Tight... oh Christ was she ever tight! Some analytic corner of his mind wondered how he had ever managed to get his tired old blunderbus into such a tiny little hole. Who was she? How had it started? His mind was a blank. All he could think of was the sensuous womanly feel of flesh surrounding the hot throbbing tip of his tool. Jesus but she was tight!
He pulled out half a length and felt firm flesh cling, cunt turning inside out as it wrapped round the shank of his tool. His cock was rock hard. Damn! It had been years since he'd gotten this much feel, this much sheer erotic delight from thrusting his meat into a female. She was too good to fuck and forget. He had to get his head on straight, find out who she was. Any woman with a cunt this tight was special. Hell, if it came to that Rod knew he'd even be willing to marry her if that was what it took to get his cock back into this lovely tight pussy again.
He thrust and -- oh Jesus! She was so tight, so warm and vibrantly feminine that, ready or not, here he came! Suddenly he was spurting, firing great gobs of goo into that tiny tight snatch, hurting with the effort to get it out of the tip of his cock, so tight was that lovely little cunt squeezing him, milking him, pulling each painful drop of joy from his jock. It was hurting. But it hurt so good he didn't want it ever to stop. Damn! Why had he come so soon? This was quality cunt -- worth hours of tender loving care. Would he be able to get it up again? Would she hang around waiting? Who the hell was she anyhow?
Rod opened his eyes, blearily surveyed the tangled expanse of come-smeared sheets and knew who she was. She was his dream girl.
It was ironic. All those years ago when Rod had been just blossoming into fully functional stiffpricked manhood -- back when he could have gotten into all the young stuff he ever wanted or needed... When he had been a boy barely into his teens Rod had been freaked on Older women. There had been that that slightly chubby woman in the corner grocery who had wondered audibly why he came in a dozen times a day to buy one at a time the things he could have gotten all at once.
She must have been all of thirty-five -- with a delicious round fullness, a pair of jugs he had never seen but whose outline through a high necked dress had driven him mad with frustrated desire, sending him home with a nickel candy bar and a stiff cock which he had beaten unmercifully while dreaming, wishing, praying that his thumping fist might be the love nest between her legs, the crotch his eyes had never come closer to than the mid-calf hemline of those depression years.
And now that Rod had been thirty-five for ten years .. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, stretched and yawned and dragged the sheets off the bed. Showering, he surveyed the gray tinged hair on his chest and crotch. He was still thin and athletic, in fair shape for his age. He still had most of his hair. Now that he knew his way around in the world, now that he had parlayed a mustering-out bonus into an apartment building that gave him a modest income... Now that firm-fleshed, well-built thirty-five-year-old women practically tore his door off its hinges, why was he so lackadaisical?
Sure, he fucked them. Rod was proud of the fact that he had never turned down a woman yet. But lately it was hard to get a hard-on. Somehow that didn't sound right. But it was true. There were times when this or that lovely had come scratching on his door (after one disastrous unplanned threesome Rod had become very cagey about handing out keys.), but at times these midnight visitors so eager to share his bed had found a man who would almost rather sleep than go through the prolonged ritualized foreplay that was necessary before he could get it stiff enough to push into the most relaxed, lubricated, and willing of cunts.
So what was he doing dreaming about young tight stuff? Standing in the shower watching the warm water trickle around the peeled-back head of his hammer, Rod guessed it was just a classic case of the middle-aged blahs.
It was tragic though, the way a man who had everything -- well, not exactly everything, he guessed. But Rod had a decent income. He managed his own building which put the chill on any prolonged vacation travels, but this was a pleasant town with a good climate and the streets and beaches were adorned with females in shorts and well-filled bikinis, so he had no real need of a change of scene. It was a good life. He had three women on the string at the moment and it was not too difficult to keep them sorted out and ignorant of one another's claims on his tiring body.
It was the kind of life most men dreamed about. So why was he so bored? Young girls were fine but they were also stupid and talked too much and could bring endless legal complications. Besides, he told himself, a cunt was a cunt. They couldn't be all that good. Could they?
No girl on earth could possibly be as good as his dream girl. She didn't talk. She didn't make sudden unnerving remarks about statutory rape. She didn't do anything but fuck. But wow! If only just once he could experience awake all the joys that nameless faceless wraith could give him while he thrashed about alone in his solitary bed...
Just once. No man could ask for more. He wondered if he had ever experienced a real live girl one half so exotic, so erotic, so joyously singlemindedly devoted to fucking as his mysterious dream girl.
He shut off the water and toweled off. Shaving, he noted that the gray at his temples was spreading. Another couple of years and he would be gray all over. But he was still a handsome man -- handsome enough to attract plenty of women even if he had not been comfortably fixed. But why, a tiny little inner voice wailed, why couldn't he ever get a young one like his dream girl?
Sighing, he patted his cock and balls dry. Despite having come joyously, and explosively, he could feel a faint stirring of renewed desire. Now wasn't that something! After all the trouble he had managing to go a second round with any of his three steadies... And yet, here he was ready to have a go at a dream. For a minute he was tempted to caress the magic wand between his legs, caress it, stroke it, struggle once more to coax back that faceless vision. Who was she? His dream girl had to have some basis in reality. Was she some girl he'd known? Had he ever fucked her?
It was hard to say. At forty-five Rod had planted his seed in countless gardens. But like most men, his memory turned hazy after the first three or four. Any man can remember his first fuck. But how many can remember their tenth?
Rod could remember his first. Wow, could he ever! He went back into his bedroom and found a pullover and slacks. He put fresh sheets on the bed and went out to the kitchen to engineer some coffee. He could remember his first fuck perfectly. Just to think of her after all these years brought a sudden surge of desire to his just emptied jock.
There had been times during that summer when he had been fifteen when Rod thought that the long hot endless frustrating days would never end. It had been at the tail end of the depression when a dollar could still buy a piece of prefabricated lay, though Rod's upbringing had been too sheltered for him to know this.
In fact, he was still not quite sure at fifteen, such was the innocence of those dear dead days, he hadn't been one hundred per cent certain that people actually did fuck.
It was one of those things that everybody talked about but... People talked a lot about God too and he had never actually seen either one. Rod had, though, discovered over a year before that something very nice could happen when he applied his hand to the swelling in his cock. And being a normally healthy boy, it was not unusual that images of female figures with all their interesting bulges should come to mind.
Once on a field trip to a museum the teacher had taken a wrong turn and Rod had actually gotten one hasty glimpse of a pair of marble bulges on some improbable statue of a naked woman practicing with a bow and arrow. Since that day he had been consumed with the desire to verify his one hasty glimpse with a vision of the real thing. At times he could feel his hands tingle with the thought of what it might be like actually to touch those soft-firm globes that managed to make women's chests so delightfully and interestingly different from men's. But thirty years ago bare tits did not stare at a boy from every newspaper and magazine. Rod was fifteen and the only jugs he had ever seen, though lovely, had been of marble. He was long past due for the real thing.
And the hell of it was, the real thing was all around him. Girls his own age -- girls he had played and wrestled with were suddenly sprouting lung warts. But these girls were just as suddenly no longer wrestling. Even old Antoinette next door, a whole year older than Rod, who, when he was five, had indulged in a game of show-and-tell and proved to him that girls actually are different, that they really don't have a prick down there -- even old Antoinette was no longer showing and telling.
Nothing had actually been said, but there seemed to exist an unspoken convention that certain things just were not -- were never going to be discussed. Rod knew with sickening certainty that he would never have the courage to broach such a delicate subject with any girl. Knowing girls, he knew she would immediately scream, slap him, kick him, and worst of all -- she would tell his mother!
Which left him all alone all that long hot summer -- alone with his fist. Five -- seven -- ten times a day he managed to find a penny and another excuse to walk the block and a half to Elton's where Mr. and Mrs. Elton had after all these years taken to another clerk now that old Mrs. Elton felt poorly most of the time.
And the clerk was -- Rod never knew whether she was thirty or forty. She was somewhat more plump than the girls who appeared on billboards in one piece bathing suits. But she was cheerful, always smiling, with clear milky skin, and the most amazing pair of bulges Rod had ever seen in the front of a print dress.
But the most intriguing thing about her was not even those unbelievably jaunty jugs. It was her smile. In days when everyone wore a lean and hungry look this milky-skinned goddess wore a serene and untroubled countenance, always that same half smile as if she possessed some secret that nobody else knew about. She did know one thing Rod did not know, he reflected ruefully. She knew what was inside the front of her dress.
It had taken him a month even to learn her name. But by then Myrt seemed to be regarding him with a special amusement. Rod wondered if the lovely smooth skinned Myrt had noticed that he was finding excuses to come to the store ten times a day, to linger interminably over the penny candies while sneaking sidelong looks at her bosom.
Then one day neither Mr. nor Mrs. Elton had been in the store. It was a blazing August afternoon and even the imperturbable Myrt had worn a faint sheen of perspiration: "Hot, isn't it?" she asked.
Rod gulped and nodded.
"Wish I could go swimming," the goddess added. Suddenly Rod's stage fright was gone. "Why don't you?" he asked.
"Where?"
"Don't you know the way to the lake?"
Still wearing that quizzical and imperturbable smile, the firm-jugged goddess shook her head. "I'm a stranger here," she explained.
Rod took his courage by both ears. "You want me to show you?" Surely she would smile and shake her head and he would retreat in crimson-eared embarrassment and afterwards he would never be able to face her again. What on earth had ever gotten into him to say such a thing?.
She was shaking her head, still smiling and -- and she was nodding yes! "I'll close up an hour early," Myrt said. "There's nobody coming around today anyway. It's too hot to shop."
Rod couldn't believe his ears. She was actually agreeing to go swimming with him. She would wear a bathing suit and he would get to see her legs all the way up and the straps would be thin and he would see her arms and shoulders and maybe her bathing suit would be cut so low he could actually see the beginning of that deep groove that showed sometimes in the pictures in the movie magazines when women wore those slinky long dresses to dances and other mysterious nocturnal goings-on.
Then he sobered. She had agreed to let him show her the lake. There had been nothing said about swimming. But just to be with this lovely creature outside the store, to walk beside her and be able to squint sideways at the lovely jiggle and bounce of her bosom whenever she walked...
"Is it far?"
Rod came back down to earth. "Oh, 'bout a mile, I guess. I walk it all the time." This was going to be the end of it. No grown up woman could be expected to walk a mile. She would expect him to come up with street car-fare or worse -- maybe she thought he was old enough to have his own car.
"If you don't mind showing me, I'll be ready at four o'clock," she said, still clothed in that imperturbable smile.
"Yeaaaaaahhhh!" It slipped out before Rod could control himself. He hoped she wouldn't decide it made him sound too immature. Jesus, if she turned him down now he'd kill himself! "I'll be back," he promised, and tore out of the store before he could make more of a fool of himself.
He got home and put on his swim trunks under his Levis. It was three o'clock already. He studied his chin in the mirror and wondered if he dared risk a shave. But he had shaved only a week ago and with his luck he'd cut himself with Papa's straight-edge and go bleeding all over the place and his hands were shaking so bad that that to hell with it.
What was much worse than the way his hands were shaking was his cock. It was so hot, so stiff and hard it was pressing through the front of his worn swim trunks, pushing out the front of his , Levis until he knew he wouldn't be able to walk a mile with the lovely milk-skinned goddess who had deigned to accept him. Maybe he ought to pound it off first.
CHAPTER TWO
Rod came down with a jerk. Daydreaming about Myrt after all these years, for Christ's sake! The coffee was about ready. He had gotten so completely out of his forty-five-year-old self that for a minute he couldn't understand the buzzing. Had he forgotten to turn off the alarm clock? Then he realized somebody was leaning on his door bell.
Now who the hell? It was eight o'clock in the morning. Surely somebody hadn't managed to plug up a sink or get locked out already... Sighing, he opened the door and faced a trim bodied blonde in a formfitting white blouse and a moderate mini which showed off her seemingly endless legs. "Hi, honey," she said. "I spent the whole night at that switchboard and about an hour ago I realized that itch is so deep that only you can scratch it."
"Hi, Vera," Rod said. "Come on in and have some coffee."
"Is that the best you can offer a girl?"
"Hungry? I'll fix some breakfast."
"I was thinking more about some raw meat."
Rod smiled. Vera was a lovely chick, outgoing and without the slightest hint of pretense. She had not been around for nearly a month and he had begun to suspect she had found somebody younger, somebody with a little more starch in his standpipe. And the funny part was, there were times when he almost wished she had. His crotch still ached from his dream girl. Could any living breathing woman ever come up to the fine high eroticism of his dream girl?
Vera was not the kind of girl who dithered about waiting to be asked. Already she was unfastening the waist-band of her mini. It descended to collapse round her ankles like a parachute. She caught it with a toe and chorine-kicked the mini onto a coffee table. As she stood before him clad in a formfitting blouse, platform shoes, and pantyhose Rod decided she didn't really need an invitation.
Blond hair hung straight down her back, nearly to her waist. Vera began unbuttoning the blouse, fingers flying down the hundred or so buttons much faster than Rod could ever have managed it. He felt a sudden surge in his tired old cock and guessed that for this willing girl he would be able to get it up after all. She was not his dream girl but she was here, she was warm, willing, and twenty-eight. Her waist was just barely beyond the compass of his two hands.
As she took off the blouse and stood before him clad only in platform shoes, panty hose and seamless bra Rod realized suddenly that it had been almost two weeks since he had had twin handfuls of those lovely firm mounds of which hard-ons are made. He felt his rod start to rise. Thank the gods there would be no embarrassing delays this time.
He often wondered what his girls thought about those delays. Did they realize he was getting so old, so tired, so satiated that even with a lovely young chick like this who didn't even need the bra she was taking off -- even now he had to work like hell to get it up?
But any man who deals with women has learned by age forty-five how to fake it. Rod had striven valiantly and managed to convince every girl he had ever fucked that she was the greatest thing since sliced bread, that he lived and breathed and puffed and panted for her panties only, and that only superb skill and superhuman effort plus years of training in a Tibetan monastery allowed him to control himself and not explode prematurely at the mere sight of such ravishing loveliness. It seemed to make the poor darlings happier than the plain truth that he usually couldn't get it up all the way any more, that the combination of a not quite stiff cock and a slippery cunt was just not capable of coaxing a squirt from his fountain of misspent youth.
