breasts wrapped around my cock. Her breasts were very warm and it made me feel very secure to have them wrapped around me.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of her breasts. My cock was hard and aching, but having her breasts around it, it softened, a little.
It was almost more an emotional feeling than a sexual one. Everything inside of me seemed to melt and I felt as if she were my mother, feeling my cock at her breasts.
She certainly had breasts which were ample enough to bear a great deal of mild. They were very large and dropping, though not sagging by any means.
They were just very blubbery and big and soft and the feel of them was something short of indescribable They were smooth and warm and nice.
They really were very nice and there was the first moment where she just wrapped them around my cock and that was a very nice moment.
I lost sexual desire for just a second and thought about the feeling of being protected like that, just the feeling of having her breasts around my cock.
Then suddenly I felt a surge of excitement flowing through my cock and I was hot to go again and really interested in fucking.
That has always happened to me, always in the past and probably always will in the future, just when I start to get feeling warm about someone, the sexual excitement enters in and I want to fuck, though there are many times when I would simply rather not fuck.
Many many times I would simply rather not fuck, but every time my body wants to and there isn't a thing in the world that I can do about it.
Once Little Waldo starts to raise his voice, there just isn't any silencing him, until he gets the pay off. And now he wanted the pay off.
Not that Debbie didn't want it, too. She certainly did. She was the one who tempted me. She was the one who took advantage of my rampant sexuality.
She was the one who twisted things around, so that there was nothing that I could do but submit to her passionate advances. And so I did.
Now that she had her breasts wrapped around my cock, she did everything that she could to bring me to an orgasm. She held her breasts tightly together over my cock and she rubbed them up and down its length, enfolding it in her grasp.
Her breasts were tight around my cock, but not in a gripping kind of way. They were so soft and so warm, that it was like having plastic water balloons filled with warm jelly wrapped around my cock. Except it was better than that, because it wasn't plastic, it was flesh and there is nothing smoother or warmer or nicer than the texture of real human flesh.
Something inside of me quickened and I was really suddenly very excited. My balls pulled up hard between my thighs and I was terribly excited.
I could still feel Muffin's tongue at my asshole and I was not at all embarrassed at the feelings that I was having. I was suddenly terribly uninhibited.
Suddenly, I was moaning and I was almost drooling. I was hot and bothered.
I clenched my fists and I could feel the muscles in my thighs tightening. I was having an orgasm that came from my asshole as well as from my cock.
My asshole was loose and it was contracting and I could feel that the contractions in my asshole were very similar to those in my cock, as if they were connected.
I concentrated on the feelings that were going on inside of me.
I concentrated as hard as I could. I was terribly excited. I grimaced and winced. There was nothing that I wanted more than to come.
It would happen, but it was not going to happen right away. I waited and J could feel the tension building in my balls and I could feel the tension building in my cock.
All the way from the base of my cock to its tip, I could feel this amazing tension, as if my cock was going to come right off my groin.
I had this tingling and hard feeling, as if the stem of my cock was going to break in half and the blood was going to pop out of the veins.
At the same time, I had this feeling that some kind of fluid was going to erupt inside of my asshole, not an ugly fluid, but a slick, exciting one.
I had this feeling that my asshole had been connected up to my cock and that the whole of my lower torso was all connected, all together.
I had the feeling that my whole trunk was all wet and excited and hot and throbbing and ready to explode and rain out in spasms of hot liquid.
The more that Debbie moved her breasts up and down and up and down the length of my cock, the more that I had the feeling.
And the more that I had the feeling, the more that Muffin licked and slobbered and slopped her tongue at my asshole. I was really overcome with excitement.
Chrissy stood and watched, as she had always done so far, but I could tell that she was unaware of herself, that she was just concentrating on what was happening to me.
And I could tell that she was very much aroused. She really was. She was terribly aroused, as I was aroused and Debbie was aroused and even Muffin was aroused.
Everyone seemed to be aroused, there was no question about that.
My cock was pulsating with excitement and I knew that I was going to come. I tipped my head back and let my hips jut forward and I shot semen out of the head of my cock.
The semen squirted out into the room and over Debbie's face. It was all over Debbie's face in little droplets and she licked it all off of herself.
She called Muffin around and the two of them licked the stuff off of her face.
CHAPTER FIVE
I was in a confused state when finally the two girls released me and let me go on my way, down the stairs and out the front door.
They were good enough to walk me to the door. I would have asked them to accompany me all the way home, but I didn't. Also, it was getting quite a bit later than I had thought and there was a possibility that my mother would be home. I did not want to have to saunter into the house with two strange girls and explain them to my mother, as well as the broken window.
As we reached the door, the two of them hugged me. We were friends. "Don't you worry, now," Debbie said, "you look much better this way."
She patted my crotch and I thought about the white hair that was glued to my groin. I winced. I didn't think I looked better, at all.
Chrissy, realizing that her sister's words were probably not quite as reassuring as they ought to have been, so she took me aside, squeezed my arm and said, "Everything grows back, eventually. Remember that. It may take some time, but everything does grow back."
And so with the two of them hugging me and patting me and saying good bye, I walked down the steps of their porch and made my way across their lawn.
For some reason I had the feeling that I was playing a scene in a Joan Crawford movie, very melodramatically making my way into the horizon, or walking dead ahead into the ocean, with the violin music surging on the sound track.
I always have had a knack of melodrama, which is a talent I think I learned from my mother, who never fails to come out with the histrionics, when she feels a little bored, or just in the mood for a change of pace.
Always I think of Joan Crawford movies and I think that that comes from my mother as well, because she has so many things in common with Joan.
I mean, the Joan Crawford of her Warner Brothers period, not the MGM star, the hussy, the Sadie Thompson Joan Crawford. No, I mean the martyr. I mean Mildred Pierce. I mean the Joan Crawford of "Possessed," the victim, the hard working good hearted mid thirties, early forties matron who sacrifices all for her man or for her child and must face the fact that she is being used by those she loves.
My mother is forever in the midst of just such cathartic revelations, plot twists and climaxes and heart wrenching recognition scenes.
She is the King Lear of the fast food set, forever declaring that her son doesn't really love her, doesn't care about her, takes all that she slaves to give him without so much as a thank you, is greedy, is, in short, an ingrate.
Growing up with Joan Crawford can be a laugh on certain Sunday afternoons, but it can also be an unending trauma, with every moment wired to the highest emotional level.
My mother is relentless. Now that I understand her a little more clearly, I am able to put her in perspective, but at the time that I was growing up, she wielded an enormous influence over me. I grew up believing that the very next step I took was going to bring some sort of catastrophe raining down on all of us.
I grew up convinced that I was a wretched little bastard and that, try as I may to do right, there was no way that I could do anything but the most egregious kind of wrong.
I was a failure, as a son, as a student, as a human being, as a growing boy. Everything that I did grated on her nerves, when she wanted to be nervous.
By the same token, when she wanted to display me, she could be the most loving, proud, affectionate mother yet to walk the face of the earth.
She would show me off in front of all her friends, have me perform my latest trick, exclaim that she didn't know where I could have gotten all my talent.
"Though it certainly wasn't from his father," she would emphasize and this was the only time at which she would begin even to think of him, as far as I knew.
"No," she said, "wherever he got it, bless the Lord, it certainly wasn't from that man." I grew up thinking my father's name was That Man.
I would look under M in the phone book to try and find his name and while there were plenty of Manns, an occasional Main, and even once, a Mans, not one of them had a first name beginning with T. That Man. I never even saw a picture of him.
My mother was an alarming person with whom to have grown up. She was strident and powerful and given to severe shifts in mood. I didn't understand her.
That was the way that she wanted it. As a consequence, I lived in fear of her, and despite some of the transgressions from good behavior of which she accused me, never was there a better behaved young man than myself. I had the nicest manners of any boy in the mid west.
I was a charmer. But of course I didn't realize it until it was too late for it to have made any real difference. I didn't realize it until just last week, if you want to know the truth. The rest of the time, I had what you might call, or what a psychologist might describe as a terminally low self image.
I didn't think that I was capable of doing anything but harm to everyone with whom I came in contact and Mildred Pierce-for that is how I like to remember my mother saw to it that I came in contact with very few people. Most of the time, it was just Mildred and me, just the two of us. I got a little bit stifling, after awhile.
Thus it was with a great deal of trepidation that I made my way home, fearing almost for my life. I could think of no reasonable explanation for the broken window.
Oh, there were many explanations that I could have offered, but not one of them managed to leave me out of the picture entirely.
In every version that I rehearsed, I was clearly implicated in the smashing of the window, as good as if I had done the act myself, having premeditated it.
My mother would not accept any excuse, I knew that. She would hold me responsible, because I was the one at home when the accident occurred.
"You're responsible for the house," she would say to me, when she left for work in the morning and she meant a great deal more than just that I was not supposed to let criminals in the front door. She meant that anything that happened was my fault.
I knew that it would only make matters worse to suggest to her that the deed had been done by two young girls who were living across the street.
"What, did you invite them in for an orgy?" she would say, "and then proceed to ruin the entire house?" No, it was better that I should leave Chrissy and Debbie out of it, entirely. Better that I should face the blame, alone.
Still, there was the chance that she would not be at home. Peering in the garage on my way into the house, I found, to my astonishment, that indeed someone was at home, but not my mother.
At least, the car that was in the garage was clearly not hers. My mother drove a modest little Austin and the car that was in the garage was a luxurious Buick.
I had never seen a car quite as big and black as that Buick. Suddenly, I panicked. I was not supposed to leave the house at all while she was at work.