Vera kicked off her platform shoes and stood before him clad only in pantyhose. She was really something else: firm upstanding jugs that reminded him of that silly "Excelsior" poem he had memorized in school about the boy who moved only onward and upward. She was giving him a funny, slightly fishy look though. Now what had he forgotten?
Suddenly Rod realized that if he was going to impersonate an eager young stud caught up in the throes of irresistible passion he ought to be taking his own clothes off instead of just standing here watching the free show. He kicked off his loafers and began getting out of his pants while Vera did likewise, treating her pantyhose with the respect such diaphanous fabric deserved.
They finished. in a dead heat and stood nude -- naked, admiring one another's bodies. She really was built like the proverbial brick pagoda. As he studied the smooth roundness of her unmarked belly, the tiny waist and jiggling cones that pointed at him like twin searchlights Rod felt a premonitory tremor in his crotch. He was going to get it up this time, he hoped.
Vera opened her arms and flowed toward him. Their lips met and then they were swapping tongues as avidly as if it had never happened before. He felt her body mould to his, firm tits pressing against the graying hair of his chest, her belly pressing against the bulge of his half flaccid cock. She put her arms round his neck and suddenly she was hanging from him, her endless legs wrapped round his waist, her blond furred pussy gaping, the tender inner surfaces of her labia damp against the front of his dangling cock.
Damn! he thought, if only I'd been able to play it this cool that day I showed Myrt the lake...
* * *
When four o'clock approached on that long ago August afternoon it had been hot as ever. Wearing swim trunks under his Levis, Rod had headed for the store, then realized he was going to be a half hour early. His cock was throbbing so hot and hard that he wished he'd massaged it into temporary submission, but it was too late now. He was too early, but if he ran back home and performed the necessary exercise with his fist he would be too late. He dawdled in the shade of an elm and finally, four eternities later, it was four o'clock.
When he went into Elton's there was nobody behind the counter. The day would come when this attitude would be suicidal for any storekeeper, but that afternoon when Rod was fifteen it had not arrived yet. He stood in the sweltering darkness waiting, wondering if she had forgotten. Maybe an older man had come along and invited her out... maybe she had changed her mind. Maybe he just ought to go home and kill himself. He should have known better than to expect a full-grown woman as lovely, as plump, as clear skinned and firm-fitted as Myrt to actually accept an invitation from a fifteen-year-old...
Myrt emerged from the back of the store, still wearing the same print dress. "Hi," she said. "Ready to go?"
Was he ever!
Myrt carried a large brown paper shopping bag and he dared wonder if she had her bathing suit inside it. He would have to let her find some bushes out by the lake. Go in the water first and that way she could know he was not peeking. But hell, she wouldn't actually go swimming. Not with him. She would walk to the lake with him, would thank him for the information, and then someday she would go alone or with one of her gentlemen friends Finally she had finished locking up the store. They walked side by side down the sweltering street to where the pavement ended. The lake would be full today, he supposed. It was funny. Some days, even when it was as hot as today, the lake would be totally empty of people. Other days it seemed as if everybody in this end of town conspired to converge upon that body of water.
As they left the pavement the trees grew thicker and it was slightly cooler. Rod walked in a slight daze, not really believing it was happening. After admiring her all summer he was actually walking out with this jolly jugged creature. He kept studying her profile from the corner of his eye. She was dressed exactly as she had been in the store, but she didn't bounce and jiggle so delightfully. He wondered if it was the bright sunlight after the dimlit store interior. Or was it man's natural tendency to devaluate anything once he had possessed it?
She was not too tall for a girl -- about the same as his five-five. Once he had reached his full six two Rod would consider her rather small. But now, at age fifteen, she was Junoesque and as majestically inaccessible as the goddess. He wished he could think of something bright to say.
"Let's fuck?"
"You. want to swim first and then fuck?"
"Let's fuck and then swim?"
"Let's fuck and not swim at ail?"
He gave a grin of wry amusement as he wondered what would happen if he were ever insane enough to say what he was actually thinking.
"Penny for your thoughts."
"Huh?" He turned, startled, and realized abruptly that she couldn't be reading his mind.
"What were you smiling about?"
"Oh I don't know. Just hot, I guess."
"Is it much farther?"
"Right over the hill."
"Will there be many people there?"
"I don't know. Sometimes I go there and I'm the only one."
Was he imagining things or was her smile just a tiny bit more scrutable?
"Do you like to go swimming with girls?"
"Ain't never done it before." Saying it, he wished he could bite his tongue. Now she would know what an ignoramus he was. Still, the girl seemed to be smiling.
"What do you like to do with girls?"
Fuck, fuck FUCK! Jesus, what would happen if he were just once to say what he was thinking? It was hotter than ever and he was sweating and his cock was throbbing so hard he knew that if he looked once more at her tits it was going to go off. He wondered if he could make it to the lake and into the water before the come soaked through his bathing suit and spotted the crotch of his Levis. Maybe he could wait till she was off in the bushes changing and then get into the water and wash away the come before she realized what had happened.
Realized! What did girls know about that kind of thing? Here he was acting as if she could read his thoughts and knew everything that went through his mind every time he gazed on the bulge in the front of her dress. Criminy, what was wrong with him?
They topped the rise and saw the lake. It wasn't that big, but it was surrounded by trees and blackberry thickets, with a small sandy beach on the side closest to them. "Aaaaahhh!" Myrt exclaimed. She began running. Following her Rod noted that even with this violent exercise her lovely jugs did not jounce as interestingly as they always had inside the store.
This abrupt lack of bounce so intrigued Rod that the mini crisis in his crotch was momentarily mitigated. He wondered if he had just been imagining it. Then he abruptly knew the answer. The first time a friend had shown him one of those things on a clothes line and explained the use his older sister put it to Rod had been frankly unbelieving. Then the new Sears Roebuck catalog had arrived with models posed more daring than ever and, son of a gun if one them hadn't actually been wearing a brazier or however it was spelled. Sure as heck Myrt must have put one on just for this trip.
It made sense. Girls always wore the craziest, most outlandish things in the mistaken belief that these items of clothing would make them irresistible to boys. When, he wondered, would girls ever learn that the oldest and shabbiest of dresses, providing it had shrunk enough, was far more interesting than the newest fashion? When would they learn that any red-blooded boy was interested in the girl, not her clothes? Jesus, if he could just get one peek at Myrt with her clothes off Rod wouldn't care how many braziers she wore, One look at that lovely undraped body and he knew he could lie abed the rest of his life and conjure the come from his cock with just the memory of that plump perfection without once even touching his tool.
He jogged painfully along behind her, his swim trunks and Levis torturing the throbbing tip of his tool. The danger of coming in his pants was temporarily over. He was hurting too much. He slowed to a walk and Myrt gained on him. She selected a spot in the center of the vacant beach and sat down. Painfully, he walked up to join her. "Looks like we're alone," she said cheerfully.
It did indeed. It was like a dream come true, Rod realized as he looked around the deserted lake. Here he was alone with Myrt. They were going to go swimming. He wondered what possibilities there were in that. He had seen pictures in magazines of handsome young men with cookie duster mustaches holding stalwart poses with bare-legged swimsuit clad girls on their shoulders, smooth-skinned inner thighs only millimeters away from ears and cheeks. Suddenly at the thought he knew he was going to come right now right in his pants.
Jesus! How did they ever stand it? How could those men with the cookie duster mustaches stand still long enough for a photographer or a painter to... It had to be done with trick photography, he guessed. No man could have his face that close to a girl's legs without going raving mad and coming all over the camera. He sighed, realizing that he could never do it anyhow -- even if by some miracle Myrt were to permit such a liberty, he was only fifteen, still growing, and Myrt was a hundred thirty pounds of solid woman. But oooohh, was it ever nice just to think about it!
She sat on the beach in front of him and he realized this was the delicate moment. Unless he could find her a place to change where she felt secure from prying eyes he knew he was never going to get a look at those thighs.
"Well," she asked, "Shall we go in the water first?"
First? For one panic stricken minute he knew she had been reading his mind. Go in the water first! And then what? He gulped, struggled to speak and finally managed to get it out. "And then what?" he croaked.
Myrt pointed at the shopping bag. "Picnic," she said.
"Oh."
"You sound disappointed. What did you think I had in there?"
"Oh -- uh, your bathing suit and stuff like that, I guess."
Myrt shook her head. With one fluid motion she grasped the hem of her dress and whipped the print over her head. Now he knew why her tits hadn't bounced all the way out to the lake. She already had on her bathing suit.
CHAPTER THREE
How different it had all been when he was fifteen, when the sight of that chubby, clear-skinned woman whipping off her print dress to reveal a splendid expanse of thigh beneath her one piece swim suit... how different it was from now, when he was forty-five and naked, with a naked twenty-eight-year-old blonde hanging round his neck, her mouth glued to his, her tongue touching his, her long straight legs wrapped round his waist as her wide-gaping vulva rubbed wetly at the top of his half flaccid hammer.
Back when he had been fifteen there had been a song about "What a Difference a Day Makes." If he could have known then what a difference thirty years was going to make maybe he could have bottled some of that essence of erection. He could sure use a little starch right now. Was he going to get it up? And if he didn't?
The name of the game is guilt. Get your blow in first. If he couldn't get it up it was time right now to begin constructing subtle defenses. If he couldn't get it up it wasn't his fault. It was hers. She was slipping; she was getting old. She was careless. She was starting to nag. She was hanging on too tight. Shit! She hadn't even dropped around for nearly a month. Maybe he ought to start hinting that she had been replaced...
Instead, Rod closed his eyes and with his mouth still firmly fastened over hers, he cupped the cheeks of her eager ass in his hands and moved blindly toward the bed, meanwhile trying to remember how it had been earlier this morning with his dream girl. Sometimes that helped. It was crazy, he knew, but man's mind is hopelessly perverse, ever wanting an egg in its mental beer. Here he had a young, well built and willing woman. So why did he have to go creating mental images of something else just to get it up?
He felt his knees bump the edge of the bed and guessed he'd better put her down before he developed back problems. It was going to be awkward unless she let go. How could he go forward with all that weight around his neck without falling down hard on top of her and flattening those lovely fits?
Abruptly Vera solved the problem by relaxing that erotic scissors around his waist. Pendulum-like, her ass swung down and landed on the bed. "Aaaaaahhh," she commented, and scooted around until she lay in the middle of the bed, face up and knees flexed, thighs spread slightly in classic missionary position.
Rod gave up on his dream girl fantasy. He had to open his eyes to see what he was doing and besides, now that the blonde was no longer swapping tongues and could see him, she was bound to get curious if he went dorking about with his eyes closed. Studying her flawless fair-skinned body, he noted that those lovely fits he had been afraid of squashing a moment ago were still pointing defiantly skyward even though she lay supine. Now that was unusual. Most girls tended to flatten out and sag in that position, no matter how young. Studying tiny pink-tipped virginal aureoles, he felt a sudden surge of desire. His cock began to throb most encouragingly.
He got onto the bed, kneeling beside the girl. She pursed her lips, waiting for another kiss but instead he dived for one of those lovely nulliparous nipples. As his lips descended on their target Vera made a low gurgling sound like defective plumbing. Her arms closed convulsively over his head puffing him down harder, deeper into her yielding breasts.
Rod kissed her nipple, licked it and abruptly that tender tip was erect and throbbing with a passion as turgid as he remembered in his teenage cock. He switched to her other fit and the blonde was moaning now, writhing, arms wrapped round his head to pull him in deeper. Her legs had risen from the bed and were waving skyward, seeking something hot hard and male to fit between their smooth-tapered length.
His cock was coming up. If he could just keep his mind on what he was doing Rod knew he would be able to make it. He had a respectable hard-on already. But was it stiff enough to get it in? He tried to remember what Vera's pussy was like. It was funny. He only had three steadies but after thirty years of flicking women they all seemed to run together. Was this lithe blonde the really tight one? Or was she the one who could rally to any occasion, relaxing to let a, faltering phallus into her, then tightening up and squeezing the head of his hammer and driving him practically out of his skull with delight?
Damn it! He had let his mind go wandering and he could feel the firmness of his hard-on start to depart. He tried to concentrate. This is a woman; she's young, beautiful, willing, and she's on my bed and I'm going to fuck her. These are fits I'm kissing. That's a lovely clean young cunt down there and if I don't get it up soon she's going to start wondering. You can only play this self-control gig so far before you start looking like a tired old man.
Vera was moaning satisfactorily, so caught up in her own passion that she apparently had no suspicion of his difficulties. He knelt beside her, switching rapidly from one fit to the other, kissing both nipples into raging rampant erection. She moaned and wrapped her arms around him. Slowly, he began easing around until he could get his lean body between those flailing legs.
God, she did have a lovely body. Tiny waist, firmly up-standing, patriotic all-American tits, a lovely smooth belly. Her legs were the first thing he had noticed about her the day they met -- seemingly endless erotic devices projecting from a miniskirt. Remembering that first time, the first fine thrill of conquest, he felt a sudden access of passion. Well how about that! He really had a hard-on.
Now if he could just keep it long enough to get it in... He managed to get between those lovely long legs and immediately she wrapped them around his waist, rubbing her gaping vulva against him, moaning and squirming. Damn it! She was wiggling around so much he couldn't even hit the hole.
Rod reared back from her fits and got a firm grip on her ass. Her blond furred mons veneris was prominent. Beneath it he saw the gaping hairless inner surfaces of her vulva. She really had a lovely body. Reared back this way he could survey her perfection at full length. Don't let your mind wander, he warned himself. Christ! A sight lie this should be enough to make him come before he could even get it in. Instead, he was concentrating on conserving enough stiffness to...
He edged carefully forward until the tip of his tool was touching the warm soft wetness of her labia. He thrust with a silent prayer that it would not bend double. The gods were with him for once, he guessed, for suddenly Rod felt his rod sliding slowly, smoothly, sensuously up her ready lubed vagina. And even though he'd been poking his prod up vaginas for thirty years, he had to admit it still felt awfully good.