I was to sit and wait for her, to answer the phone, things like that. I was not to stray even as far as the mailbox, when she was not at home.
And so of course my first reaction to the sight of this strange car in the garage was that of course it must be the man who is always supposed to come and wreak havoc.
The man. "What if some man should walk in here while you were out," she said to me once, "and ransack the place? What if that should happen? Huh?"
I never knew what. I never knew at all, except that I lived in fear of the arrival of a huge man in leather carrying a crow bar and a sawed off shotgun, who would force his way into the house because I had had the audacity to walk out back to the garden.
In the time that I was gone, smelling tulips, he would remove everything that wasn't nailed down and destroy the life my mother had worked so hard to create for us.
Naturally, seeing this car in the garage, I was filled with every kind of horror. That a criminal probably would not be driving such a spiffy Buick and certainly would not be driving it into the garage, if he was pulling off a heist, did not occur to me.
All I could think was that something awful was going on inside of the house and that it was entirely my fault. I couldn't imagine what to do.
Of course my mother never really feared the arrival of such a man and so she had never given me explicit instructions as to what to do in case he did show up.
She had only been using that possibility as a threat, to keep me in my place. She never imagined that anyone would want to break into her house.
However, I was not aware of this at the time and I was convinced that there was some awful sort of man at that very moment tearing the house apart from stem to stern.
There had to be something that I could think of to do. I had to be able to think of something to do. I wracked my brains. There was very little time left.
In a few more minutes, perhaps in a few more seconds, my mother would certainly be on her way home and there was very little time to think.
The only thing that I could figure out to do was to go on in the house and find the culprit and try to persuade him to leave the house.
I thought that I could offer myself up as a sacrifice, thinking that it would be far worse to suffer my mother's wrath, than to suffer the wrath of the villain.
I screwed up my courage and I approached the house. Maybe, I thought, if I begged and pleaded, I could appeal to this man's sympathy.
Maybe he only wanted someone to talk to. In any case, I supposed that I might as well try and plead with him, just to get him out of there.
There was very little time left to me. I was in shock and acting strictly on nerve, of which I had very little, but apparently enough to carry out my mission.
I walked to the front door, opened it very carefully and listened. There definitely was someone in the house and I could tell that the noise of him was coming from upstairs.
However, the noise was rather strange. It didn't sound like the noise a robber would make. It didn't sound like that kind of noise, at all.
I couldn't exactly place just what it was that the noise sounded like, but it was rhythmic and persistent and there were lots of pauses in between each outburst of noise.
I couldn't imagine what it was. It sounded almost as if someone was having some kind of fit in the upstairs of the house.
It sounded like a couple of people were having a wrestling match. Yes, it definitely sounded like a couple of people, not just one person.
Two people! That made a considerable amount of difference. Just one person would have been a blood curdling thought, but two of them?
Moreover, as I walked through the downstairs of the house to see if anything was amiss, I noticed that the only thing that had been broken into was the liquor cabinet.
This was becoming more and more bizarre. Why would someone want to break into the house to mix themselves drinks and then go upstairs and wrestle?
I really couldn't make any sense of this at all and I was not sure that I wanted to, but it seemed as if I had to get to the bottom of things, rather quickly.
I followed the noises, to the stairs and up towards the bedrooms. Then I realized something that made me freeze. I realized that one of the voices was familiar.
I realized that one of the voices belonged to my mother. One of the voices making all of those noises belonged to Mildred Pierce, herself.
Well, now I had done it for good. Clearly, I had left the house long enough for my mother to have gotten home-but where was her car?-and then be attacked by some mad rapist
He forced her to mix him a drink and then he took her upstairs and now he was doing who knew what to her. I was mortified.
A dutiful son like me, responsible for the rape of his own mother! It was true what she said to me, I really was a completely worthless individual.
Yes, apparently every word was true and I was half tempted to run out of the house and to a neighbors, phone the police and turn myself in. I was less interested in the danger to my mother than I was in the danger to myself and the only thing that I could think to do was to turn myself in.
I mean, I felt almost as if I were the one upstairs raping and brutalizing my own mother and that I was the one who had to be put in jail.
I was on, the verge of hot footing it out of the place, when I heard something else that made me stop dead in my tracks. I was nearly to the second floor landing when I realized from the sounds my mother was making-that she was enjoying what was being done to her! More than that, apparently she was encouraging it. She was saying, "Come on, baby, come on, baby, come on. Come on come on come on. Come on. baby."
She said that over and over and over again and I could only assume that she wanted to have have happen to her whatever evil deeds it was that were happening to her.
That was a rather shocking realization, but it didn't stop me from going to have a look. Now I was aware that there was something very weird going on and it didn't stop me from going to see just what this very weird thing was.
Looking back, I must say that it was not such a very weird thing, after all. It was rather a normal thing to have happened. However, I was an excitable boy.
I really didn't have any frame of reference to draw upon and be able to deal with what was happening between my mother and this stranger in the my mother's bedroom.
Any normal boy might have been able to understand, but I realize now that I was not a normal boy and that not even my recent experience with the girls across the street had prepared me for what I saw in my mother's bedroom, that afternoon.
My mother was there, but I might hardly have recognized her. The woman who was my mother was doing something quite unusual with a very large man.
She was on her hands and knees in the middle of the white shag rug.
It ordinarily covered the area of floor right underneath her bed. But now it was in front of her big, king-sized bed.
She was not looking for a lost contact. She was crouching there and I could hardly see her, because the view was blocked by the ass and frame of a very large naked man.
From where I stood in the doorway, I could see a very large naked ass, belonging to a very large naked man and that ass was bobbing up and down and up and down, in and out of my mother, whose cunt was pointed up into the air as if she were a bitch in heat.
Well, I'm certain that she was a bitch, anyway and she clearly was in heat. And she clearly was giving it to that guy as much as she could.
She was making a lot of noise. If I didn't know better, I might have thought that she was in some kind of pain. She was drooling and yelling.
I never have heard anyone yell quite so much. "Come on, baby," she said, "Baby, come on." She repeated those words in various combinations, over and over and over.
And her baby was really coming on. I could see his balls flapping up in the space between his legs as he drew back and plunged into her.
In and out and in and out of her he plunged, over and over again. The muscles in his back were tense and the muscles in his legs must have been in knots.
He was sweating just slightly. He reached forward to fondle her breasts, which were fleshy and big and the nipples of them were rock hard.
He played with her nipples and moved his big hips back and forth, to push his hot and throbbing cock in and out of her. He grunted.
He was making low noises in his throat and she was yelling out, like a wild banshee. All of her composure was shattered, to the core.
She was not the well coifed and dressed mother that I knew. This was a side of Mildred Pierce that I was not aware existed. This was someone new.
She had tipped her head all the way back and her hair was loose. Normally, her hair was neatly tied in a little bun at the base of her neck.
Now it was loose and flying around her back and around her face. It was a rich auburn color and it was loose and hung all the way down her back.
She tossed her head around and her hair flew everywhere. I could see that strands of it were tangled up in her mouth and that ends of her hair were wet.
I could see that she was throwing her head all around, swirling it around on her neck, as she braced herself for each of the man's successive thrusts.
Her body moved forward with his as he thrust into her. She was really moving her body and she was really working to move with him.
She threw her hips back into him as he drew away from her and she moved forward as he thrust into her, so that the two of them were really moving together.
They were really moving together and they were panting and their bodies were swaying to and fro, as he grabbed onto her breasts and squeezed them.
He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed her breasts. He had her nipples in his fingers and he was twisting them between his thumbs and forefingers.
He twisted them around and around and around and they were very hard and they were very hot and she winced every time that he touched her.
His ass moved up and down and up and down on top of her. He was terribly excited and his mouth was open. He was breathing through his open mouth and shoving himself into her.
She was taking it. She was taking it as much as she could and she was enjoying every minute of it. She was shouting out and her cunt was wet and sloppy.
I think that she would have had it go on for a very long time if she could have. Clearly, she was very excited and I could smell her.
I could smell the heat coming off of her. I could smell her hot juices and her engorged clit and her thick swollen cunt lips and the smell even of her asshole.
The room was thick with such smells and the two of them were really giving each other a work out. They were really giving each other a going over.
She was shouting. "Oh, that's right, bab. That's right. Yes. baby, that's really right. Oh, baby. Yes. Over and over and over again."
He just grunted. He was making a sound that sounded like, "Huh huh huh huh huh huh huh huh huh huh." That was the sound that he made over and over again.
She took him in. I think that he had a thick long cock and that he was going rather deeply into her. He really was putting it into her.
She made a lot of noises that I have not at all associated in my mind with a vision of my mother. She was making noises that I would not have thought of as motherly.
She was grunting like a pig. The juices were running hot and heavy down her inner thighs and she was really grunting like a pig,
She was really behaving like one, too. She was unashamed, apparently, to do anything that she could do to enjoy herself.
She was making the most of the situation. She was really having herself a very high old time. Her ass kept bobbing back and back and back at him.
She moved her ass back and back and back. She really wanted him. She was holding onto the rug as hard as she could and she was talking through her open mouth.
She wasn't even aware of what it was that she was saying. All she was doing was saying things over and over, like, "Baby baby baby baby baby baby baby."
That was what she was doing and what he was doing was saying, "Huh huh huh huh huh huh," as the sweat ran down his hairy inner thighs.
They were going at each other and really fucking like a couple of banshees. They were really having at one another and I was a little frightened. At first I thought that he was like some kind of mad dog who had commandeered my mother's ass.
I thought that he was like a wild German Shepherd and that he had taken over my mother and had mounted her and was fucking her dry.
But then I began to see her as an animal as well. Then I began to see her as one of the animals and I could tell that she was getting off on it too She was a Doberman, a big mean dog and she really looked disgusting. I don't at all think that it really was her style.
It wasn't like her at all. It really wasn't. I just didn't think that she was the sort of person who would be on the floor doing that kind of thing.
It was out of character and I was perplexed. As I watched the two of them and he was lurching forward into her and heard that he was grunting very loudly, I realized that he was corning. That was what he was doing. He was coming. He was clearly coming and she was coining, too and the two of them were coming together.
I who had only just learned the principle of coming that afternoon, was a little bit shocked to learn that my mother could do it as well. It was a shocking thing to learn.
It really was a rather shocking thing to learn and I watched the two of them coming and I could see that they were really enjoying it. I could tell.
They were making a lot of noises and they were roiling around on the floor together. They were really rolling around and they were having a very good time.
The man plunged all the way forward into my mother and she cried out. She really didn't say anything intelligible, but she was definitely expressing something.
He was in her and he shot off his wad quickly and she fell forward and took a little longer to come all the way to her climax.
I guess that she was having multiple orgasms. I guess that she was really having it off pretty well, because she was yelling and shouting.
She was lying in the middle of the rug and she was bouncing her ass up and down. Up and down and up and down her ass bounced and I could see her wet and hot and excited cunt lips hitting the shag carpet and I could see the string of semen and other things dripping from them and I could see the semen still clinging to the head of his cock.
He lay there next to her and he was still groping for her breasts and fondling them. He was still reaching for her nipples and playing with them.
He was really having a good time playing with her breasts and his cock was still hard and he was still excited. He had quite a large cock, although it was not nearly so large as mine.
It was large and more mature looking, but it had nothing on mine in length and it had nothing on mine even in thickness. It was nothing like mine.
The one thing that he did have over me was that he had all of his pubic hair and it clearly was not the hair off of some dog that had been glued to him.
But he had a big cock and it was still hard and it was red and her cunt was still dripping. She had her fingers down in there and she was playing with herself.
She was sticking her fingers inside of herself, so that she could bring herself to her climax. She was pulling her cunt lips apart and she was playing with her clit.
She had a very large clit. It was engorged and slippery and it was all hot and excited and she played with her clit with one hand as she slid one of the fingers from her other hand all the way up into her hole.
She was bounding around on the rug, playing with herself and he was trying to get ahold of her and he was really going after her.
He was grabbing for her tits and really getting very excited.
His cock just would not get soft. He reached over and he bit her inner thigh. He was still spurting just a little bit. He was that hot and excited that he was still spurting a little bit, all over the floor. He was spurting and she was playing with herself and he was groping for her and he started to nibble at her inner thighs and she reached up and slapped him.
Her fingers were all wet and slippy with the juices that she had smeared them with from between her legs and when she slapped him, the juices spread all over his face.
All over his face the juices spread, in marks where her fingers had hit him. He had the stuff on his cheek and he rubbed a little off on his hand and tasted it.
He made a smile and he grabbed her hand and he put the fingers of it in his mouth, he said, "Mmmmmm," and she smiled and giggled.
"Mmmmm," he said, "I want the rest of that." He dipped his head down between her legs and he stuck out his tongue and he started to lick along her inner thighs.
He was licking up his own semen and he was licking up her juices and he was licking up the juices that the two of them had made together. He was licking happily.
He licked and licked and licked and he licked her dry and her thighs were dry and they were clean and he moved his tongue from her thighs to her cunt.
Her cunt was all hot and it was wet and it was dripping with all kinds of liquids and the lips of it were parted and there was a beard of hair over it.
This was the first time that I realized that my mother probably did something to the hair on her head, because the hair that was down between her legs was nothing at all like the hair that was on the top of her head. The hair that was on the top of her head was a kind of reddish color and the hair that was down between her legs was dirty brown.
Her hair down there was a mousey brown color, nothing at all like the hair on top of her head. She was a mousey blonde, after all.
He stuck out his long tongue and he lapped slowly at her, taking in her lips very slowly and very carefully, tasting her and not letting anything get in the way of his pleasure.
She watched him and she gently stroked his head as he did it and murmured softly to herself. She was very gentle with him and very sweet.
She was stroking his head, as he moved his head up and down and up and down on top of her cunt and really got every last little bit of her.
He lapped and licked and sucked and bibbled and she stroked his head and told him that he was a very good boy. "What a good boy," she said.
Her face was strained and she was gritting her teeth and giggling and sighing and she was clearly going through the very last of her orgasm.
She was calm now and relaxed in a way that she had not been before and I could feel that she was through with her orgasm and that he had licked her dry.
The next thing that happened was that she looked over at his -cock and she saw that there was still wet semen clinging to it and she moved to it.
It was still hard and it was still warm and she took it in her hands and she looked at it. She held it, admiring it.
He watched her admire his cock and he was excited. It got a little bit harder in her hands and I could tell that he wanted her to do something with it.
Whatever it was that she wanted to do, he wanted her to do with his cock and I could tell that from the look on his face. He stared at his cock intently.
She stroked it and she admired it and then she licked her lips. Clearly she was going to take it in her mouth, because she looked as if she were thinking about the way that it would taste.
I guess that she decided that it would taste very good indeed, because the next thing that she did was to part her lips and get her mouth ready.
She was all ready to go down on him and he knew it and she knew it. His cock was still wet and it was still hard and it was still ready.
She opened her mouth very wide and she took a deep breath and then she went down on him. She slid her lips over the head of his cock.
Her lips were slippery and they were red from her lipstick and she left a little red ring around the bottom of the glans of his cock.
The glans of his cock was purple and now new juices were bubbling out of the tip.
It was very hot and he was very excited and now all of these new juices were bubbling out of the tip of his cock and I could tell that he wanted it again.
He really wanted it again and he was very excited and that was clear to me.
I could tell that he was very excited because of the way that he sucked his stomach in and clenched his fists as she held his balls in her hands and sucked on his cock.
Her mouth moved all the way down the length of his cock, from the tip all the way to the base of it and she smeared the whole thing with saliva.
She got the whole thing coated with saliva and he was very excited. He was hot and he was panting again and I could tell that he wanted it again.
She was still dry between her legs, but it was clear to me that he wanted it again. "Oh, baby," he said, patting her head, "oh, do it to me again, baby."
And she did it to him again. Her auburn hair fell all over his stomach and over his balls and his hair down there was black and his cock was hot and red.
His balls were pulled up very tightly between his legs and her lipstick was red, like a scar in the middle of her face and she went down on him.
He stroked her head as she moved her mouth up and down the length of his hot and throbbing cock. He stroked her head and complimented her.
"Oh, yes," he said, "you are the best baby in the whole world. You are the best baby in the whole wide world. You really are the very best,"
She sucked his cock and I could see her head moving up and down and up and down on his cock, popping up and down between his parted legs.
His thighs were covered with black hair and they were all wet and they were thick with sweat and with semen and between them her head moved up and down.
He held in his stomach muscles and it was clear that he was really enjoying what she was doing to him. He was all tense and excited.
He was hot and he was excited and he was breathing very hard and his voice got more and more strained the longer and longer she moved up and down on him.
She was really giving it to him with everything that she had. She was really moving herself up and down and up and down on his cock and it was exciting to watch.
I was really getting hard between my own legs. I really was. I was getting terribly hard between my own legs and I pulled out Little Waldo and started to stroke him. I didn't really even realize that I was doing it. It was the natural reaction to have.
I think that it was the natural reaction to have. I just sat there and I stroked Little Waldo and he was getting very hot and very red and very big.
He was getting very, very excited. I really stroked him, as I watched my mother move her head up and clown on this strange man's cock and that was exciting.
I could feel my balls pulling up tightly between my legs.
I could feel the semen pumping its way up into the long thick shaft of my cock. I was really getting very hot and excited and I almost realized too late what was happening to me.
I realized in time, but I might not have. He came just before I did. That was lucky, I guess. He came. He was spurting into her mouth and I could tell because of the way that she was swallowing and because of the noises that he was making and because of the way that he was grunting and the way that all of his stomach muscles looked.
That was when I realized that I was going to come, too. I ran as quickly and as quietly as I could into my bedroom and I let the stuff fly into my hand.
All in all, it had been a very interesting day. I had gotten blown, I had come simultaneously, I had had my pubic hair shaved and dog's hair glued in its place, I had seem my mother with some man and I had had an orgasm watching her bring him to orgasm, with his mouth. In effect, she had blown us both. I had never thought that my relationship with my mother would reach that point.
CHAPTER SIX
We went to the movies. Chrissy and Debbie and I went to the movies. We went, not as two girls and their friend, not as two girls and their brother, not as two girls and one of their boyfriends. We went as three girls, having a night out on the town.
They wanted it to be that way. They, or rather, Debbie, were interested in having me go somewhere with them as a girl and I thought that that was okay.
I thought that that was okay, because I wanted to do it. Not that I was that interested in being a girl, but where my head was at that time, I know not.
I didn't know where my head was at all at that point in time and I really was a little bit confused about what was going on and I really wanted just to go out with these two girls.
My mother had taken up with this truck driver, or whoever he was and she no longer really cared to have me around the house. She made it fairly clear to me that she was not interested in letting him onto the fact that she had a child, a son.
She wanted to keep the two of us separate from one another and in making her priorities, she clearly had him at the top of the list and me at the bottom.
And so she no longer at all cared what I was up to and for the first time in my life I was free and that was a very strange feeling, indeed and not nearly as good as I thought that it would be.