"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Vera sighed. From her sudden vacuous smile he guessed she was feeling good too. He felt his rod slide smoothly into her, in, in and it felt like a fleshy funnel. Now he remembered what was different about Vera.
Unlike many women -- even some virgins, Vera was not hard to get into. She was so willing and uninhibited a practitioner of the erotic arts that there was nothing uptight about the entry to her tunnel of love. But the deeper he went, the tighter it got. Rod gave silent thanks to the gods of love that it was not the other way around for, once he had it in, there was no real trouble driving it in deeper all the way. Down toward the end of his stroke she became so tight that he could feel a constant squeezing, pulling massage.
He bottomed out and held a moment, grinding his gray haired pubis against the blond fur of her mons veneris and her vulva now tight wrapped around the shank of his cock. It felt good. It felt so good that suddenly he knew he had as much of an erection as he was ever going to get. Still reared back where he could look down at the full supine length of her magnificent body, he drove it in, pulled out, rammed it home again with a grand slam before stopping to grind his crotch against hers, stretching her cunt in delightful new ways, poking his prod into her from unexpected angles that made the blonde giggle and moan and squirm and gurgle and say 'aaaahh.' She was struggling to come up off the bed to meet him. Time enough for that later, he decided if his hard-on survived intact Suddenly he was assailed with a new worry. Alter all the trouble he'd had getting it up, now that he had finally gotten his cock into full fighting trim he was suddenly afraid he was going to come.
She was lovely -- not a wrinkle or stretch mark on that pristine body. Suddenly he caught himself wondering what she was doing here with an old fart of forty-five. She had never once hinted that he ought to many her. Never once had she asked for a 'loan.' Was she freaked on old men? Gray hair? Or had she had unfortunate experiences with hot-blooded young studs? Probably the latter, he guessed. Old men might have trouble getting it up but once an older man got a hard-on it was practically indestructible. There he went letting his mind wander again. Why couldn't he keep his mind on his business, stop analyzing and enjoy the pure, simple and sensual now of fucking?
The interval had done one nice little thing for him; it had carried him through that first perilous moment of potential disaster. He had felt the tiny premonitory quiver in his crotch that, in his more inexperienced days would have presaged blurting, spurting disaster. But now he had held his breath, gritted his teeth, thought about something else long enough for the moment to pass. He had lost a tiny drop of come but his load was intact. Now he could keep it for hours. He bent low over her before she could rise up to meet him again. Fastening his lips over one magnificent tit, he began pumping.
Slowly, steadily, with the confidence-inspiring regularity of a metronome, he began puffing his cock out of her, out all the way until the bare head of his probe was barely parting the lips of her vulva. Hesitating a moment,. he feinted once, then began slowly feeding the length of his lance back down into her ready receptacle.
"Aaaaaahhhh!" Vera sighed. It was not sparkling dialogue but one of the things he liked about Vera was her ability to get down to the meat and potatoes of fucking instead of intellectualizing and talking about 'meaningful relationships' and all the Freudian crap that frigid bitches used to conceal the fact that they were a cold fuck.
Vera was not cold. She was warm, willing, attentive to his needs, rising joyously to meet his thrust, holding together for a magic moment while her deep muscles contracted to squeeze the head of his joyous assjammer, milking, caressing, pulling him deep, deeper into her seething snatch.
Her nipples were as rock hard as the clit that ground against the bony prominence of his pubis every time he bottomed out and held for a moment and they rotated their asses, seeking out new angles, new ways to stretch every tiny fold of her passion flushed vagina, rubbing the warm wet essence of woman around and around the throbbing knob on the end of his raging rod. It felt so good!
It felt good and it was going to last for at least an hour. He was over his worries about getting it up now -- no longer even thinking about the plump Myrt who had accepted his invitation to the lake some thirty years ago -- no longer mooning about his faceless dream girl who had already coaxed one painful month-long accumulation of come from him while he slept.
Now he was doing it right, thinking only of the moment, savoring each square inch of flawless female skin that rubbed against him. He detoured from her rock hard nipples and kissed the sensitive tender undersides of her lovely jugs. Once more Vera made that low gurgling sound like defective plumbing. He felt her pussy give a contraction of joy unconfined as her arms went round his neck and her thighs gaped wide, then closed round his waist. Her ankles locked behind his back, capturing him in an erotic scissors. Slowly, Rod kissed his way around her tits, burning his signature across their upper surfaces, up past the hollow of her throat. He blew in her ear and was rewarded with another joyous contraction of those deep muscles squeezing the head of his cock, drawing him in deeper, harder, faster.
He resisted the temptation to accelerate. That was for boys who couldn't go the stretch, who lunged and rammed and puffed uncontrollably, struggling to get in as many strokes as possible in the second or two before they expired in spurting humiliation.
Rod didn't have to worry. He had it up now. His funk of moments ago was forgotten as he paced himself, feeding this lovely blonde the kind of gourmet flicking her perfection deserved. How could he have doubted himself even for a minute? He knew why she came back to him. She had probably tried out a young stud or two during the month she hadn't been around. After a while any girl as capable and experienced in the erotic arts -- any girl with her kind of equipment could probably derive a wry amusement from watching young men come prematurely just from looking at her lovely body. But when she was tired of being amused -- when she wanted to be flicked, little Vera brought her lovely little pussy right back to good old Rod's dependable rod.
It was good and hard now -- not in the slightest danger of bending when he thrust. But it was not the rock hardness of some young man with a cock as undependable as old dynamite, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Rod poured it to her steadily, hesitating a magic moment with his cockhead barely parting her blond-furred vulval lips, feinting once and withdrawing again before going the full length.
He was not ramslamming brutally like some young stud struggling with animal ferocity to get in as many licks as he could before collapsing. Rod was pacing himself for the long haul. He would give her an hour of steady poking in missionary position and then if she was not gibbering with raddlecunted satiation he would turn over, keeping the vital connection intact, and spend a half hour relaxing while the lovely Vera bounced up and down, jiggling her tits in time to the lovely sensual slide of her ass up and down his flagpole. It was going to be a good day.
She was gasping, flushed and panting already and he felt the sudden tiny spurt of love's lubrication, the little quiver deep inside her that meant he had already coaxed one orgasm from this lovely willing woman. It felt good. He struggled to pace himself, not to fall into the young man's trap of accelerating his pace. If he could just hold a steady beat he knew his old cock was good for hours of fine freestyle flicking. Now what was that goddam noise prodding at the edge of his consciousness?
It was the telephone on the nightstand beside the bed. Now who the hell had to be bothering him right now? Fuck them! More importantly, he wanted to get back to fucking Vera.
CHAPTER FOUR
He drove deep into her, held a moment, pulled out, hesitated, feinted twice, and slammed it in once more, in up to the hilt. Vera gasped with delight as he drove to previously unplumbed depths.
And the goddam telephone would not stop ringing. He was tempted to take it off the hook and leave it dangling but Vera was panting and moaning and he had enough problems now without some son of a bitch ringing up and asking what time was the next free show. He drove deep into her again and Vera gave a joyous little quiver.
But she was frowning and he could tell the noise was getting to her too. Damn it! He needed to concentrate on his fucking. Why did everything and everybody in the world conspire to spoil things? He thrust again and -- shit! He had lost his hard-on. His cock bent and came out.
I'll strangle that son of a bitch, he decided as he grabbed the tip of his dwindling dick and forced it back into Vera's cunt. He guided it with his hand, thrusting slowly and carefully and finally managed to get it all the way into her again. But it was no good. He didn't dare pull out and thrust now or he'd never get it back in. She had come sliding and tumbling down the rocky slopes of Passion Peak and lay beneath him, frowning and squeezing her eyes shut at the telephone's incessant ringing. Rod sighed and picked it up.
"Yes," he said noncommittally. If this was free dancing lessons he was going to take it up with the chamber of commerce and the phone company.
"Rod?" It was a woman's voice.
"Yes." Suddenly he remembered how the organic matter had hit the fan that day he had been in the saddle and another candidate for phallipuncture twisted a key and walked into his apartment. That had been the day he resolved never ever to give another girl the key to his place.
And now he had his cock in Vera while another woman was on the phone, figuratively sticking it in his ear. "Rod, I've got to see you immediately. It's important."
"Yes," he said. Of all the god damn times! It was Rose, whom he always privately referred to as Rambling Rose, though luckily he had never slipped and said it to her face. Vera was still spindled on the dwindling remains of his hard-on. She didn't seem exactly happy. "I'm rather busy at the moment, Rod explained. He squeezed the phone tight to his ear, wondering if Vera had heard enough to know he was talking to another woman.
"Please, Rod, it's urgent. I've just got to see you."
"Look, if your sink is plugged up, just call a plumber and save the bill and I'll knock it off the rent."
Vera gave her ass a little wiggle and he had to struggle to keep his flaccid phallus from falling out of her well lubed love seat. She sat up and arched her neck to blow into his free ear -- and to try to hear what was going into his other ear, he supposed.
"But Rod, it's a matter of life and death. I've just got to see you. I'll be over in ten minutes."
Rod glanced hastily over Vera's blond head at the alarm clock. "Take your time," he said. "I was just leaving too. I'll be back sometime between ten and eleven."
"But Rod -- "
"Ten thirty," he said firmly and hung up before she could reply.
"You dirty old man!" Vera said, her face an odd mixture of pleasure and annoyance. "That was another of your girl friends, wasn't it?"
Rod had been fucking women for thirty years and knew the rules of the game. What would happen, if just once he were to say, "Yes, it is. She wants to come over here and flick for a while." But he knew better. Vera would not believe him but there was no use rubbing her face in it. "My banker," he lied. "Trying to swing a loan for some improvements in this building."
"Sure," Vera said ruefully. "And since he's your banker he won't need any of this so I'm going to have it all before I go." She got her arms and legs around his waist and began grinding her cunt frantically, tormenting his tired tool until he felt a slow return of desire.
"You diiiiiirrrrty old maaaaaaan!" Vera crooned as she felt his reviving rod begin to straighten out and fill the void between her long shapely legs.
It was hard to hold a grudge against any girl as single-mindedly devoted to fucking as Vera. He grinned and began cautiously to pull it out.
He didn't dare pull it out very far but at least he was fucking again, and not just hanging on frantically like some leather-clawing bronco buster atop a horse that was too much for him. Vera's smile forgave everything. He managed to forget about the telephone as slowly his cock came back to life and he strove to lose himself in the simple, sensual now of a good piece of ass.
Gradually, slow as an hour hand, his hard-on became functional and finally he was pouring it to her as enthusiastically as he had been before the phone rang. Phone rang. Phone rang -- damn! He had told Rambling Rose that he would be here at ten thirty. It was a quarter after nine. That didn't leave much time. Could he even manage to come?
Then, pouring his revived ramrod into Vera's eager snatch, Rod realized he really didn't have to. All he had to do was fuck the daylights out of this lovely willing blonde, give her a solid hour of poking and leave her crooning and drooling, drooping in happy exhausted satiation. By the time she had come twenty or thirty times her cunt would be so soppy he couldn't come anyway and all he had to do was a bugs bunny routine with a sudden ramslam, a couple of happy little snorts and squeals and how would she know whether he had ever come or not? She would be too happy to wonder about such minor details.
"Ooooohhh, you diiiirrrrty old maaaaaan!" Vera was crooning. Her lithe, flawless body was rising to meet his thrust, her ass slamming enthusiastically against his crotch with each stroke. She gave a sudden rasping croak like a startled chicken. Her smooth body stiffened galvanically, back arching as she strove to capture his cock and draw it deeper up her seething pussy.
Rod let her pull him in, welcoming the respite from the steady, metronomic thrusting that was beginning to pall. She held against him for a moment, her teeth gritting, her whole body as rigid as if his plug was feeding high voltage current into her socket. Then abruptly she gave a silly little giggle, gave her ass a feeble grind against his groin, and fell back with that vacuous smile common to those who have just had personal converse with their god and those who have just come explosively, devastatingly, and have experienced the joy that passeth all understanding.
Rod rested atop her while she sighed and moaned and kissed his ear and said 'thank you' in seventeen different dialects of body language. What the hell was Rambling Rose up to? She was in her early thirties, older than the happy blonde harpooned on his tool at this moment.
Rose was an experienced woman of the world who, after wearing out a couple of husbands with the housewife bit, had finally gone out and started selling real estate. Now she made more money than she really needed, did exactly as she damn pleased, and was a friendly, undemanding fuck whenever Rod felt in a mood to indulge his rod. He had the uneasy feeling that whatever his Rambling Rose needed, it was not going to be money or anything simple. Knowing Rose, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if she were to show up and demand his assistance in disposing of somebody's dead body.
Which reminded him that his hard-on was in danger of dying from old age. He roused himself from his languor and began pumping again before it could fold up completely.
"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Vera commented.
Working slowly and carefully, he began feeding her short, mincing strokes, barely pulling his graying crotch away from her vulva lest his treacherously limber dick betray him with an unexpected bend.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" Vera repeated in a low, sensual voice. That was what he liked about this lithe blonde. Her conversation was to the point, with neither hypocrisy nor obfuscation. But, Rod philosophized, by forty-five any man who's got his head screwed on straight has learned to run, not walk, for the nearest exit whenever a woman starts talking up a good fuck. He remembered that hot August day thirty years ago at the lake when he had walked there with the plump, clear skinned woman he had worshipped all summer.
* * *
Myrt had not intellectualized. She had hardly talked at all. Instead, she had merely asked him if he wanted to swim first or afterward. It was not her fault that in his fifteen-year-old eagerness he had thought for a moment that she was reading his mind. Not that it would be hard for any thirty-five-year-old woman with a build like the proverbial brick pagoda, with the most fantastically forward-pointing pair of jugs he had ever seen in that stone age of the uplift bra... how could any woman this side of a convent not know what went on in a healthy fifteen-year-old boy's mind, in his throbbing and inexperienced crotch every time he feasted his eyes on those lovely knockers?
But Myrt had merely pointed to the shopping bag and said, "Picnic." She had, either wisely or by accident, mitigated the knife twisting disappointment by slipping off her dress, affording him his first sight of her lovely, full fleshed thighs sticking out of the scratchy wool skirt of a one piece bathing suit. Giving him a particularly unladylike grin, she had said, "Last one in's a rotten egg." And before Rod could begin to unbutton his Levis Myrt had sprinted to the water's edge and dived in cleanly, making a very small splash for such a magnificently endowed girl.