I had thought that the feeling of being free would be a much nicer feeling, but that was not the case at all. I was a little bit terrified and rather put out.
I think I would have loved it if she had even gotten stricter with me. I think that that was the way that I was at the time. I was afraid to be on my own.
So naturally my only recourse was to go immediately across the street and tell the girls all of my troubles. I had to tell someone.
It was lucky that they were there, because I had no one else to turn to. I told them all about what the problem was and they were very sympathetic.
They were as sympathetic as they might have been. They were really very sympathetic and that was very "ice, even though they still wanted me to dress in women's clothing.
I could deal with that, because I guess I needed a surrogate mother and it was just easier for the two of them to deal with me when I was like that.
We could do all kinds of things in public places when we were like three girls and I am sure that Chrissy was much more comfortable with me as a girl.
I am sure that she was. I think she never really adjusted to me being a man and Debbie didn't really care one way or the other.
She was happy that I could be a girl because then she could hang all over me without looking like a slut, or anything. She liked hanging over me.
We all went to the movies together. They were very good about me, because they could understand that I had gone through a lot of pain with my mother.
Because of their family, I think that they were oriented towards being pals and I think that they were just far more comfortable with me as a girl than as a man.
All of the other people in their family, other than their father, whom I never saw, were women and I guess that they were just more comfortable with women.
It didn't really bother me. I would dress up and I would go out with them and after awhile the three of us got used to it and that was fine.
It was just a natural thing to do. I really preferred it, actually, because then I would never have to face the risk of running into any of the bullies who had tormented me at school.
They didn't recognize me and I never had to run into them and that was fine. I never did want to run into them and when I did, I could be rude to them.
There were lots of advantages to being a woman, as opposed to being a man and I enjoyed all of them. Women can really get away with a lot more than a man can.
Women get deferred to by men who don't know any better than to patronize them and because I was a woman, I didn't really have to worry about being condescended to.
If I had been a woman, I think I might have objected once or twice to the way that I was treated, but since I was not a woman it really didn't matter at all.
It really didn't matter to me and I was a little bit tickled by the way that I was treated. I kind of got a kick out of it, really.
And so that was fine and so we all were happy and so everything was groovy. However, there was one last advantage to being dressed as a woman that I have not mentioned.
That advantage is that, though you look like a woman, you are still a man. Yes, there is that advantage. And that is a very important advantage, indeed.
Just to cite an example, there was the time that we all went out to the movies. We all went out to see James Dean in "Rebel Without a Cause."
Chrissy and Debbie were just wild about James Dean. They thought that he was just the neatest and the cinchiest and the most wonderful actor around.
They thought that he was really cool and that he was really groovy. They were really sold on him and they really liked him a lot. Debbie even told me that I looked like him.
They were making me up that evening to go out with them and Debbie said, "You know, I think that you and Jimmy Dean have the same cheekbones."
I flushed. I knew how she felt about him and I knew that this was a compliment. Chrissy walked around me and she said, "No, I think it's the eyelashes."
Debbie turned my face towards her to examine it more closely. "Well," she conceded, "the eyelashes do make a difference, but I think the cheekbones, too.'
"I think that Waldo is much better looking than James Dean, in any case," Chrissy said. "I think that James Dean is a little bit aggressive."
"You're calling me a wimp, aren't you?" I said to Chrissy. "You're saying that you think that I'm really nothing but a wimp, I can tell."
"No, I'm not saying that at all," Chrissy insisted. "What I'm saying is that I think that James Dean is just a little bit arrogant."
"Well, now," Debbie said, "I think that that's the point, don't you? I mean, I think that he's supposed to come off as arrogant."
"Yeah, but I don't think that I like arrogant men," Chrissy said. "I really don't think that I like them all that much, really."
"Well, then," Debbie advised, "you don't like James Dean. Because the point of who he is is to be arrogant and aggressive, but a little boy at the same time."
"It's the little boy in him that appeals to me," Chrissy said. "I don't like the arrogance in him at all. I much prefer him as a little boy."
"Oh," I said, "and that's why you like me, isn't it. You like me because you think that I'm just a little boy. That's the reason, isn't it?"
"Now, I didn't say that at all," Chrissy said. "I said that I preferred you to James Dean. And after all, what's wrong with being a little boy?"
"It's only wrong when you feel like maybe it's getting to be time that you stop being a little boy," I said. "That time comes, you know."
"Oh, now, Chrissy," Debbie said, "I don't see how you can say that about Waldo. He's not little. He's very large." She patted my crotch,
Little Waldo got bigger and we all giggled, knowing what it was that she was talking about, Chrissy was used to my cock, now and Debbie was wild about it.
Even I had gotten to the point where I was no longer alienated from it, as I had been in the very beginning seeing that truck drivers cock and realizing what it was that he could do with it, I decided that having a big cock wasn't all that bad.
After all, my mother had seemed to appreciate that guy's cock because it was so big. I could just imagine how much more she would appreciate a cock like mine.
I could imagine that a lot of people might appreciate a cock like mine, but then there was nothing that I could do about it right then.
I was hardly at the point then when I could go around showing off my cock, although later that would happen. But I still wasn't that sure of myself.
I still wasn't totally ready to go out into the world with the cock that I had and that was why I was content to go out in the world and pretend that I was a woman.
I wasn't really completely comfortable with Little Waldo yet, though the day would come. But for the time being, I was content to pose as a woman.
Besides, it was just so much fun to go around with Chrissy and with Debbie, because they really treated me like one of the girls.
That was really nice. I really liked being treated like one of the girls. I flunk that they forgot that I was a boy. I think they really forgot.
I think that I just conveniently turned out to be a girlfriend who happened to have a cock and for Debbie, at least, that was really thrilling.
Debbie always liked to play with my cock and I was not inclined to discourage her from doing so. If she wanted to play with it, she was perfectly welcome to do so.
She was perfectly welcome to play with my cock if she wanted to play with my cock and that was the way that I really felt about it.
I really liked it when she played with my cock and that was one of the reasons that we went to the movies together, because she liked to do it there.
She liked to play with my cock while she was watching men up on the screen. If a man made her really hot, she would play with my cock and imagine that she was making it with that man. She was especially that way with Burt Lancaster, for some reason, although personally I preferred Marlon Brando. Chrissy, however, refused to have anything to do with movies in which Marlon Brando appeared. She was more interested in movies starring Deborah Kerr and such movies never did anything for Debbie, or for me.
The one movie that we finally all agreed upon was "Giant," Because Debbie had this thing for Rock Hudson and Chrissy was wild over Elizabeth Taylor and I had James Dean.
I developed a thing for James Dean, watching him in movies, sitting in the theaters with Debbie and with Chrissy. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We all went off to see, "Rebel Without a Cause," and the two of them and me all dressed up and we went off to the movies together.
I felt almost as if I were a girl, but of course I was a man and that was a good thing, because I could go into the lavatories and see all of the girls.
Not that I could see them naked or anything like that, but I could see them and that was the way that things worked out, really. That was the way that things were.
The three of us went to the movies and we all sat down together and we had our popcorn and we had our colas and we were all set to go.
I sat in the middle of the two girls and I held hands with Chrissy, because she liked that, though Debbie always liked something more than simply hand holding.
It was really very convenient, because there was the one who liked to hold my hand and there was the one who liked to hold my cock and I was all set.
Everything was in order when it was time for the feature to begin. Everything was fine and it was quite a night because Debbie was really hot for James Dean.
She was really hot for him and my cock really got a working over that evening. Oh, did my cock ever get a working over. Little Waldo was sore.
Little Waldo was so sore that the very next day I could hardly stand up, but throughout the movie he was really having a very good time.
James Dean appears in the beginning of that movie. He is lying drunk on a street corner, on his face and he is playing with a little toy.
At the moment that his body flashed across the screen, at the very sight of his face, Debbie slipped her hand up under my skirt and took hold of my cock.
I was wearing a nice little plaid skirt that evening and I had on knee socks and I was wearing saddle shoes and I didn't have on any panties.
Debbie never liked to dress me in panties, because she liked to be able to get ahold of my cock as easily as she could.
She liked to have it right out in the open and whenever she could she would grab onto it. That was what she liked and I liked it to.
So we were sitting in the movie theater and as soon as she saw James Dean, she started beating me off. She grabbed hold of my cock and really started giving it to me.
Her hand was cool under the warmth of my skirt, reaching for my long, hard shaft. She held it down and really stroked it and really worked it over.
She really pumped up and down and up and down on it and she held onto my balls and every time that he opened his mouth, she pumped on me even harder.
She really gave it to me. She held my cock and stroked the underside of it lightly with her fingertips and she rubbed my inner thighs.
I sighed and held onto the arms of my seat and I tried to concentrate on the action on the screen. I tried very hard to concentrate, because if I concentrated on the action on the screen, I would not shout out as I was tempted to do.
I was, however, concentrating on what had happened to me.
It was very strange. The movie had come to the scene where James Dean has to confront both of his parents and he has to tell them that he has been involved in the death of a boy.
They have all seen the announcement on the evening news and now the character that James Dean plays has to tell them all that he has been involved.
It's a very dramatic scene. It's the most dramatic moment that James Dean has in the whole film. That was the moment that most aroused Debbie.
Consequently, it was the moment that most aroused me. Debbie was aroused and the more aroused that she became, the more aroused that I became.
We both became aroused and it was very exciting and all I could feel was her hand underneath my skirt, playing with Little Waldo, pulling on my cock.
She started slowly, stroking lightly the underside of my cock. My cock was stiff and it stuck up between my legs and made a tent out of my dress.