Rod didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Everything was happening too fast. All this long hot summer he had fucked his fist while creating juvenile fantasies around the plump, clear skinned woman with the Mona Lisa smile. Now he was actually with her. She was clad only in a swim suit, had accompanied him alone to the lake and -- Somehow in all his erotic daydreaming Rod had never gotten around to working out the exact details of what came next.
Jesus! Men were supposed to know everything. Men were supposed to know secret words, secret ways and places to touch a girl which, according to the juvenile folklore he had absorbed, would instantly reduce a girl to hopeless uncontrollable passion. It was a part of every teenage boy's store of knowledge that there existed this arcane sexual karate. The only part he didn't know was, what were the blows?
"Aren't you coming in?" Myrt's head emerged from the water, sleek and seal-like as marcelled hair lay tight about her.
Rod struggled ineffectually with his Levis. Finally he managed to unfasten the belt and unbutton his fly. Sitting on the tiny beach, struggling to get his legs out of pants that suddenly conspired to hobble him, he felt an abrupt letdown.
It wasn't going to happen. Suddenly he realized what a fool he'd been. People didn't really fuck. All that bushwah about babies coming out of women's bellies was too outlandish to be real. He wasn't sure where they came from but at fifteen Rod knew a whopper when he saw it. How could anything as big as a baby actually come out of a hole as small as one would have to be if it were to nest between a woman's legs? He remembered ten years ago when he had gotten his only glimpse of old Antoinette's hairless six year old snatch pouting out like a pair of beestung lips. It was so tiny and tight that she had managed to pee farther than he could. No baby was ever going to come out of that hole. Nor was anything as big as the swollen, throbbing thumping troublemaker between his legs ever going to get into it. Heck, if he could just manage to rub it against her once Rod knew it would be enough to relieve him of the pulsating passionate load he carried.
"Hurry up, the water's fine," Myrt called.
Finally Rod had his Levis off. He peeled off his shirt and ran toward the water, wishing he could dive as cleanly as Myrt. Instead, he belly flopped, splashing half the lake up onto its banks. But the clear cool water at least disabused him of the shredded remnants of his sexual fantasy.
He had constructed an elaborate, erotic house of cards on flimsy evidence. He had invited a lonely, older woman to go swimming and she had accepted. That was all it meant -- she was going swimming with him. He surfaced and saw her wet face a dozen feet away, still wearing that inscrutable smile that had driven him mad with desire all this long hot summer.
She was smiling and happy. Suddenly Rod knew he would never dare spoil it all with any hint of something 'dirty'. How had he ever thought he could? If he had wisely refrained from hinting at anything with girls of his own age, knowing with dreadful dull certainty that they would immediately run and tell his mother, how could he dare broach such a delicate subject with a full grown woman closer to his mother's generation than his? Myrt was lovely, full-bodied and clear skinned, but he knew his temporary acceptance as an adult would abruptly terminate if he were to be anything less than the soul of propriety.
"Good, isn't it?" Myrt said, still favoring him with that maddening smile.
"Yeah," Rod gasped. He wondered why women went through the hell of marcelling their hair. With wet hair plastered sleek around her clear skinned, untroubled face, Myrt was even more attractive than she had been in the store. The water in the lake was' clear and cool -- shockingly so after the heat of that long since August day. And despite it all, staring at that sleek head smiling at him from a dozen feet away, Rod felt his cock once more starting to rise and. swell.
He put his feet down and discovered that she, who was his exact height, was standing on the bottom. She began float-walking toward him and he was overcome with sudden panic. If she were to bump into him and feel the great thumping bulge in the front of his swim suit it would be all over. She would emerge, put on her dress and go home and he would never be able to go to the store and look her in the face again.
She was only' a yard away now. Golly! She was coming closer. He. tried to retreat but she put out her arm and caught his hand.
"You know," she said conversationally, "The nicest thing about swimming is that nobody up there on the bank can see under water."
CHAPTER FIVE
Thank the gods for daydreams, Rod thought. Remembering the sudden surge of joy and disbelief that day with Myrt in the lake had brought that final edge to his tool and now he was pouring it to the lovely long legged blonde beneath him almost as well as he had been before that goddam telephone had rung.
Vera was properly appreciative, pulling him down atop her until they could kiss without breaking the vital plug and socket connection. She swapped tongues with eager abandon while putting her hands against his chest as if trying to push him away. For a moment Rod was confused, then abruptly he understood what this lovely, single minded creature was up to. Instead of making him support his weight on his elbows as is customary in missionary position, she was freeing his hands for whatever erotic purpose he might find.
Jesus, what a lovely hard, smooth skinned body she had! Not an ounce of fat or flab. She was firm, smooth, without a single stretch mark or wrinkle but above all, she was tight. God, was she ever tight! Despite having come twice already, her tiny, easy-to-enter snatch still closed around his flagging phallus like some firm fleshed erotic funnel, growing tighter as he drove deeper until at the bottom of each stroke he could feel nameless muscles squeezing, kneading and caressing the head of his cock, reminding him of how it had been when he was a younger man engaged in a constant struggle not to come prematurely and fire his precious load before the bringer of all this joy could receive proper compensation.
Even now Rod suddenly knew he had not totally defused this lovely smooth skinned blonde with the endless legs. Each time he drove deep into her and held a second she squeezed, kneaded, caressed the tip of his throbbing tool with some erotic machinery deep in the depths of her cock pocket, bringing him a thrill of joy that he had not experienced since -- To hell with that line of thought, Rod decided. If he went daydreaming and remembering long gone fucks he was going to lose his laboriously regained hard-on. He broke free from their endless tongue-swapping kiss and reared back to admire the lithe perfection of her blond-haired, blond snatched youthful body. Jesus, she was a lovely lascivious little lass! He didn't want to do anything to lose her.
She had been moaning out her paean of erotic joy while his freed hands ranged over her, inventorying, memorizing, exulting in the fine firm female feel of willing flesh. He had caressed her firm, skyward pointing jugs, run his hands over the firm but yielding smoothness of her ass wrapped tight around his throbbing thumper, had gotten a finger between their slow-banging crotches to add an extra flick to her clit each time he pulled out end gathered forces for another soul-jarring slam down onto, into her firm flesh.
Now he reared back where his eyes could focus on the full perfect length of the body beneath him, spindled on his thrumming spike. She was slim, lithe and lovely, with a mind totally adapted to living within a body that was built only for fucking. Staring down at the lovely round smoothness of her deep-naveled belly, knowing he had his cock deep inside that lovely trap, Rod felt a renewed surge of desire. If only he could depend on his aging body to respond this way every day Rod knew he would do something irrevocable and foolish like asking Vera to marry him.
The lovely lithe length of blond fuckability beneath him misunderstood. his reason for rearing back to admire her full length perfection. Vera rose to meet him, to kiss him and plaster her firm jugs against the graying expanse of his chest. She moved her long legs carefully and one at a time, taking infinite pains not to break the erotic connection between her prurient pussy and that throbbing thumping hunk of masculinity that was giving her such supernal satiation.
Rod rearranged his legs and finally Vera settled down with a happy sigh. Now he sat on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor. The prick stiffening blond sat astraddle his lap, facing him, endless legs wrapped round his waist, her firm upstanding jugs jutting toward his face, and with his cock driven deeply, inextricably up her fleshy erotic funnel, 'her lovely ass grinding so tight against his crotch that not even the most limber piece of wet spaghetti could escape. "Aaaaahhh!" Vera said.
Rod was inclined to agree. She began rocking gently back and forth, grinding her ass against his graying pubis, forcing his cock ever deeper into her with each rock and roll. Slowly, they began rocking farther back and forth. Vera kept trying to accelerate but Rod knew it was essential to hold a steady beat if this rock and roll were to last long enough to be worth while.
Vera rocked forward, raking his graying chest with the firm protrusions that adorned her chest. Her thrumming pussy came in hard and deep for a full and complete envelopment of Rod's rod. As she rocked forward and he moved back, her face met his; their lips connected and touched tongues. They held for a moment of frozen ecstasy and then Vera relaxed slightly, allowing her smooth firm torso to fall back.
As she fell back Rod rocked forward, his mouth coming away from hers to plow a loving furrow down her throat, deep into fit territory. Each time his mouth switched targets from her lips to the rock hard nipples of her twin pectoral volcanoes Vera emitted a throaty gurgle like a bathtub trying to decide whether it would empty or not.
And each time Vera rocked backward and Rod forward his firm phallus came out. slightly. Not far enough to put him in any danger even if his erection had not been as suddenly firm and satisfactory as this delightful exercise had put it. The movement of his cock in and out of her cunt was not all that much. But it went out only slightly, stopping still deep inside her, then each time she rocked forward and Rod backward his cock went from deep to deeper up that lovely firm fleshed funnel, driving nearly to the portals of her womb where that special musculature deep inside this accomplished girl was squeezing, massaging, almost grinding at the head of his joy filled jock.
"Aaaaaahhhhh!" Vera commented.
It was the sort of conversation Rod enjoyed. It was the kind that required no answer. Not that he didn't enjoy talking with women, but if thirty years of fucking had taught Rod anything, it had taught him that women who talk are usually more interested in talking than in fucking. And the worst kind of talkers were, he had discovered, those who made a big deal out of how emancipated they were, how many dirty jokes they knew, and man, you look like you're well hung and when are we going to get together? Then there were the quietly competent women who didn't have to say anything -- women whose body language radiated readiness. And this tiny nugget of philosophy almost cost Rod his hard-on.
Damn! he thought. Any man who couldn't keep his mind on this lovely business must be approaching senility. He clasped Vera's hips and pulled her down firmly over his dwindling dick, lunging and struggling to drive deep into her before the blonde's uninhibited bouncing up and down his joy stick could make it bend and fall out.
And Vera, lovely smooth skinned and hard bodied child of nature, put the best construction on his frantic effort to save his hard-on. She assumed that Rod, like every other young stud she had permitted to enter her treasure trove, had succumbed to the irresistible eroticism of her long-legged, firm-fitted body and was about to come. Vera began bouncing harder, faster, struggling to draw him in deeper.
She was coming again, a vacuous smile filling her lovely face. Deep inside her Rod felt her cunt pulling, squeezing, massaging the head of his softening hammer. It felt so good he could feel his tired old cock start rising to the occasion. But quite suddenly Vera's vacuous smile turned into what someone less wise might have considered a look of intense pain. Her lovely lithe body stiffened and she quivered, fibrillating like some victim of electroshock therapy. She emitted a tiny little screech of a peculiarly grating quality and Rod felt her belly tighten as every muscle contracted around the head of his cock.
Vera's eyes rolled and her head lolled. Her face and tits flushed, then turned pale. Rod would have been frightened if he had not seen all these signs before, and if he had not experienced her inarticulate but intense gratitude for the pleasure he had given her. After twenty or thirty mini orgasms this lovely, built-for-fucking blonde had finally gotten around to the Big One.
Her fibrillating pussy was pulling, squeezing, mauling his half flaccid hammer unmercifully. Rod ramslammed against her taut trembling ass, struggling to come. And didn't make it. Vera gave a fluttery little gasp and fainted. He tried to pull out and couldn't. Son of a bitch! Now that had never happened before. He wondered. Why did bitch have to be a pejorative term for a woman? Vera must be built rather like a bitch inside and Vera was one of the friendliest, most honest, utterly relaxed and fuck-able women he had ever known. But bitch like, she had clamped down over the head of his cock and he couldn't get loose.
If I told it at the pool hall nobody'd believe me. Rod lay relaxing atop her flaccid body, smiling bemusedly as he waited for his hard-on to dwindle. Damn, he was tired. Fucking was fine and if he lived to be a hundred he'd never say a word against it but there were times when a forty-five-year-old man didn't feel much of anything except sitting down with a glass of something cool and watching the young stuff walk by.
Vera half smiled, stirred, and brought up a moan from deep within her seductive soul. "Aaaaaaahhhh," she explained.
Finally he wasn't sure whether it was the head of his cock shrinking or her deep bitch-muscles relaxing, but he felt his cock begin slowly to slide out of her. He glanced at the alarm clock above her tousled blondness and -- oooooohhhh shit. How had he let the time get by like that? Son of a bitch! Had he really been fucking away in this rock and roll position with Vera on his lap for nearly an hour? No wonder he was tired. No wonder Vera's brains had turned to come and trickled out of her cunt. He had to get her out of here. Rambling Rose was going to come pounding on that door any minute.
He hadn't even come. How about that? He'd pleasured his lovely long legged blonde to within a millimeter of her mental health and he hadn't even fired his load. Oh well, he philosophized, he'd already fired one into the sheets for his dream girl. He guessed he could get through the day without a stone ache.
Vera was still half conscious or half asleep. He got her into the shower, got a towel over the remains of her hairdo and began washing her off. Even soaking wet and soap slick in the shower she was a lovely sight. He felt a thin tendril of desire begin to grow in his loins. It was funny. He had to get her out of here. She was fucked out, and now she was all wet and, and... why didn't women have sense enough not to waste so much money on clothes when all it took to turn on a man was the sight of their lovely round bodies glistening with soap and water and -- wow! Was there anything on earth one half so aphrodisiac as the sight of a lovely clean naked woman coming up out of the water? He remembered that day at the lake.
* * *
After an interminable fumbling struggle with belt and Levi buttons, with knotted shoe laces, with every possible impediment that can befall an eager boy trying to undress, he had finally gotten out of his clothes and belly flopped into the lake. When he came up the lovely Mona Lisa smiling Myrt had been a dozen feet away and despite the chill of the water he had felt his fifteen-year-old cock give a leap at the sight of her sleek wet head.
Myrt had turned out to be the kind of woman it would take him years to appreciate to the fullest. She was a doer, not a talker, limiting conversation to the bare essentials. But surely his boyish ears, eager for any hint of hidden eroticism in the most ordinary utterance -- surely she hadn't meant it the way he thought. "Uh, what?" he asked, then by way of explanation lest he seem a total idiot, he added, "Got some water in my ear."
She had been walk-floating on the bottom until now she was within touching distance. "I said the nicest thing about swimming," she repeated, "is that nobody can see under water unless they're right here where we can see them too."
That had been what Rod thought she said. Jesus! Did girls really think about the same things he did? He didn't think even other boys thought the way he did. There was something special and secret about Rod's way of thinking. Other boys made coarse jokes about fucking -- whatever that was. They made jokes about girls' bodies and their mysterious functions. And like any boy, Rod had gone along with it.
But all the time, every time he had listened to a group of boys boasting of the dozens of little ways they had discovered to put girls down, to show their contempt for anything female, Rod had known deep in his heart of hearts that perhaps for the others it might be true but not for him.
Not for Rod. For as long as he could remember he had loved girls' bodies, women's bodies -- anything female. He loved to look at their legs, at their faces, at their asses, at the interesting bulges in the front of their loose fitting late-depression dresses. The other boys might laugh and snicker their contempt. Rod did too as long as he was with the boys.
But alone he confessed to himself that he would do just about anything if he could, just once and without fear of some girl running off to tell his mother -- Jesus, what wouldn't he give just for the chance to put his hand up a girl's dress and find out what her thighs felt like, to memorize the contour of her ass, to find out if they were all pouting lipped like old six-year-old Antoinette or if she had been some kind of a freak.
And tits, oh Christ, oh Jesus, what wouldn't he give to be able to see a real live pair, just once to run his hands over them and find out if they were as delightfully warm and soft as they had to be and -- "What?"
"I've been watching you watch me all summer," Myrt said, still wearing that imperturbable Mona Lisa smile.
"You what?" My god, he thought, had she really caught him looking at her tits? He felt like sinking to the bottom of the lake and never coming up.
"How good a swimmer are you?"
"Oh, uh -- pretty good," Rod managed.
"Can you open your eyes under water?"
"Sure."
"Duck your head and look straight at me," Myrt said. "I want to see if you can do it."
Rod ducked and saw Myrt's face underwater less than a foot away. He also saw that she had peeled down the top of her one piece bathing suit. Staring at him like twin headlights were the tits he had admired all summer. Now he was seeing them without any intervening cloth.
CHAPTER SIX
Vera was reviving now that he had turned the shower onto cold. She finished rinsing off and they toweled. "You really are a lovely dirty old man," she said affectionately. Rod climbed back into his slacks and pullover. He glanced at the clock. Jesus!
Vera saw the gesture. "You'll be in time for your appointment with the bank president," she said with a grin. "Just tell him the girl from the switchboard at the savings and loan got here first and cleaned out your account."
Rod struggled for something to say. He knew and she knew but the rules of the game required him to make a passionate denial. "You're something else," he sighed.
"I know I am," she said with an air of cheery satiation. "And if there's something else left in you, you dirty old r man, I'm going to get it first."
For one panic-stricken moment Rod thought she meant it, then he realized she thought he'd come just as massively and explosively as she had. There was no point in letting her think otherwise. If only that goddam Rambling Rose with her mysterious urgent errand had not called up he wouldn't have minded having Vera around all day. She could nap for two or three hours and when they had rested they could pick up where he had left off and maybe this time he could come inside her lovely bitch-cunted blond body. He felt his cock start to rise at the thought. Hurriedly he turned away before she could see the bulge.
Vera looked at the clock and suddenly she was in a hurry too. "My god!" she exclaimed, "Is it really that late?"
Rod nodded.
"Got an appointment to fix my hair," she said, and kissed him on the way out.
Bemused by her sudden exit, Rod made the rounds of the apartment picking up bobby pins, a forgotten bra, all the evidence that he had just flushed a quail out of his bedroom. He surveyed the place with a silent prayer that he had not overlooked anything. Christ but he was tired. He decided to lie down for a few minutes. He was just stretching out when the doorbell rang. Sighing, he went to open it.
Rambling Rose was perhaps five years older than Vera. She was a well-groomed, expensively dressed woman in her early thirties who had worn out a couple of husbands before discovering that she was born for the rough and tumble of the commercial world. Now that she was out there every day working off her aggressions by putting people into houses they weren't quite sure they wanted and putting their commissions into her growing bank account, Rose had turned into a voracious lover who no longer ended each sexual connection with the spider like practice of devouring her mate. Not that she didn't come close to it on occasion. But Rod had stuff pricked her into giggling submission and his phallopuncture therapy had accomplished more than three fifty-dollar-an-hour shrinks had been able to do toward getting Rambling Rose's head back on straight.
"Hello, darling," she said. "I'm sorry to come bursting in on you this way but I just had to see you." Capable and take-over as always, she bustled in and closed the door behind her, snapping the lock. Without invitation or preliminaries she began shucking her suit.
"Well I -- uh," Rod began. But it was too late. There would be no fubbing off this eager woman today. Already she had shucked jacket and skirt and was down to bra and pantyhose.
Rose was more full-bodied than Vera. Her hair was dark brown and, like Vera, she was the same hair color top and bottom. Rose was an inch taller than the blonde, with three inches more waist and ten inches more of hips and tits. Every time Rod looked at the gloriously smooth skinned expanse of her ample femininity he was reminded of his first real love, the full-bodied mature Myrt whom he had worshipped from afar all that long hot summer when he had been fifteen.
He remembered how he had ached and yearned at the sight of all that feminine flesh bouncing and jiggling around Elton's store every time the clear skinned woman had bent to get him another penny candy or pack of gum or any of the countless errands he had invented to find an excuse to come back and look once more at her volcanic profile.
And now he was really looking at it staring straight at twin half globes that stared at him like the headlights of some carnate truck, twin nipples pointing accusingly at his staring eyes without any cloth in between: no dress, no shimmy, no brazier! There was nothing between Rod's staring eyes and Myrt's tits except a foot of clear lake water.
Involuntarily his mouth opened. He came up gasping and sputtering, half drowned. When he could breathe again Myrt was still there, still smiling. It didn't really happen, he told himself. I was just seein' things. Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe her shoulder straps had slipped off and she hadn't realized it. Should he tell her? Jesus, how could he say a thing like that? Maybe he'd better make sure first. He took a deep breath and resolved that, no matter what he saw or how surprising, this time he was not going to open his mouth.
Rod ducked his head carefully under water and -- oh golly, oh Jesus! It was true. He was a little farther away now but the water was clear and he could see the shimmery outlines of her whole body, legs and all. Her one piece wool swim suit was peeled and folded carefully down about her waist. Twin headlamps were radiating femininity toward him from the decapitated body he could see under water. Her head was invisible above the water but he could see her arms and her hands. They were reaching toward him, beckoning.
Oh Christ, oh Jesus! Did he dare? If he were to come close she would feel his face against the bare front of her body and then she would know for sure that he was seeing something, feeling something that he shouldn't. Would she get mad? Probably she would ask why he hadn't warned her that her top had slipped down instead of just staying down there staring at her. Why had he told her he could see under water?
If he'd lied, told her he couldn't open his eyes under water then maybe he could have gotten away with blundering into her 'accidentally', long enough to rub his cheek, dig his nose into that deep furrow between the twin mounds of femininity that adorned her smooth-skinned bosom. Her nipples were tiny, pink, shrunken to rock hardness by the cold water. She was still reaching toward him with her hands.
Suddenly he realized what she had said -- that nobody could see under water. Jesus, he abruptly realized, she knows she's bare. She wants me to come close and touch her! It was a revelation as mind blowing as that which had once stricken Saul of Tarsus blind on the road to Damascus.
Abruptly a whole new world of sensuality opened up before Rod's water dimmed eyes. Until now he had always assumed as basic that no girl could possibly really care about boys, no way could these lovely delicate creatures ever realize the devastating effect their bodies could have on a, boy's mind, how the mere thought of them could grow hair on his palms.
Rod had assumed that any joy to be extracted from girls' bodies would have to be stolen. Like any healthy and imaginative boy, he had dreamed up elaborate scenarios, subterfuges and games that went on for hours, sometimes days -- all calculated to lead a woman inadvertently to that magic moment when he would have a perfectly logical and legitimate reason for undressing her, for running his hands over her undraped softness and memorizing the feel of femininity so that later his cock could feel the fist that felt -- Years later he would understand that even in cultures that are totally devoid of an aesculapian tradition, little boys and little girls will always find some excuse to play 'doctor.' But this moment of revelation blew all that. Never in the wildest moments of free ranging fantasy had Rod ever envisioned a girl as more than a passive partner. And Myrt's hands and arms shimmering in the clear cool water were definitely active. Goldang, he thought, she actually wants me to come in there close and put my head against her and... and -- Gollyjesus!
Before he could chicken out -- before she could change her mind he lunged forward and fastened his lips over one tiny rock hard nipple. As he did it he realized he was being too bold, too hasty. Now she would get mad and bat him over the head with her fist. Now it would be all over and she would put her clothes on and go back to the store and they would never mention this day or even speak to one another again. But, he philosophized, she couldn't hit very hard underwater and it would be worth it just once to dig his face into this forbidden fruit that bulged so invitingly ripe before his famished lips.
It was soft; it was warm; it was wonderful. He put his arms around her to keep from floating away and kissed and licked her nipple. Under the warmth and stimulus of his lips it was growing, pulsating, throbbing vibrantly between his lips. He felt her arms come in close to push him away. Then dimly he realized she was embracing him drawing him in closer, deeper into the lovely twin pectoral volcanoes he had admired all summer.
His blood was pounding in his ears and suddenly everything was shimmery. For an instant he thought he was going to faint, then he realized he had been down too long, had forgotten that even a boy getting his first mouthful of tit has to breathe once in a while. He began to break loose. Abruptly her embrace changed and she was pushing him away hard, fast.
Rod broke the surface well away from the imperturbably smiling Myrt and when he had breathed a few times he understood what she was up to. Little by little he was learning the rules of the game. He could come as close as he wished underwater but before he surfaced, he had to be at a decorous distance -- just in case somebody happened to be peeking from all those bushes.
"Do you like to go swimming with girls?" she asked when he had stopped gasping.
Rod was still breathless. Before she could change her mind or go changing the rules of the game halfway through like girls were always doing, he took a final deep breath and dived again. This time, to hold himself down he got his hands around her ass. With his face buried in her tits, he struggled to make his breath of air last as long as he could, feeling frantically, memorizing the soft-firm roundness of twin globes through the scratchy wet wool of a one piece bathing suit. His hands slipped down to the smooth ivory of her thighs.
It was the most mind blowing experience Rod had ever encountered in his brief fifteen years. And the truly mind-blowing part of it, he suddenly understood, was not that he was finally nuzzling a pair of firm warm tits, cupping a woman's ass in his hands, running his hot little hands up and down the backs of her thighs. That was mind boggling enough but the part that really threw him was that she was not asleep; she was not unconscious; she was not tied up or facing any of those mysterious 'fates worse than death' he was always reading about in the pulp magazines. What was really warping Rod's fifteen year old awareness was that this lovely woman whom he had admired all summer was not some Mata Hari with a foreign accent. She was not seductive or evil or clad in the impossibly revealing garments he had seen on magazine covers. Instead, she was a perfectly normal American woman and she was letting him do it!
She wasn't just letting him, he gradually realized. She was inviting him. Why good golly gosh, she must like it too! Well how about that! So women liked to have boys put their hands in all the places boys wanted -- at least Rod wanted to put them. By gum, he thought, I bet she fucks!
Suddenly, no matter how unbelievably nice it was to rub his hands over her ass and his face in her tits, Rod had to come up for air. She felt his struggle and suddenly he was being propelled backward until he surfaced a dozen feet away from the imperturbably smiling face that still emerged from the water, seemingly separated from all those forbidden and lovely goodies he was seeing and feeling underwater.
He was half drowned, and so excited that he had nearly swallowed water. Standing tiptoe on the bottom, he breathed deeply and struggled to calm himself. Jesus, his prick was so stiff even in this cool water that he knew if he touched it he would go off. He could feel it pressing until the front of his one piece wool swimsuit was standing out like Omar's tent. He wondered what would happen if she were to see it. Did she know about hard-ons? How could he explain it if she didn't?
"Well, you see, when a guy looks at a gal and starts thinkin' -- " That would never do. "A man falls in love with a woman and -- " Jesus, that was worse! He had been about to continue, " -- and they decide they want to start a family -- " Christ! What if she wanted to start a family? Was he old enough to get married? He'd have to quit school and maybe get two paper routes...
He had caught his breath. Before he could become entangled in verbal traps -- before she could change her mind on him, he took a deep breath and bent his knees until he sank and could swim under water toward her irresistible bareness.
This time he missed and came in low, his nose plowing squarely into her navel which was barely exposed by the folded-down one piece suit. He expected her to pull him back up into fit territory but instead her capable hands captured him and drew him into her smooth, gently rounded belly.
Now that was funny. Rod had never thought a woman's belly could feel that good. His cock was throbbing and thumping unmercifully as she drew him in until his mouth and nose were digging into the smooth softness of her belly. His chin was caught in the scratchy wool of her bathing suit. He suddenly realized this was probably the best chance he would ever get in his lifetime to verify his suspicions about a woman's crotch. Would it be two hairless pouting lips like old Antoinette's had been at six? Or would it really have hair on it like a man's, like all the boys insisted? Or had Antoinette merely been the victim of some freak accident that had cut off her cock and forced some doctor to do a rather neat job of tucking the ends in? For all Rod knew his lady love might have a cock down there.
Did he dare try to find out? What the hell? She hadn't made him stop yet. Cautiously, he began trying to get his hand inside the waist of her tight fitting one piece suit. Her hands came from around his neck and suddenly he knew the game was over. This would be where Myrt drew the line. Then abruptly he realized she was not stopping him. She was helping. She was pulling the wool swim suit down over her ample hips.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Staring at Rambling Rose who was hurriedly and without any effort at seductively peeling off her clothes in front of him, Rod was reminded of that dear dead time thirty years ago when he had first tasted the pleasure immanent in a well endowed and willing woman's body. Damn, he thought, all the times I came that day and just wasted it all... if only he could have bottled some of that youthful vigor and kept it for now when he was graying, forty-five, feeble pricked, and sorely in need of something to get his cock up.