My dress was a tent and I was terribly aroused and so was she.
She moved her hand up and down and up and down the length of my cock, slowly up and down the underside of the length of my cock and the two of us were watching James Dean.
He was confronting his parents. He wanted his parents to let him go to the police and tell them what he had done wrong. He wanted his father to tell him that he could do the manly thing. But his father was afraid of that.
His father was afraid of what his mother wanted and she was saying that he should not go to the police. James Dean was making a stand for himself.
He was saying that he had to do what was right. He was trying to be a man. It was a very moving scene and it was clear that James Dean was trying to do the right thing and that his mother was keeping him from it and that his father was unable to tell him that he should do the right thing. That was the way it went.
That was the way it went and it was terribly moving and exciting, all the more so because the more intense that James Dean became, the more that Debbie moved her hand up and down and up and down the underside of my cock.
Up and down it she moved her fingers. She rubbed it with her finger tips. Her touch was light and her fingertips were very smooth and they tickled.
I could feel them tickling the underside of my cock. They were tickling me and I was getting all hot and throbbing up and down the length of my cock.
I was terribly hot and throbbing up and down the length of my cock and my balls were pulled up tightly between my legs. My balls were aching.
My balls were all filled with semen and I could tell that the semen was trying to pump its way all the way up into the shaft of my cock.
The shaft of my cock was tingling and it was straining and it was ticklish and very excited. Fluids were seeping out of the tip of my cock, out of the slit in the top of my glans.
I was all hot and bothered, but I was hardly aware of what it was that Debbie was doing to me. I was hardly aware of it at all, because I was concentrating so hard on the screen.
I was concentrating on what was happening on the screen and suddenly I forgot all about Debbie and the only thing that I could think was that James Dean was beating me off.
I was concentrating so completely on him, that I had the feeling that he was the one who was beating me off and that it wasn't someone else at all.
That was what I was thinking. I was watching him and noting his long eyelashes and his thick blonde hair and his cheekbones and the way that he looked like a little boy.
Suddenly, I could see that everything the two girls had said about him was true.
I could see that they were right about everything. I could see that he really was terribly attractive and that he looked like a little boy.
Suddenly I found myself empathizing with him to a very intense degree. I found myself thinking about him and knowing that we had many things in common.
And I found myself wondering if he had a Little James Dean as large as my Little Waldo. That's what I was thinking, as Debbie was pumping up and down on my cock, with her hand encircled around the base of my cock, moving it up and down and up and down.
She flailed away at me and I didn't even think that it was her, I thought that it was him and suddenly I was in love. Suddenly J was hopelessly in love. It was him that had brought me to the edge of orgasm and now it was him who was going to push me over the edge.
I sat all the way up in my seat. I that the person behind me was wishing that I would sit down. I think that I was being yelled at. But I didn't notice.
All I noticed was that the scene and I were climaxing at the same time and that the two of us, James Dean and I, were both reaching our climaxes at the same time.
I could feel the warm liquid making its way up the length of my shaft and I could feel it lurking just below my glans and I could feel it spurting out.
It spurted out hard and fast and it was warm all over my thighs. I sighed, relievedly, wondering what had come over me. I had just had an orgasm with James Dean.
CHAPTER SEVEN
That was a very interesting experience. It was very interesting for me and it was very interesting for Little Waldo and maybe it was even very interesting for James Dean.
I was in love. I had never been in love before and I was feeling very silly. I didn't know what was going on in my head. I really didn't.
Chrissy drove the three of us home. She was the oldest of the group and she had a driver's license. I was silent in the car the whole ride home. I was on Cloud nine.
I was on Cloud fifteen. I was really out of my head and I think that the two of them really noticed that something was amiss, because neither of them tried to say a word to me.
Neither of them tried to say anything to me at all. They merely left me to my own devices and we drove all the way home, but the two of them were chattering away in the front seat of the car.
It was the three of us crowded into the front seat of the car and I was in the middle, as it always seems that I am and I turned on the radio.
I was feeling very melodramatic and I was feeling a little bit like Bette Davis in "All About Eve." "Funny thing, a woman's career," I almost said.
But I didn't say anything at all. I was thinking, not that it was rather odd that I should be a young boy convinced that he was a woman and in love with James Dean, but that there had to be some way that I could get to the object of my affections.
I was ready to incorporate the Sedalia Missouri chapter of the James Dean fan club. After all, he was one of us, he was a midwesterner.
He was decidedly one of us and I thought that maybe I could become his premier fan. I was all aglow with all of these funny feelings and when finally we came to my house, I just got out and I didn't even think that I was dressed.
Usually, the three of us would go up to the attic of Chrissy's and Debbie's house and that was where they would dress me up and then later on we would go back there and they would undress me and I would go home.
But this time I guess that I just wasn't thinking at all and I just went right on home dressed as I was dressed and they never said a word about it.
Never once did they say a word about it. I wonder if that was deliberate, or not. I wonder what it was that the three of us were thinking that we could let that happen.
It really was a silly thing to have happened and it could easily have been averted, but I guess that it was just one of those nights and that was what happened.
There was nothing to do about it, it had already happened. Off I went, into my mother's house and as I had not seen my mother very much lately, I was not worried about that.
I was hardly worried about that at all. It never really even occurred to me to be worried about it, because of course I never saw her anymore except in the mornings and that was about all.
So I really wasn't thinking about it very much, I was only on my little cloud of happiness and I was on my way into the house, wondering what James Dean would look like with nothing on.
I was wondering what he would look like if he was not wearing any clothes at all and it was a rather amusing thing to think about, really and it got me very very hot.
I was rather hot and I was thinking about what he looked like and if he was well hung or not and I was getting all hot and excited between my legs.
Now that I think about it I wonder how it is possible that Little Waldo could be so easily excited, but there you are. Those were the days.
Always ready with the erection. Always ready to shoot my wad. That's the way that it was, I was always ready to spurt spurt spurt.
I walked into the house and I didn't even notice the car in the driveway. I didn't even notice that the lights were on and I just walked right on into the house.
I got into the living room and I flopped down in the living room couch, -not worried that my mother would yell at me, or anything.
That was a mistake, but that was too bad, really.
I mean, I have made mistakes in the past, but I don't think that any one of them was quite as glaring as this mistake, which really was a blunder. I should not have gone into the living room. I should not have gone into the house at all.
Because there was a man there. A drunk man. A very drunk man. The man who had been putting it into my mother was there in the house.
No kidding. He was there in the kitchen. He was only getting himself a drink and he was on his way back into the living room, to sit just where he had been sitting.
And where he had been sitting was where I was sitting. Yes, that was the way that it was. There he was and when he walked back into the room, there I was.
Oh, my God. I was sitting on the couch and I heard this voice and this voice said, "Well, hullo there!" I nearly shit in my skirt.
I looked up and there was this tall man standing right in front of me. I had never seen him since the first time that I caught the two of them in my mother's bedroom.
I had never seen him in clothing and I had not ever seen his face. This was the first time that I had seen him since that day I caught him banging my mother. There he was. He was very tall and he was very rugged looking. He was rough and he was tough and he was about the most exciting piece of thing I had ever seen.
Moreover, he was wearing jeans and a tshirt and he was wearing a jacket much like the one that James Dean had worn in that movie. He was a dead ringer.
Yes, he was. He looked a great deal like James Dean, only much older and I found that very exciting. The more that I looked at him, the more excited I became.
I had to control myself to make sure that my cock didn't stick out. I had to cross my legs and then suddenly I remembered that I was wearing women's clothing.
I had forgotten. I had completely forgotten. And I was making a tent out of my skirt. Well, I was in a fine mess, wasn't I? I really was in a fine mess.
I crossed my legs to keep my cock where it belonged and I tried to act like a girl. I was careful to make sure that I was acting like a girl.
I didn't think that there was really anything else that I could have done. I could only have sat there and pretended that I was a girl. That was really the only thing to do.
So there I was. I batted my eyelashes and I decided that I was not going to say anything, it would have been foolish for me to pretend to talk like a girl.
The only thing that I could do was sit there and try not to say anything and that was what I did. I smiled and I nodded at the man.
"Well, now," he said, "aren't you the little lady of the house. I never knew there was another little girl around the house. Your mother never mentioned it."
I smiled and giggled. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with myself, because there I was on the couch with this guy.
"Your mother and I just had a little fight," he said, "and she took off in her own car. I was real upset about it, real upset."
He looked real drunk, to me, though just how upset he was it was difficult for me to determine. Definitely, he was drank. No question about that.
I was a little bit worried about that. He was drunk and I was young and vulnerable and the air was charged with sexuality.
Just looking at the way that his jeans bunched at the crotch of his pants, I could tell that he probably had not gotten his lay because of his fight with my mother.
Probably he had not gotten his lay and probably he was a little bit upset about that and probably he was going to try something with me.
I could figure out all of these things. What I could not figure out was whether or not I thought that it was okay. I could not exactly decide how it was that I felt about the matter. I just didn't know.
"Yes," he said, "your mother and I just had a fight and I am real sorry about that. But I didn't know that she had such a good looking daughter."
I was wondering how it was that he was so certain that my mother and I were related, because as far as I know, she had been careful not to let either of us know about the other.
She still didn't know that I knew about him and I think that he didn't know at all about me and so that was the way it was,
I wasn't sure how he could tell that I was my mother's daughter-even though I was her son! But he was drunk and he couldn't tell the difference.
"You sure are a dead ringer for your mother," be said to me, "You really are a dead ringer for your mother. The two of you look just alike."