Rose was a no nonsense woman and he supposed her 'life or death' problem had turned out to be nothing more than a sudden and frantic need to be scratched up deep inside where only the steady and indefatigable dependability of Rod's rod could be counted on to continue scratching longer than she could go on itching. She sat on the edge of his bed where Vera had sat only 'minutes ago. She kicked off her high heels, began carefully peeling pantyhose down over the opulent swell of hip and thigh.
Rod concealed a sigh. There might come a day when he was panting for a piece of Rose's ample ass. No point in being boorish. He began peeling off his pullover and slipping out of his slacks again. It had hardly paid him to get dressed, he guessed. Suddenly he realized why whores in busy jock shops wore nothing but a peignoir they could slip into and out of without all kinds of stretching and wriggling and hair combing. Maybe he ought to start wearing a robe.
Then sobering, he realized he would be able to wear whatever he wanted for the rest of his lonely life if he didn't manage to get it up soon and give his Rambling Rose an internal massage. She had taken off her bra while he struggled with pants and pullover. They were clad in regulation uniform for the sport in which they were about to engage. Rod prayed that his rod would not let him down.
Staring at the lovely onward and upward stance of Rose's full cut forties, her brown aureoles and nipples three times as large as Vera's twin cherries, he felt a faint stirring of desire. But his cock was not up. Not even half-way up. Would it come up at all?
Jesus! One woman out the door and another in! This was the kind of situation he had dreamed about when he was a young, hot-blooded stud. Now...
Rose was lovely. She was full-bodied and firm, very like the inscrutably smiling Myrt who had taught him the taste of tits thirty years ago. Thirty years ago the sight of her willing nude body sitting on the bed beside him would have driven him out of his mind. He would have wrenched his back with his haste to grab her ass, spread her thighs, and pin her to the mattress with his eager erection. But that was thirty years ago. The only thing that would ever get it up for him right now, he realized, was something the age he had been thirty years ago -- something young and tender that he had despised then and would give his immortal soul and one of his balls for the chance to stab now that he was old, tired, needed every possible bit of erotic stimulus he could get if he were to get it up and get it off with Rambling Rose.
It was funny. All those years when he had been an eager young stud -- starting right off with the ineffable Myrt, he had gone for older women. Gradually as he aged he had turned to women of his own age and only when he had been into his forties had he gradually turned to all the suddenly abundant women in their twenties and thirties who had developed a taste for forty-five-year-old cock.
Rambling Rose was just the right age for premium fucking: old enough to know the score and not have any juvenile notions of propriety, and young enough to have a firm, unmarked body. Like Vera, she had either been born sterile or blessed with enough foresight not to be caught in the baby trap. Neither woman had any of the stretch marked bellies or thighs, the elongated tits and oversized nipples that are concomitant with apple pie and motherhood. She was a cake waiting to be cut.
And he couldn't get an edge on his knife. Christ, he thought, what am I going to do? Maybe he ought to blow her. Maybe if he went in for some good old fashioned Hollywood carpentry the sensation of tongue in groove would coax some starch into his wilted wand. He was just turning to grab Rose's luscious full blown body and arrange her on the bed so that he could kiss away the hurt when capable, take-charge Rose abruptly grabbed him.
Oh shit! he thought as she began laying him out supine, face up, knees flexed and thighs spread in missionary position just as if he were the woman and she the man. She was going to mount him and spend a happy hour bouncing up and down his spike and when Rose couldn't get that piece of wet spaghetti into her ready receptacle Rose was going to be one hundred thirty pounds of very impatient woman.
Well, to hell with her! He had done every thing he could to discourage her from coming. She had cooked up some story about a matter of life and death. Let her coax some life out of his dead cock if she could. She was old enough to know her way around the world. She couldn't honestly believe she was the only woman in his increasingly frantic life. Next time she pulled that kind of shit on him he'd just have to be frank and say, "I'm sorry but I'm busy fucking somebody else right now. Could you please call for an appointment tomorrow?"
Abruptly he realized he had been underestimating good old Rambling Rose. This practical, no nonsense woman didn't need a blackboard and little arrows and diagrams to explain a dead dick. She saw and understood immediately and, rather than being all bent out of shape, Rose of the firm forties and magnificent thighs crouched over his flaccid phallus and did what she judged most calculated to bring some life into that flagging flagpole. In short, she grabbed his limber dick, peeled his foreskin away from the shriveled head of his tired tool, and replaced his shriveled prepuce with the warm wet inside of her lips. Carefully, she lowered her mouth over the bare head of his soft cock and began rubbing her tongue in loving circles.
Suddenly Rod's ennui was over. He felt virility returning in leaps and bounds as his cock rose in bounding leaps, moving like a ratchet jack a fraction of an inch firmer, harder, more rigidly erect with each beat of his accelerating heart.
God damn, he thought as his capable Rambling Rose licked his flagging phallus back into fighting trim, maybe this is just what I need at my age, a woman to Take Charge and manage my life for me. Rose with her boundless energy, her desire to manage; she could take care of all his affairs, relieve him of the need to make any decisions, collect the rents, deal with the tradesmen, the plumbers and roofers and god knew what who complicated his life. Rose could do it all and then come back. and wrap her lovely full lips around his lance and kiss and suck him back into rigidity and then she could climb up astraddle him and settle down carefully atop the knob of his revived rod and she could bounce up and down until something else came up, came up, came up...
Christ, was it ever coming up! His cock was rock hard and fluttering with a hair trigger explosivity he hadn't experienced for at least twenty years. What the hell was his Rambling Rose up to? She wasn't just coaxing a hard-on out of him. She was going to blow him to smithereens!
What had happened to her capability? Rose was no amateur. She had worn out two husbands before she decided to go free lance or more specifically, to hunt down and blunt any lance she could find free. But Rose was a woman who enjoyed her fucking. She had come here to experience the fine firm feel of Rod's permanent press prick sliding in and out of her affable ass. What was she up to with all this frantic amateurish gobbling?
She was licking the head of his cock, sucking it, swallowing it deep past her palate. She was lovelacing him deep down her throat. And once she had his full blown erection deep down her gullet she was doing her open-mouthed best to get him into her balls and all.
Oh wow, oh Jesus, did it ever feel good! It felt so good he knew he wasn't going to last. She was going to make him come right down her throat and she wasn't going to get any fucking at all. Shit! If his cock had been limp when she came in here, what would it be like after she had finally drawn the starch out of him, pulled from him the load all of Vera's sensual shenanigans had not been able to get out of him? Talk about wet spaghetti!
Rose was going to end up high and dry. And it would be her own fault. Christ almighty, not even a corpse could resist all the lovely sucking and licking and puffing and caressing and swallowing that her busy throat was lavishing on his flagging phallus. He struggled to contain himself, knowing how disappointed and how annoyed his Rambling Rose was going to be once she discovered that she had sucked herself out of a fuck.
Then abruptly Rod changed his mind. To hell with her. She managed; she Took Over. She knew her way around the world. If she wanted to do something foolish like wasting the only round of ammunition for his single shot weapon... if she wanted to be extravagant he was willing to relax, let her lick him into dry bagged idiocy. When he couldn't get it up she would have nobody to blame but herself.
One of the main reasons why Rod had never lacked for women was that he could not remember the last time he had let one blow him all the way. Oh sure, he loved a good blow job. But even more than a good blow job, he loved a happy woman who could be counted on to come back for more tomorrow and day after tomorrow and next week and next month.
And the way to accomplish this, Rod had discovered, was to always leave them hungry. But not that hungry. There are different tastes in women, just as there are in men, but Rod's observation had been that any woman who liked to blow a man liked even better to have seven solid inches slid into her, out of her, back in again and out again until her brains turned to peanut butter and flowed right out her ass. And any man who didn't have sense enough to interrupt a blow job before he came -- before he could pour his cock to her cunt in straight old-fashioned fucking until she squealed and whinnied and begged him to pull it out deeper -- that man was going to have trouble finding time in a woman's busy schedule to get his cock into her mouth or her pussy, even her ear or her hand ever again.
Rambling Rose was gobbling so frantically she was going to get a mouthful and she was going to go away mad and never come back and -- to hell with her. He had tried as diplomatically as possible to tell her not to come. If she didn't want to be fucked what was she doing here wasting his time for? A blow job? That didn't make sense.
Rod had heard of women who loved to suck cocks. He had known a few. But he had never known a woman who, deep down, wouldn't rather have that rampant rod deep into her the way god and the pope intended people to fly, making babies and fucking themselves away from the table until finally the world would be so full of hungry fuckers that...
She was swallowing him, her full lips pressed tight against his graying crotch, struggling to get his balls in too. His full grown, hot throbbing hammer was so deep down her throat that her tongue could no longer perform the rites of love around the bare thumping knob on the end of his erection. But those swallowing muscles in her throat were in constant motion, struggling to pull him in deeper, squeezing, milking, massaging him even more lasciviously than the deep muscled bitchery in Vera's blond-furred cunt.
He could feel it coining. His cock was thumping and throbbing, hard as it had been when he was a teenager still wishing and wondering. He opened his eyes and saw her ample ass. It would be friendly if he were to give her a couple of licks, he guessed. He 'wasn't going to get it into her unless she brought this frantic gobbling to a sudden abrupt halt but at least later when she was high and dry and cursing herself for being too eager, she would remember that he had given her snatch a friendly kiss or two. He reached for her ass -- had his hands on it when suddenly it was too late.
He had reached the point of no return. He was coming. He was blurting, hurting, spurting, firing his long hoarded load in great gouts of goo, driving his dong deep, deep down her swallowing throat and the more she swallowed the more he came and it felt so good that he didn't want to stop and oooohhhh WOW!
Rambling Rose was moaning and groaning her joy and suddenly he realized her tastes must have changed. Well I'll be damned, he thought confusedly, seeing everything through a pink frothed passionate wave of rut that was wrenching his crotch, milking and squeezing the last drop of joy from his fluttering jock. Rose knew her way around the world. She had known what she was doing all the time. Now he wouldn't have to apologize and there wouldn't be any unpleasantness. She had intended for him to come all the time. It was funny.
The more he thought about it the funnier it got. Had she seen some blinding light on the road to Damascus? What had gotten into capable Rambling Rose to forego her hour long session wrapped around his indefatigable flagpole? She hadn't once tried to get him to stick it up her cunt. And Rose was a woman who liked her fucking in family sized doses.
She still had his cock deep in her throat. She was still swallowing, pulling the final firm measure of devotion from him. And Rod, to his considerable surprise, was still coming. He hadn't come this long, this ballbustingly hard and soul satisfyingly for years. Growing old has its compensations in that a man's cock, once up, can stay there forever. But everything in life has its price and the price for a permanent press cock at forty-five is often very small and only half-satisfying orgasms, or often none at all. Instead a man will just fuck a woman into giggling and silly satiation and then slowly, little by little his hard-on will dwindle and he will have to do the Bugs Bunny bit with a squeal and a snort in order to fake the come that never came.
Rambling Rose had done something for him that Vera's lithe blond willingness had been unable to do -- something not even his dream girl had accomplished. Rose's educated throat had coaxed long hoarded come from him, had given him the kind of explosive and soul-shattering orgasm that most men seldom experience after forty. For some sixty seconds she had loaded him into a time machine and transported him back to the days of his youth, when he had possessed a hair trigger cock that could come a dozen times a day and still demand a mauling by his fist before he could get to sleep. Like that day at the lake with Myrt...
CHAPTER EIGHT
After all the prolonged agony of adolescence he was finally emerging into full blown adulthood faster than he had ever believed possible. In one afternoon he had been transformed from a gaping wisher into a gasping, half drowned doer. After suffering the will-she-or-won't-she agonies of the boy too inexperienced to know that, approached properly, just about every woman will, Rod had abruptly ducked his head beneath the mirror like surface of the lake and entered a Through The Looking Glass world where nothing was quite what it seemed except the wonderful warm soft firmness of Myrt's bare fits.
And now he was about to see for himself, unless he got so excited he stirred up mud from the bottom he was going to settle for once and for all what women had between their legs -- whether it was a cock, a pair of bare pouting vertical lips like 'old Antoinette had possessed at six, or if it was really true like all the boys insisted, that girls at a certain age grew hair just like boys.
He had swum underwater toward Myrt's full fashioned tits and missed his mark, digging his nose into her navel instead. And instead of panicking and pushing him away when he tried to get a hand down into her half peeled off bathing suit, she was actually helping him -- pulling it down farther.
If he didn't watch it Rod knew his mouth was going to fly open and he would half drown again before she managed to get that scratchy wool down past the fine firm roundness of her belly. He struggled to hold himself under water in front of her. He had taken in so much air he kept trying to float. He let out a little and still he kept rising. He swam downward and got his hands on her knees. He didn't want to interfere in any way with the unveiling of that lovely monument to eroticism that was slowly uncovering in front of him.
It was hard to see and he guessed he'd kicked up a little mud. He tried to hold still, gripping Myrt's knees while slowly, maddeningly, she tugged and pulled, working the snug fitting wool of her one piece suit down past her belly and suddenly - Goldang! It was true. He could see hair. He wanted to put out his hand and touch it but he was afraid to do anything that might interfere with the gradual unveiling of this holy of holies. Slowly, tantalizingly, the wet wool slid downward past the gentle swell of belly until he could see the beginning of twin grooves that came together gradually in a vee that had to end at her crotch. The space between the twin grooves was filled with hair the same color as on Myrt's head but, unlike the hair un her head, this hair had not lost its curl no matter how wet.
He waited, holding his breath, straining his eyes for the first hint of cunt. It didn't come. M the wool swim suit moved lower, practically to where the twin grooves came together there was still no sign of any secret slit. He realized those crude stick figures drawn on toilet walls had to be all wrong. There was no way anyone could walk up to this woman and stick anything into the front of her. He realized now those drawings had to be wrong. But even more, he realized he couldn't hold his breath any longer.
Still playing by the rules she had set up, he pushed away and swam three strokes before he could stand it no longer. He surfaced, gasping. It took him longer to catch his breath this time. Finally his eyes focused again. Myrt's head was still above the water, still wearing that imperturbable smile. She didn't even seem to be looking at him. She was looking past him, toward the shore. With a sudden sinking feeling Rod turned to look the way his unveiled lady was looking.