And so there it was, the answer to my question. Even dressed as a woman I looked like my mother. Or, I suppose, I looked more like her because I was dressed as a woman.
Well, that was an interesting kind of thing to think about and I began to see myself as the daughter that my mother never had and I wondered what it would be like to be her daughter.
Instantly I understood that to be her daughter would be to be in competition with her all the time, to have to struggle with her.
I would have to be in competition with her for all kinds of things, especially for men, now that I had reached a certain age and was ready to attract men on my own.
Thinking of things in this light was like being a revisionist historian of my own past and I began to think of myself as having been my mother's daughter all along.
All along I had been her daughter and that was the way that things worked out. I had been her daughter and now I was in competition for her man.
I wasn't certain that that was such a horrible idea. In fact I rather fancied it. In fact I rather thought that it was an alright idea after all.
I thought that it was really an alright idea. I was thinking about James Dean and about the bunch in the crotch of this man's jean's and I decided to be brave,
I put on my best little girl's voice and I said, "What's your name, sailor?" I said that, smiling and licking my lips and rearranging myself in the seat.
He laughed. "You're a cute one, aren't you?" he said to me, laughing. He was highly amused and I was highly erect and I licked my lips and smiled at him and got my cock to lie flat down along my thigh and rearranged my skirt.
I could tell that he was trying to look up my skirt as I was doing it and as I was not wearing any panties this could have proven disastrous.
However, as I say he was drunk and he wasn't that alert to the things that were going on and I could get away with a few things as a consequence.
I could get away with this and that and I was pretty careful, though I have to say that I was not very careful. I could not have imagined what this man would do to me if he found out that I really was a guy and that I was toying with him.
He might have thought that I was some sort of real freak and he might have gotten very mad at me and he might have tried to harm me.
But I really didn't care, he was just so cute and he was so hot and he looked so much like James Dean, that the only thing that I could think of was that I wanted to see his cock.
I wanted to see his cock because I had wanted to see James Dean's cock and I was certain that this man and James Dean had something in common.
Even though I had already seen his cock, it was as if I had forgotten, as if I had never known the guy and I was really turned on and I really wanted him.
I really wanted him very badly and I was really turned on and the tip of my cock was all hot and it was all wet and it was sloppy against the inside of my thighs.
I was really hot and really excited and I really wanted him and I was really hot and I was really excited and I could hardly imagine that the guy could have been better looking.
He could not have been better looking and he could not have been taller. He had a very deep voice and he was very butch looking and he was very exciting and I was very excited.
I was very excited looking at him and that was very nice. That was really very nice and I was really very excited and everything was just as it should have been.
Everything was just as it should have been except that I was really a boy and not a girl at all and this was the guy who was putting it inside of my mother.
He was the guy who was giving it to my mother and that was why when he sat down next to me and started to talk I was rather startled. He said, "Your mother didn't want to put out tonight and I got mad and hit her. That's why I'm here getting drunk."
Well, now, what could I say to that. What could I really say to that. It was odd to think of my mother letting someone hit her, but apparently that was what she had done.
"I hit her," he went on, "and she wasn't real pleased about that and she just up and left me here all by myself and now I have to drink to replace her."
He certainly had been drinking. From what I could tell, he had been drinking straight gin and I could see that it was going to his head He was really sloppy and he was a little bit morose and I could tell that he was unhappy, but that was the way that it went. That really was.
I didn't really even want to think about it. I really didn't even want to think about what it was that must have gone on between him and my mother.
"Your mother didn't think that it was such a good idea for me to put it in her tongue," he said, "which is really too bad, you know, because I sure would like to get my rocks off."
I was beginning to see that this man was far more crude than James Dean could ever attempt to be. "What's your name" I said, attempting to placate him.
"My name," he said, "is Hank. Hung Hank, they call me. And you better believe that they don't call me that in vain, honey. You better believe it."
I let out a peal of nervous laughter at that. Hung Hank. Well. I had seen him and it was true, but if he thought he was hung, well, then.
"I bet you're not the best hung man in the whole world," I said. "I bet I know someone who's even better endowed than you are. I just bet."
Well, this got Hank right between his thighs and he was more interested in me than ever. He was a little bit turned onto me and he moved closer to me on the couch.
"Do I have to prove to you that I have the biggest cock in all the county?" he said to me. "Do I have to prove that to you? Huh? Do I?"
Well, now, I thought. Well, now. "I don't need to see anything," I said, "it's just that I bet that I know somebody who has the biggest cock you've ever seen."
"You talk awfully dirty for such a young lady," he said, adding, "but then again, I suppose that it runs in the family." I thought that that was a very crude remark and I slapped him. I slapped him as hard as I could, across the face.
I left wide red marks across his cheek bones and I could tell that he was a little amused. I mean, at first he was uncertain, but then he was amused.
"Well, you see there, it's true," he said, "like mother, like daughter. It's true what they say, it really is. You're a tiger, just like your mother."
I giggled and I was looking at the smear of red that I had left across his face and he got all excited and he whipped down his jeans and flung out his cock.
"You see this, baby?" he said to me. "Not only is it the biggest that you have ever seen, but it needs a place to sleep tonight and I can tell you that the place it wants to sleep is right there between your legs."
Well, this just freaked me right out. There's only room for one Little Waldo between my legs and if he thought that he was putting that thing in there, he was sadly mistaken.
Clearly, he was sadly mistaken. And so there was nothing that I could do, really, but to tell him that he was sadly mistaken.
"Mister," I said, "I think that maybe this has gone a little bit too far. I think that this has gotten a little bit out of hand. I think that you ought to be on your way."
He was hardly on his way. He was sitting there, admiring his cock and it was hard and it was wet and sloppy, just like he was, hard and wet and sloppy.
He was that sort of person and I was trying to figure out what I was going to be able to do with him. I didn't think that there was anything that I was going to be able to do with him. He really was a hard and sloppy and wet guy.
And he wanted to fuck me. That was the worst thing, maybe, because there wasn't a lot that I was going to be able to do about that.
He wanted to fuck me and there was really nothing that I was going to be able, to do about that, because he was a great deal stronger than I was.
He was much much stronger than I was and if he wanted to fuck me, there was nothing at all I could do about it, except to let him find out that he couldn't fuck me.
No, he couldn't fuck me, because I had no cunt. Of course I knew that, but he didn't know that and there was nothing that I could do about it.
There really wasn't a thing that I could do about it. He didn't know that I had no cunt and I didn't know that I really wanted him to find out.
But he was determined to find out. He started to struggle with me. He struggled and he struggled and the whole time he was saying things like, "Let me get a look at that, please. Let me get a look at that sweet cunt. I bet it's even sweeter than your mother's."
He was saying things like that and he was playing with my skirt. He was very drunk and he was very upset and he was on the verge of passing out.
He was struggling with me and he was pulling at my skirt and he was playing with all of my clothing and he was ready to take me.
I don't even think that he would have managed if he had been able to, but still, he was struggling with me and I was rather upset.
I didn't know what I was going to do when I got my cock out into the open, because it was really hot now and it was really erect.
He got very close to me and he was all ready to spill himself all over me and suddenly he got ahold of the hem of my skirt and he pulled it up and said, "Aha!"
And there was Little Waldo the one eyed snake, smiling back at Hank and in one and the same moment, Hank lurched forward and passed out in my lap and my mother's car pulled in the driveway. And me without a subway token.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mildred Pierce came in the door. Mildred Pierce was highly unamused. Mildred Pierce was dressed to kill, dressed to cause a storm.
There she stood and extra five inches tall in her circa 1945 come-fuck-me-pumps, with ankle straps and open toes. She wore a calf length skirt, belted and a tailored shirt waist, tucked neatly into the waistline of her skirt.
Her hair was done up in a simple knot at the back of her neck and as she had recently had a henna job, it was looking particularly chic this evening.
She came in the door, rolling her big eyes and swinging her ample hips, her breasts pointing out into the room, through her pointed bra.
She was a confection lady. She was artificial, plastic from head to toe, but she created a very interesting and unavoidable effect.
You knew when my mother had come into a room. She always made an entrance. She always knew how to exploit circumstances, so as to allow for her entrance.
And so she had made her entrance. Her Mrs. Miniver red lipstick was flashing in the pale light of the room and her modestly applied blush and eye shadow accented the fine bones in her face. What a woman she was, after all.
She was quite a woman. She might have been Joan Crawford's little known younger sister, for all I could tell. She might have been Joan herself.
She really knew how to show herself off. I have to give her credit for that, there isn't any question that she knew how to make the most of herself.
She really did know how to show off and that was always very impressive to me. I was terrified of her, as if she had been a movie star.
She was unreal to me, she was something that had walked into the room from out of a vision and I could hardly imagine that she was flesh and blood.
I could hardly imagine that at all. But indeed she was flesh and blood, there really wasn't any question about that. She was decidedly flesh and blood.
She was my mother and I had come from her woman and that was rather an interesting way of looking at things. That I had sprung from her-well! It was an idea.
It was quite an idea. As she stood in the doorway to the living room, I had the feeling that she was really going to put on quite a show.
Oh, boy, I thought, this is going to be a performance. Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night. And it certainly was.
She walked into the house and her voice was strident. "Hank!" she called out. "Hank! Hank, where are you, Hank! All is forgiven, darling." I could hear her making her way through the kitchen and her heels clicked against the floor of the kitchen. Her heels went click click click, against the floor of the house.
Her heels were making a lot of noise and I could hear them against the tile of the floor of the kitchen. Usually, the more noise that her shoes made, the worse things were going to be.
I could always judge things from the noise that her shoes made when she went through the house and I could tell now that something really big was up.
Her shoes were making a whole lot of noise as she made her way through the house and that was a little bit awesome. I was a little bit freaked out.
There I was with this man on top of me and there was not a thing I could do. If I could have gotten him off of me I would have run as fast as I could have and gotten out of there and my mother would have found him passed out.
She would have found him passed out and she would have thought nothing' of it and when he woke up and tried to tell her that she had a daughter, even if he did remember, then she would laugh at him and tell him that he was hallucinating.
She didn't even suspect that I liked to dress up in women's clothing. The idea never crossed her mind at all, I'm sure of that. It never occurred to her.
She just never had any idea of that at all and she would have dismissed out of hand any story that he had told her about how I was a girl and she would not have thought that I would have been dressed up as a girl. She would have laughed and said it was nonsense.
If I could only get out from under him I could run back to my room, I thought and then she would never know. But he was passed out so heavily and he was passed out so intensely, that I was unable to budge him. I couldn't move him at all.
And the sound of my mother's shoes was getting closer and closer and closer.
My mother was getting nearer and nearer and she was calling out for him. Apparently she had forgiven him and that is a very bad sign indeed, because when my mother has forgiven a person it only means that she is on the verge of really giving it to him.
There is always a calm right before the storm with my mother and as soon as she forgives you, you know that something really bad is coming down the pike.
As soon as she starts to get even a little nice, then you know that she'll get even or that much meaner in the long run. You can always bet on that.
I could bet on it at the moment. I could be sure that she was being nice only in preparation of being a real cunt and the fact that the person upon whom she was going to vent her spleen was passed out across my lap hardly helped matters.
Not to mention that I was dressed up as a girl. That hardly helped matters at all. It hardly was going to do my case a whole lot of good for me to be dressed up.
I was panicking, but there wasn't a lot that I could do about it and I reached the point where there was nothing that I could do but decided that it was going to come down on my head.
I was just going to have to gird my loins and prepare myself for the worst. That was the only thing that I was going to be able to do. I was going to have to prepare myself.
And so I was going to be prepared. I just sat there and I thought to myself that this was going to be the turning point in my life.
I was going to have to stand up to my mother and there was no question about that at all. I was going to have to be able to tell her the truth about a lot of things.
And so the two of us were set for a very dramatic scene when finally she stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the doorway leading into the living room and got a look at what was going on on the couch. I would have paid money to have that expression bronzed.
She flounced into the room with her skirt flying all about her and she had a smile pasted across her face. She was excited and she was pleased and she was ready to put on a performance, but as soon as she got into the doorway to the living room, everything just froze.
Everything froze and she went through a number of expressions before she got herself together. She was alternately stopped dead, surprised, shocked, disgusted, hurt and then enraged.
It all happened within a span of a few seconds but if I could have filmed that process I would have. It really was a priceless progression from one emotion to the other. Joan Crawford could have taken lessons from her, without a doubt.
She didn't say anything for a long, long time and I guess that she was deciding just exactly which of her many personalities she was going to let deal with this crisis.
Then what she did was very surprising and I never would have thought that she was capable of this. I was surprised. It was the last thing that I would have suspected of her.
"Oh, my poor baby," she said, running to me, "what has that horrible man done to you? What has that horrible perverted man done to my baby?"
I wasn't sure at first whether the horrible perverted man was supposed to be me, or whether it was supposed to be Hank and so I sat there, waiting to find out.
I didn't say anything, sitting there, waiting to find out and my cock was still erect.
My cock has that kind of reaction to any sort of excitement. It stays erect. It doesn't have to be stimulated sexually. It doesn't have to be turned on. It's like a baby that cries whenever it feels that there is some tension in the air.
It gets hard and excited at the least suggestion of any kind of tension and it can stay hot and excited for hours. And so I still had my hard on.
My hard on slumbered just beneath Hank's head and she couldn't yet see it. She rushed over to the couch. "Has that awful man turned you into a girl?"
So she meant that I was the victim and that Hank was the awful man. I don't know that I would have agreed with her. I think I was as awful to him as he to me.
However, there she was, deciding that he had decided to force me to dress up in women's clothing and that he was on the verge of violating me when she came in the house. "Lucky I got here in time," she said. "This awful pervert. This awful horrible pervert. He really is nothing but an awful horrible pervert and look what he has done to you."
She was stroking my head and consoling me, but I had promised myself that I would let her know the truth about what was going on and so I was going to.
I cleared my throat and I said, "Mamma, if you think that he's the one who forced me to wear what I'm wearing, then you're wrong. He didn't force me at all."
She looked at me sort of cross eyed as if she couldn't quite understand. "Then who did force you, darling?" she wanted to know.
"Who did force me?" I repeated, trying very hard to make myself want to answer that question. It was a difficult question to answer and I was uncertain that I really could answer it. It was going to be hard to answer it.
"Um," I said, starting again and swallowing very hard. "Urn." I swallowed again, wondering just what kind of way she was going to respond to the truth.
"Now you can tell me darling who forced you to dress like this and we'll have the pervert reported to the police. Don't you worry. And if it really was Hank that did it, don't you hesitate to tell me that it was."
She was talking to me as nicely as she had ever talked to me in her life and I was reluctant to let her know the truth. I didn't want to tell her.
I really didn't want her to know the truth. I thought that that would really be a bad thing to have to tell her. I was not pleased about that at all, because she was being so nice to me all of a sudden and that was so wonderful. But I had to tell her.
I had promised myself that she was going to learn the truth, even if it did me no good, just so that she could know what sort of person I really was.
I screwed my courage to the sticking place and I said, "Mamma, it wasn't anyone at all but me. And if you want to say that I'm a pervert, well, then, you'd better deliver me to the police. You'd better call in and report me, Mamma, because I like to dress up like this. I really do. Can you understand that, Mamma?"
"Well, now," she said, "I know that you're trying to do the brave thing and protect Momma's friend, but you can tell me the truth, dear, what did this man force you to do?"
I swallowed very hard. "Mamma, I'm telling you the truth," I said, "I dress up like this all the time. I really do. It's nothing anyone forced me to do."
That was not entirely the truth, but that didn't matter. I was telling her that I was not the son she had always thought that I was and that was what mattered.
Her look froze in place on her face and she was seriously considering the thing I had told her. It caught her by surprise and apparently she didn't know what to do.
But I won't say that my mother isn't adaptable. Give her a minute or so and she will know how to handle any situation. She may not choose the way that I would have chosen, but she does figure out a way to deal with something and that is the important thing, really. That is the thing that never fails to impress me.
"So," she said, after a long pause, "you don't know how to be a man, do you? Well, then, Mamma will have to teach you how to be a man."
Yes, that was what she said. Mamma was going to teach me how to be a man. She got up off the couch and she said, "Get that lug off of yourself and get up. You and I have some work to do."
"But you see," I said, "I can't get him off of me. That's just the trouble. He's too heavy." I motioned that he was too big for me to deal with.
My mother leaned down, making noises of disgust in her throat and she helped me pull Hank off my lap and lean him over in the other direction.
He was passed out cold and he hardly noticed anything at all. He hardly knew that he was even alive. As she and I got him off of me, my naked lap was uncovered.
There in the middle of my lap was my cock, right there for my mother to see. Right there in the middle of my lap, it was and it was all hot and red, still.
My mother was shocked. She looked at it and she let out an audible gasp. Then she said, "Oh, my God, it's the spitting image of its father!"
And so I had met my father at last. There he was between my legs. She looked at my big cock and she looked at me. "I thought that your father's was the only cock in the world like that one," she said. "I've been looking for one just like it ever since. But that louse up and left me alone and I didn't have his cock to suck."
She held my cock in her hands and she stroked it. "I can't believe it," she said, "it's just exactly like your father's." She was excited.
Her hands were cool and she had an expert touch. She had been around a lot of cocks and apparently she knew how to play with one..
It felt good to have her hands all over mine. "We have to make a man out of you now," she said, "there just isn't any question about it, not at all."
She got up on her feet, still clad, in her CFMP's, her come-fuck-me-pumps and she said to me, "Honey, we haven't got a lot of time until he wakes up. Will you unzip me?"
She stood with her arms out at her sides and she wanted me to unzip her blouse. I could see the zipper. My hands were trembling.
"Don't be shy," she said, "everybody has to learn sometime. And if this is the way that you feel about yourself, you ought to learn right now."
I got up off the couch, feeling rather silly now in all of my women's clothing and wondering how things could have come to this. It was odd, indeed.
I reached for my mother's zipper, however, never one to disobey an order. Even now, that she wanted me to fuck her, I was ready to do it.
I pulled the zipper all the way down her back and I could see the line of her spine. She had very smooth skin and she had white, hairless skin.
She had very well cared for skin and she had a nice long curving spine. Her spine sloped gently into the small of her back, which I uncovered as I undid her blouse.
She took off her belt and she said, "Now my skirt." There was a zipper on her skirt, too and I was a little weirded out by that. I took hold of it and unzipped her skirt.
She was wearing a slip and she had on a girdle and she had on stockings and panties and a garter belt and the whole deal. I had never seen so much underwear in all my life.
"Uh," I said, "I don't really know what comes off and what doesn't and how." I was very nervous and I could begin to detect the naked line of her ass.
She had firm high buttocks and they protruded roundly out behind her. I didn't know what to do. I was shaking rather badly.
"Dear," she laughed at me, "you deal with my bra and my blouse and I'll deal with my underwear." She seemed to think that I could handle her bra, but I had trouble even with that.