Oh shit, oh Jesus! It was old Mr. Edderly and his wife out for a stroll. Now what the heck were those old farts doing out on a hot day like this? Why couldn't they stay home in the shade and let him get on with what he was doing?
But instead, old Mr. Edderly was going to stop to gossip. "What're you doing out there spending all that time under water?" he called in his quavering old man's voice.
Rod felt like going to the bottom of the lake without any air and just staying there. What could he say? He wondered if old Mr. Edderly had ever been young. Had he ever fucked Mrs. Edderly? Criminy! He had to think of something to say. Could this doddering old couple have the slightest idea of what was really going on out here under water?
He was still struggling mutely for an answer when Myrt called, "I've lost an earring and I have to stand here close to where it fell off so he'll know where to dive." Turning back to Rod with the serene and imperturbable smile that had driven him mad all that long hot summer, she added, "Why don't you try it in here a little closer?"
Rod couldn't believe it. He wished he could have the kind of presence of mind that this resourceful woman possessed. Now he could dive close to her and not have to go swimming way off before he came up for a breath of air. And this little bonus to his fulfilled day had come, not because they were alone, but because now they knew somebody was watching.
He had been so mortified and disappointed when the old couple showed up that his raging hard-on had dwindled to cold water shrunken invisibility. Suddenly he felt a wicked rush of excitement at the knowledge that Myrt had known what she was talking about: nobody could see what was going on under water unless they were right there too within grabbing distance of her lovely ass now unveiled, the one piece wool suit dangling about her knees. As long as she stood still on this spot and didn't let her bare shoulder come up out of the water, who could know?
Rod could. He drew a deep breath and dived straight for her crotch. He got his arms around her ass and began nuzzling her belly, slowly working his way upward with tender loving care until he had achieved a water tight connection between her tiny, rock hard nipple and his mouth. He ran his tongue in loving circles around her brown aureole and was rewarded with a sudden swelling and hardening of her nipple. Myrt's arms went around his neck and head, drawing him in deeper.
He had taken a full breath and tended to float. He struggled to hold his position but his body kept trying to turn upside down. Finally he let it and then, suddenly realizing his feet would be sticking out of the water so close to Myrt's lovely full blown body that even old Mr. Edderly could not help but suspect, he grabbed her ass and began pulling himself hand over hand downward until his face was nuzzling the clustered ringlets of her pubic patch again.
He felt Myrt's hands grasp his legs and guessed she was helping to keep his feet invisible under the lake's glassy surface. Then abruptly he realized what she was doing. She had peeled off her scratchy one piece wool swim suit. Now she was doing the same for him!
It was too much. He had used up all his air anyway. He struggled and broke free to come up a couple of yards away. "Can't you see it?" Myrt asked in a voice loud enough for the old couple on the bank to hear.
"Muddy," Rod gasped. "You'll have to stand real still and not stir anything up." Not stir anything up but me, he mentally added. He caught his breath and once more went underwater to worship at the ivory columns of her thighs. This time when his feet threatened to surface Myrt's hand went right inside his half removed swim suit. Oh gollyjesus! She was putting her hand right on his cock!
Smiling bemusedly at the memory of the supernal excitement that had overcome him that day from the simple sensation of somebody else's hand where his own went five times a day, Rod came to with a jerk, realizing that he had just come explosively and conclusively down Rambling Rose's throat. Christ, she had pulled more come from him than he had imagined possible. It would be a week before he could even think about fucking without starting to hurt. It had been soul shattering but... Rod knew he wouldn't have missed it for anything. She had taken him back thirty years to the days when everything was new, everything was for the first time and when the feel of a woman working on him had been enough to send him soaring into a spasm of orgasm that left him gasping and satiated for all of fifteen minutes.
But it would be more than fifteen minutes this time. Jesus, was he ever fucked out! He hoped his other woman, the third steady on his string, wouldn't take it into her head to drop around this morning -- or any time within the next couple of weeks. It had been good. It had been wonderful. But Rod knew he had shot his final load for a long time. At forty-five those old batteries just didn't recharge like they had that day at the lake when he had been fifteen.
"Rod?"
"Huh? Oh yes, Rose, that was great."
"Rod, I need a favor."
Oh oh! Here it comes.
"Rod?"
"Yes?"
"I have this sister a couple of years younger than I am and she's divorced. She's in show business and she's gone off to Vegas for a tryout and if she gets the job -- Well... " Rod waited. Whatever it was, it promised to be a pain in the ass. Why couldn't it be something simple like money? He could spare a hundred or so if Rose was afflicted with a case of the shorts but... But Rose was too competent a business woman ever to get caught like that. He tried not to sigh. "Well?" he echoed.
"If she gets the job everything will be fine. She can get an apartment and see about schools and -- " School! Suddenly and with a sick feeling Rod knew what was coming next. "What you need is a woman," he began. "Even if I'd ever raised any children of my own, a man's no good as a babysitter -- "
"Not a baby," Rose rushed. "Fifteen years old and no problem at all. Really a well behaved child and washes the dishes every night and cleans up after me and everything. But Rod, I've got these high voltage clients coming in from out-of-state and I have to show them some country property and I've just got to be out of town for the weekend unless I'm willing to lose a commission as big as what I usually earn in a year and -- oooohhh, Rod, please! Just this once... " So that was why she had rushed in here and given him a super queen-size blow job! Rambling Rose couldn't just come out and ask a favor. She had to manage and manipulate and get him in just the right mood of satiated exhaustion so he might cavil and mutter but he couldn't very well come right out and say no. This, he supposed, was the secret of her success in the business world, though he doubted if she went so far as to give a free blow job to every client who bought a piece of real estate.
All of which did him no good. Rod was stuck and he knew it. Some goddam sniveling teenage kid with a three word vocabulary, sixty-six and two thirds percent of which would be 'like wow'. And what was he going to do with the little monster if Vera or Hazel should decide to drop in this weekend? Not that he wanted either of his other women around -- not after that ball busting blow job, but Rod knew with absolute certainty that they would be here, probably both at once now that he was fucked out and stuck with a kid who would divide his time between eating and playing the radio and TV at the same time on different channels. Shit! "Sure, Rose," he managed. "But Monday morning early I have to leave town myself. You'll have to pick him up before then."
"It's a girl."
"A girl!" Rod exploded. "For Christ's sake, what'm I going to do with a teenage girl?"
"Nothing," Rose said sweetly. "You're a dear man and I trust you implicitly."
And only then did Rod see the full depths of her duplicity. Son of a bitch! He couldn't help admiring his Rambling Rose's unmitigated gall. She knew him. She knew he was forty-five and still well endowed with the old Adam, no matter how old, how tired, how basically decent he might be. And trust good old Rambling Rose to handle it the practical way. Unlike moralists and preachers who seem to think it sufficient to go around telling dynamite not to explode, Rose had quietly accepted the sexual facts of life, that men's cocks are as explosive as women's cunts, as hair trigger as old, weather worn dynamite, and that the only way to keep track of a live grenade and make sure it's not going to go off is to do what has to be done with the pin.
Rose, with her capable tongue and throat, had defused him. He had thought she was blowing him because she wanted a special favor. Which was true, of course, but it was only half the truth. Rose had blown him to draw the last drop of starch from his tiring tool, to make goddam sure he didn't go getting an itch in his crotch and start fiddling around with some underage piece of San Quentin Quail.
Shit! I'm a dirty old man, Rod thought. But even I draw the line somewhere. Jesus! How old was the kid? Did they still have Saturday morning matinees in movie houses or had TV put an end to that? What could he do with the kid? Give her a lunch and send her to the zoo, maybe?
Capable, take-over Rambling Rose had ducked into the bathroom and washed her face, there being no detritus from these rites to be rinsed from her pussy. She emerged and began dressing with the same no nonsense efficiency that marked her every move. "You'd better get dressed, darling," she suggested, "I'll be back with her in five minutes."
He might have known. Rambling Rose knew her way to a man's heart -- which, contrary to folklore, is more often via his gonadia since in these days of prefabricated dinners home cooking is greatly overrated. Sighing, Rod went into the bathroom and rinsed off his cock. Rose's efficiency had been such that he really didn't need a shower either. Instead of the usual post-blowjob mess, she had managed to swallow every drop of love's elixir, managed to draw the last little lot of liquid from his standpipe before licking it clean. He gave himself a quick wash off and came out to find his pants.
Rambling Rose had already gone.
CHAPTER NINE
It was starting to turn into a routine. He had gotten up this morning and stripped the bed of come smeared sheets, thanks to his faceless dream girl. Then Vera had dropped in with her lovely way of mussing a bed. And now Rambling Rose. Rod supposed he ought to be happy. After. all, how many men managed to get that much variety in their lives.
There were, he knew, countless people in the world who didn't fuck at all. Every civil service office and every chancery was full of these neuter individuals who lived only for the job. As a boy Rod had heard the usual stories about nuns and priests. It had taken him years to discover that, though on rare occasions they were true, usually they were not. Nor were most of these people switch hitters. They just didn't care that much about fucking. What normally endowed man with a full set of gonads would willingly sew himself up into an occupation where he could get a fuck only at the risk of his entire career?
But nature has a way of balancing out the equation. For every undersexed individual, there is an opposite and after the first fumbling years people manage to sort themselves out. Rod was lucky. Hardly six months went by that he did not add a new steady to his stable or delete an old one who tired or married or moved out of town or any of the countless reasons why a fuck hungry woman would forego the pleasure of his indefatigable phallus.
Still, there were days when Rod suspected that he was getting just a trifle too old for it all. Maybe he ought to get married, settle down with one woman instead of trying to keep three oversexed females satisfied.
Thinking these dark thoughts, he roamed his apartment, hunting evidence of this eventful morning's adventures. It was not the kind of thing to flaunt before some teenage girl. He sighed. Probably she would be over-weight, with pimples and thick glasses. And, he realized, no matter how awkward or unattractive the child might be, she had already been shoved out of one nest, dumped onto her Aunt Rose while Momma went off to Vegas to dance in a chorus line or whatever it was Momma did in show business.
The girl would know instinctively the feeling of rejection. Twice rejected, she would be dumped on his door-step with an overnight bag and -- and Rod would be there to catch all the flack.
He found a wadded pair of pantyhose under a pillow. Vera's? Rose's? He had checked the place after the lissome blonde Vera of the funnel cunt had departed. But Rose was too efficient, too self-contained to forget her pantyhose. He held them up to the light and discovered a tremendous run. Rose!
So now what? Satisfied the place was clean, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to go to bed and sleep for six uninterrupted hours. But he was responsible for this building. What the hell -- he owned it! It was time to get out and show the flag. If he didn't cruise the place at least twice a day the tenants could be counted on to start stashing bicycles and other junk in the halls.
Cautiously, he opened the door a crack. Too late. Here came Rambling Rose. In tow behind her was something in Levis, with long, stringy blond hair curtaining every inch of everything above the waist line of the Levis. Rod sighed and reminded himself that he was going to try to be nice to her, try to make this twice-rejected child feel halfway human. It was only for today and tomorrow, he reminded himself. He had warned Rose that Monday morning early he was leaving town.
Efficient as ever, Rose introduced Rod to Ellie, Ellie to Rod, assured them that they would get along fine together, and was gone, closing the door behind her.
Ellie tossed an Alitalia flight bag into a corner. "Where's my room?" she asked.
Rod threw up his hands. "Only one bedroom," he explained. "Comes that time of night, I'll fix you something on the couch."
Ellie wandered into his bedroom. "You got a big bed," she observed. "Why can't I sleep there?"
So it was going to be that way. Rod reminded himself that she had bounced around a bit lately. With a mother in show business, maybe she had bounced around a lot more than he realized. How old was she anyway? She had straight, waist length blond hair that fell every which way and he had still not gotten a good look at her face.
"Well," she persisted, "Why can't I?"
"Because I'm going to," he said, "and because I snore, and because I don't know whether you're too old to sleep with a man or still too young." Rod wondered if she would even know what he was talking about.
The girl did not reply. She went out of the bedroom and back to his living room to sit once more on the couch. "Well," she sighed, "We've got two days to kill. What do you want to do?"
Rod sat across the room, wondering what kind of a face lay beneath all that unconfined hair. She wore some kind of sleeveless blouse from which extended a pair of fair skinned arms. The Levis, he suspected, had been bought undersized, worn under a hot shower, and shrunk onto her trim little ass. The crotch fit so tight he could almost pick out the outline of each individual hair beneath the faded blue denim.
"No, I'm not," she said.
"Not what?"
"The reason you don't see any ridge underneath is because I'm not wearing any panties."
"Oh." Rod remembered the reticences of his generation -- hove he had admired Myrt's fits all one summer and never managed even to say hello. This generation would have traded a high incidence of hang-ups for problems more susceptible to antibiotics than psychiatry. He wondered which was better. Somehow, he suspected that any generation who could talk this casually would never know the fine high flown pleasure of forbidden thrills that had been his lot. He remembered that day at the lake when he had been about this girl's age. After the first fine thrill of discovery had been. dampened by the arrival of his doddering neighbors, Myrt had made a virtue of necessity by inventing some kind of randygazoo about a lost earring. So now he could dive close to her and have a reasonable explanation for the old couple who still watching from the shade of the shoreline.
Rod had dived once more to inventory the treasures of this lovely body which stood immobile, allowing him to touch and look as long as he could hold his breath. This time he had given up trying to hold himself right side up and had let his legs float skyward while he dug his face into her pubic patch and wrapped his arms around her warm wet ass.
He had thought she was pulling off his swim suit just as she had peeled down hers. Despite the unending series of surprises that had filled this heat drenched August afternoon, Rod had really not been prepared for the feel of her capable hand closing around the throbbing shank of his rod.
He came immediately, explosively, firing great jets of jazz which she calmly waved away with her other hand. Oh Jesus, did it ever feel good! He was still coming, spurting and squirting harder, faster, longer than he had ever managed under the devoted ministrations of his own fist.
It took all his self control not to gasp and get a mouthful of water. He struggled and she let him spin over, still grasping him by the handle that extended from his crotch. As his face broke water in front of her she still gripped his cock. Giving it a friendly squeeze she asked, "Did you see anything?"