Suddenly it seemed rather comical that a guy who was used to dressing up in women's clothing should not know how to deal With a bra, but then Chrissy and Debbie had always dressed and undressed me and I had never had to do much myself.
So of course I was terribly inept, as my mother remarked, "Just like a man. You are a man after all. You're no better with getting me undressed than any other man I've ever known."
She chuckled drily in the back of her throat and I was about to say something about the circumstances, about how it was a little bizarre for a son to be contemplating his mother in a strictly carnal way, but I kept my mouth shut.
Having to fuck her, I supposed, was either the most sublime form of punishment she could think of to administer, or the most unfair. One way or the other I would find out soon enough.
I managed clumsily to get her bra undone and the stays were hard to deal with, but they finally came free, as, at the same time, she stepped out of her skirt and slip.
She had also undone her girdle and she had slid her panties down to her ankles and all she had on now was her garter belt and her pumps and me.
I was still struggling with her bra, trying to slip it off over her shoulders and she leaned all the way up into her tallest stance and she slid her blouse and her bra off over her arms and then she turned around to me.
She was completely naked except for the shoes and the garter belt and I could see the patch of cunt hair and her cunt lips showing through the space beneath her garter belt.
I could also see her full round breasts, which swayed slightly back and forth. She had very large breasts and her nipples were very big and very red. They were so big and red that I had the feeling perhaps she used lipstick on them.
I had that feeling. It seemed unnatural that anyone's nipples should be so red and that they should be so large and that they should be so erect.
They were quite erect, arid they reflected her excitement. Standing on her shoes, she was at least a head taller than I and she was quite a picture.
"Well," she said, "how does the man of the house like the woman of the house?" She held out her arms to me and invited me to appraise her.
I had to admit that she was one hell of a piece of ass. She was big and she was tall and she was firm and she was well preserved. Her stomach was flat and her breasts were high and her ass was round and firm and well formed and her legs were long and shapely.
Her lips were all puckered and alluring and I thought that she was alright
I said, "Well, you look alright to me." That was about all that I could think of to say, seeing as how I was just a little perplexed.
Hank was snoring away on the couch and I half wished that he would rescue me and I have wished that he would sleep on forever. I didn't really know how I fell about my mother, and closing my mind to the fact that we were related, it was easy for me to see that she might be attractive to some, but that, one the whole, she was pretty much of a whore.
I had to admit to myself that she was pretty much of a whore.
I don't know what that made me feel, to know that my mother was little more than a well preserved whore. I could see that she was attractive, but all along she had really been a whore.
Well, I wondered what that made me. I guess that made me a transvestite and the knowledge made me laugh. Mother and son, whore and transvestite. What a concept.
CHAPTER NINE
She slapped me. "What is it that you are laughing at," she wanted to know. "Does the sight of your mother make you break out in laughter?"
Could I have explained to her that the sight of my mother reminded me of a whore? I could hardly have explained that to her. So I didn't.
"I'm sorry. Mamma," I said, "I guess that I'm just a little nervous, that's all. It just isn't often that I run into someone like you, with all of your talents."
That was not entirely a lie and it seemed to appease her. And that was really all that I was interested in doing, was assuaging her.
I was only interested in doing for her whatever it was that she wanted to have done and that was the only thing that I cared about.
She was naked in front of me and now I had the feeling that she was really going to get me to fuck her. She really was smelling like she wanted to fuck.
I mean that the area between her legs was really putting off a bit of a stink. She was apparently rather easily excited. I think it must have been my cock.
It could not have been anything else, as far as I could tell. I could not think that there was any other portion of my anatomy which really would intrigue her but apparently I was enough for her to get really excited. I guess it didn't take much.
"I want to make a man out of you," she said. "I never wanted my boy to turn into a little sissy. I guess maybe I've been wrong in bringing you up and now it's time that I turned you into a man. Come here, my little man."
She lay down on the floor and she spread her legs and beckoned me to her. She wanted me to go to her and see her and enter her, I guess.
She reached up for my hand and she took ahold of it and she pulled me down beside her and forced my head to her cunt, which was warm and damp.
"Lick me, baby," she said, "I really want you to like me. Lick me until you have satisfied me as no one else has ever been able to satisfy me. I know you can."
I was not so sure that I could, but I was willing to try. Her cunt was really foreign territory to me, but if she really wanted me in there, then I would go in there.
My mother's cunt. It lived up to the image of my mother in every way. It existed on a large scale and yet, underneath the showiness of it, there was something there that she was trying to hide from the world. There was something simple there, something very easily moved. The trick was to find what that something was and how to move it.
I thought that I could do it. I was her son, after all. If anyone could get to the bottom of my mother, I was the one who could do it. So I thought.
I lay down on the floor next to my mother and I looked up into her spread legs, to see what it was that was in there. I had never even seen Chrissy's or Debbie's cunt, yet and so this was an interesting thing for me to explore.
I was an explorer and I began with my mother's belly, which was all but obscured by her garter belt and which was nonetheless flat and white and smooth.
I ran my fingers over her belly, what there was of it that I could get to and she started to moan, already. She moaned and she closed her eyes.
Who she was imagining that I was, I couldn't say, but she was imagining that I was someone. I suspect that she pictured her former husband, my father.
So I was trying to be my father. That was what I was trying to do. I was trying to be him and to make her really enjoy what she was doing.
Her belly was flat and it was white and smooth and below her belly was the V shaped muscles which led down to her pudendum, as they say in text books.
Her cunt was all covered with hair and it was thick lipped and it was protruding and it was damp and it was hot. She really got sloppy when she got excited.
I guess that some women get sloppy when they get excited and some women do not. My mother was the sort of person who definitely got sloppy.
She was very sloppy and she was very excited and I guess that that was something that contributed to her excitement. I guess she liked to get sloppy.
She was turning her head back and forth on the floor and she was moaning and she was groaning I had hardly touched her and I had the feeling that she was going to have a spontaneous orgasm, all by herself. I had the feeling that I hardly had to touch her.
But I did touch her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to get my fingers into her slit and to play with her inner lips and to enjoy her.
She was very hot and she was smelling very strong and I was pretty turned on by all of it and Little Waldo was really rather excited.
Little Waldo was all hot and he was all erect and there was this bit of liquid forming at his little mouth and I wanted to eat my mother out.
It was an interesting sensation. I put my face up against her cunt and I could feel her warm lips against my wet and rubbery and slippery lips.
I could feel her juices smearing all over my face. I could feel her heat and I could feel her excitement. I slid my tongue in between her lips and she started to shout.
"My clit," she said, "wrap your little tongue around me clit, baby." Well, there she was, always giving orders, even when she was fucking.
But what was I to do, I was always used to taking orders, even when I was fucking and so I did as she asked, although I was uncertain about her clit.
I had never before had much to do with anyone's clit and so it was a little odd for me to just jump in there and try and figure out what she wanted.
However, she has a very large clit. I never have seen a clit that large, and I sometimes think that it is from her clit that I get my cock.
I mean, it's possible. Her clit was all swollen and it was heavily engorged and it was protruding and it was warm and it was ready to be sucked and licked.
It was all ready for me to suck and lick and I thought that it was just the most interesting thing that I had ever seen. I pressed on it with my finger.
There it was right at the entry way to her slit, right there within the boat shaped form of her external genitalia and it was beckoning to me.
It was calling to me and it was clear that her clit was more or less in command of her emotions, because the more that I toyed with it, the more she was at my mercy.
She was completely at my mercy and that was an interesting prospect. To have my mother at my mercy was something new and interesting, something I had never imagined possible.
But there was the fact and the fact was right under my thumb, as it were. I had my thumb on the head of her clit and she was moving her head from side to side and moaning.
She really was making a whole lot of noise and I really was giving her clit the good old work over. I was going at it rather enthusiastically.
I was terribly excited and I moved my thumb over and over the head of her clit. Her inner cunt lips were swollen and engorged, just as her clit was swollen and engorged and I could play with them at the same time as I could play with her clit.
Her clit was just a tiny button inside her outer cunt, but it was enough of a button that it might have been the control button for her whole personality.
When I fingered it and touched it and moved it one way and the other and rubbed my thumb over it, it was as if I was holding in my hand a little control panel and I could control her reactions. She just went out of her mind.
"Oh," she said, "I want you to lick it, I really want you to lick it. Please, lick my cunt. I really want it very badly."
She wanted me to lick her cunt. I figured that I could handle that. I opened my mouth and I slid my tongue out and I flicked at the head of her clit.
I just touched the head of her clit with the tip of my tongue. She shouted out. I tortured the head of her clit with the tip of my tongue and she yelled and yelled.
She was terribly exciting, that was apparent. It was gratifying to have her enjoy so much every little thing that I did to her and she did.
She was just that sort of person, I guess, the sort of person who really liked to have any kind of man fiddle with her clit. I really fiddled with her clit.
I gave it my all. I closed my lips around the very tip of it and my lips were all wet and they were all wet and slippery and rubbery and smooth.
I still had a little bit of lipstick on them from the evening out and I left little red marks around the head of her clit, the marks of my red hot lips.
I closed my mouth around the head of her clit and I moved the tip of my tongue over and over the head of her clit, over and over and over it.
She yelled and she hollered and she bounced her hips up and down. She was clearly very excited and I had her in my control. She wanted me to fuck her.
"Oh," she said, "oh, baby, that's very good, but I want you to fuck me. Now I really want you to fuck me. I can hardly deal with this."
I thought, well, let her deal with it. Let her suffer. For all the time that she had made me suffer, it seemed only fair that she would have to suffer.