More than he had ever imagined it possible to see in. one lifetime! He had seen her ivory thighs; had seen her fits, had seen her belly button, had nuzzled her belly and had finally and conclusively settled in his own mind the question of whether all girls were built like Antoinette, with no cock down there. Jesus! Did he see anything!
His cock was still throbbing in her capable fist, fluttering as it struggled to drive out the final full measure of devotion against the external pressure of the lake. There was something about the effort of coming under water that seemed to prolong and intensify the pleasure. But what really prolonged and intensified the pleasure was to stand here facing Myrt, with his hands on her tits while old Mr. and Mrs. Edderly gazed at him with vacuous approval. Jesus! If they could ever see what was happening under water with his hands on Myrt's ample tits while she still grasped his dying dick!
"No," he managed. "I couldn't see anything. Let's wait a minute till the mud settles and then I'll try again." Myrt's hand on his cock told him he had said the right thing.
Usually, after flogging the rebellion from his rampant rod, Rod would be -- well, not exactly tired, but relaxed, filled with a comfortable lassitude for the next twenty minutes or so. Today... Maybe it was the cool lake water. More probably, it was Myrt's ample and undraped body affording him sights and sensations he had never dreamed possible. He felt like jumping, dancing, spinning cartwheels. He sprang from the lake bottom and abruptly Myrt's hands were on his shoulders holding him down. He remembered abruptly why she was doing it as his swim suit slid down around his ankles.
He sank to the bottom and managed to get it back up over his shrinking cock, straps over his shoulders. With the last of his air he noted that Myrt had made no effort to get hers back up where it belonged.
"Do you want to look some more?" she asked when he surfaced.
Nodding mutely, he dived again and got a hand between her thighs. Obligingly, Myrt parted her legs and allowed him to explore cunt country.
Rod did his fifteen-year-old best, running his fingers through the top heavy triangle of her pubic patch, memorizing the bony prominence beneath it. Finally he decided it was not true. No matter how boys in lavatories might delineate stick figures on walls, girls just didn't have a slit there -- at least Myrt didn't. He came up for air and looked into her imperturbable face. "Still can't find it?" she asked.
Ashore old Mr. and Mrs. Edderly were finally leaving. Encouraged, Rod breathed and dived again, this time no longer caring how obvious his movements might be above water. Myrt guided him back to the treasure trove between her legs. Rod put his hand back in and this time he could recognize the firm outlines of full pouting lips beneath the fur. Just like old Antoinette's, he suddenly realized. And illumination suddenly struck him. She had changed her stance slightly until his hand could range freely. His fingers explored the hairy confines of cunt country and suddenly he found the damp within all the lake's external damp. Something about the way Myrt's hands began caressing him, rubbing his slim body and patting his crotch gave him the suspicion that she had been waiting for him to make this discovery.
Cautiously, he began to insert a finger, waiting for some obstruction, most of all waiting for her thighs to clamp shut on his questing finger, to put an end to all this erotic exploration..
It didn't happen.
Warm, soft, slippery, he felt his finger working its way slowly up a passage which -- well goldang! It was true. Heck! He tried two fingers and the passage obligingly stretched. There was no doubt about it. Stiff as a board -- rock hard and ready to come, Rod knew with a sudden gut certainty that there was room enough in this lovely hole to bury his bargepole. He was trying to force his body between her legs when he ran out of air and had to come up.
This time while he was breathing Myrt ducked her head. When she came up again he saw her shoulder straps were in place. Shit! She nodded beyond him and he saw the sudden influx of people. Jeez, there must be a hundred of them on the beach now. They wouldn't all be as unobservant -- or willing to see and not comment -- as old Mr. and Mrs. Edderly.
Myrt saw the crestfallen disappointment on his young face, despite the fact that he had come less than two minutes ago. "We'd better go," she murmured -- this time to him and not to everybody who might be watching up on the beach.
"Yeah," Rod agreed dispiritedly.
"Would you like to do it again?"
Wow oh gollyjesuscriminenentlies, would he!
"Can you get away late tonight?"
"How late?"
"Oh, maybe ten o'clock -- after everybody's asleep."
Rod would get away if he had to murder somebody to do it.
"In the backyard behind the store;" Myrt murmured. And lest he forget, she got her hand in his crotch and gave the scratchy wool a gentle squeeze.
All the way back, walking beside her Rod felt as if he were floating. Myrt's Mona Lisa smile was unchanged but as they neared the store she turned to face him and in a low voice said, "If you don't settle down your mother's going to put you to bed and call a doctor."
She was, Rod abruptly realized, absolutely right. He made a supreme effort and managed to control himself. The swimming, plus some other physically exhausting facets of his unusual afternoon, had given him a raging appetite.
Ordinarily he would have fidgeted around the house and his mother would have immediately deduced that something was not right with her only begotten son. With a rare flash of genius Rod solved the problem. He went out and split wood for half an hour, filling his father with delighted surprise intermingled with a vague suspicion which dissipated when the fifteen year old boy did not ask for any favor. Before his mother could wonder about this sudden access of energy on a hot day Rod spent the rest of the long summer twilight mowing the lawn. Then he went to bed.
At nine thirty of an August night in that northern clime it was not dark at all. Rod lay quiet in his bed, waiting for his father and mother to go to theirs. Finally his mother came in to make sure he was tucked in -- as if anybody needed tucking in on a night as hot as this! It was only later when he heard the squeak of bedsprings in a regular bouncy rhythm that Rod realized what she had been up to when she came in here to make sure he was asleep. Well how about that! Momma and Poppa did it too!
Christ, would they ever stop doing it and go to sleep so he could do it too? Listening to the slow steady squeak of bedsprings, Rod guessed he was growing up. He had discovered all sorts of new and novel things today, things that would alter his viewpoint forever. And to top it off, he had chopped wood and mowed the lawn and -- When he awoke it was good and dark and there was no longer any sound of the house cooling after a long day of sunlight. Jesus! He had slept clear through the night and left Myrt waiting. What time was it? Oh Jesus Christ!
CHAPTER TEN
"What's so funny?"
"What?" Rod came to with a start and realized he must have been grinning at the Levi clad creature underneath all that straight blond hair. "Oh," he improvised. "Just remembering something. You know how old men's minds wander."
"No I don't," the girl -- what the hell was her name -- said. "And besides, you don't look like no old man to me."
Rod sighed. "Perhaps I'm not," he conceded. "But there's no getting away from the calendar and it's been thirty years since I was your age. I don't know how old you look," he added. "Do you have a face somewhere under all that hair?"
She shook her head and the straight blond hair spun outward like a coolie's hat. She parted it with a hand and a face emerged. It was a remarkably pretty little face, Rod suddenly realized. Beneath the face he could see two remarkably pretty little bumps in the front of her sleeveless blouse. When, he wondered, would girls ever learn. Men have been known on occasion to hide their lights under a bushel. Women invariably tend to hide theirs beneath something as inappropriate as a long sleeved high-necked blouse or, in this girl's case, beneath a cascade of all-concealing hair.
She could be anything, he guessed. Thirteen to sixteen -- even a year or two younger or older. With modern diets you never knew about girls.
She raised her arms again to struggle with her hair and abruptly he realized he was staring into an armpit which had yet to feel its first nick from a razor. And this child had wanted to sleep in his bed! She couldn't have meant it that way, he realized. She had just assumed with the egocentricity innate in any only child that he was going to move his tired old bones out onto the couch or the floor or anywhere, so long as she got the bed. Fuck her!
Or more correctly, keep his cotton picking hands off her!
"Needs washing," she was saying.
"Huh?"
"You don't ever listen, do you?"
"About as often as you're willing to listen to good sound advice," Rod admitted. "What were you saying?"
"My hair's all greasy. I spent two days on a bus and then before I could even get a shower Aunt Rose packed me off here. Do you have any shampoo?"
Rod did. He showed her the bathroom, the shampoo, and the towels. Then, remembering the size of that Alitalia bag the girl had brought, he rummaged around and found a clean terrycloth robe. It came to his knees. On this tiny girl it would drag the floor.
"Have you eaten?" he asked. The girl shook her head.
"Do you want to eat first or afterward?"
The girl gave him a startled glance and Rod suddenly remembered the day thirty years ago when his mind had tricked that same startled look from him when Myrt had asked the same question.
"Before or after you wash your hair," he explained.
"Oh! Afterwards, I guess." She went into the bathroom and closed the door. As the water started running he went into his tiny kitchen and surveyed the contents of his refrigerator, trying for some correlation between what he had and what a fifteen-year-old girl might want to eat.
Caviar? That was out. Yoghurt? Mentally he could already hear her 'yuch!' There was a three week old package of some totally indigestible 'breakfast squares' which one of his ladies had brought. There was a quart of milk left over from the last time he had made cafe au fait. He still had half a dozen eggs and some bacon. He shrugged and turned on the stove.
He was being unfair, he knew. Any other day in her life this might be a charming and well mannered little girl. How would he feel after two days on a bus and then a fast shuffle off to a stranger before he could even rinse off the grime? Suddenly he realized she really did need the bed. After two days on a bus the poor child must be exhausted. And he had been snapping at her. He would have to watch himself; turn on some of the charm that always brought the older women tumbling into his arms and eager to wrap their turgid tissues around his love muscle.
He heard the water stop running in the shower just as he was hooking bacon from the skillet. Thank god she wasn't going to spend three hours in there like some girls. He stuffed breakfast squares into the toaster and waited for the bathroom door to open before he started frying eggs. To his surprise it opened almost immediately and the girl emerged, head wrapped in a terrycloth turban, her just sprouting body enveloped from neck to ankle -- and considerably below the wrists -- in his terrycloth robe. "Smells good," she said as she sat at the table.
She ate ravenously, without complaining or picking at her food. "Got any coffee already made?" she asked.
Rod poured it and to his surprise the girl drank it black and without sugar. "Aaaaahhh!" she said. Abruptly he was reminded of happy, fuckloving Vera who must have looked rather like this girl, say, some twelve years ago.
"You must be pooped after two days on a bus," Rod ventured.
"I am."
He sighed. "Well, to tell the truth, I'm exhausted too. Had a busy morning. So if you don't mind perhaps we can both sleep." While the girl finished eating he found a pillow and a sheet and blankets and made up a place for her on the divan. "If you need anything just let me know," he said. "I'm going to bed too." The girl nodded and went on eating.
In his room, Rod began undressing. He supposed he ought to wear pajamas but he couldn't remember where they were since he never wore them when he was alone. What the hell? He had been imagining things. She was just a tired and, cranky little girl and she wanted to sleep and she would know better than to come barging into his room unannounced. He slipped out of his pants and pull-over and into bed. Drifting off to sleep he finally managed to remember the little blonde's name. It was Ellie.
Though no two of them can agree on exactly how it's done, most modern psychologists seem to think that dreaming is part of the mental process that sorts out each day's events and decides which are worthy of storage in the permanent memory bank and which go down the spout along with all the other short term projects like managing to remember a looked-up phone number long enough to dial it. Such being the putative processes of dreaming, it is not surprising that Rod's sleep was, immediately spiced by subjective and inaccurate re-runs of his morning's adventures.
There was a kaleidoscopic montage of women carefully peeling off pantyhose, followed by superimposed images of a thin, athletic Vera bouncing joyously up and down his greased pole while his Rambling Rose managed to violate Euclidean geometry by getting her busy mouth and tongue into the same space as Vera's affable ass. Meanwhile Rod was busy holding his breath while he nuzzled tits and belly of his Lady of the Lake. Behind it all loomed a darker image of some ancient and pre-logical medullar dream girl.
Slowly Rod drifted into half wakefulness and realized that in spite of being gray haired and forty-five, in spite of having fired one long hoarded load into the sheets in pursuit of that faceless, half grown female who haunted his psyche; and another parting shot down Rose's deep throat -- with a gentle bemusement and still only half awake, he discovered that there was a reason for the slight ache and throb in his crotch. Flat on his back in the darkened room, he was sleeping in a tent whose principal structural member was formed by a cock he would have sworn to be limber for at least two weeks.
Still half asleep, he wondered about that faceless sex symbol that haunted his subconscious, supplanting all the live, throbbing, fucking women who had filled his life for the last thirty years since that first time with Myrt, his impossibly plebian' yclept Lady of the Lake. A neighbour girl? A babysitter? Had some lovely unsung Lolita hovered over his crib and implanted her half-developed body into his subconscious as permanently as death and Texas jokes? There was something evocative about her blond headed immaturity. He had gone to see a bestseller spook raising movie about the improbable adventures of some Jesuit and felt a sudden frisson -- not of horror elicited by special effects photography, but rather by the tugging at some secret string in his psyche by a twelve-year-old blonde actress whose twelve year old hairdo managed to cover most of her face. It had been his Rambling Rose who had managed him into taking her to that movie -- who had been happily mystified at the way he had afterward fucked her to within an inch of her sorely gained self-possession. What, he wondered, would Rambling Rose have thought if she could read his mind and see the tousled twelve year old face superimposed on hers -- a face already blending into a still older image of his dream girl?
Floating halfway between sleep and wakefulness, Rod tried to structure his dream. It was useless after thirty years of failure to conjure a face onto his dream girl's lovely, just-budding body. But rather than welter in a sea of formless eroticism while his tired old cock still played Omar the Tentmaker, he struggled to recapture the events of that ineffable August day at the lake.
After giving him an underwater preview of possibilities, Myrt had walked home with him, had instructed him when and where to come for the second act in their erotic scenario. Rod had gone home and, to conceal his excitement and to keep his mother from dosing him with castor oil and chicken soup, had split wood and mowed the lawn. Not surprisingly all this exercise had put him to sleep.
Crimenentlies! Suddenly wide awake in the sweltering darkness, he knew from the total lack of cooling and cracking in the ancient frame house that it had to be past midnight. Myrt had told him to come at ten. Jesus, was she ever going to be mad! He wondered what time it was but Momma was a light sleeper and if he were to strike a match to check on the grandfather clock that ticked away in the downstairs hall she would be instantly downstairs with a rolled up newspaper to assault any prowler.
Probably, Myrt would have given up in disgust and gone to bed and to sleep hours ago. Criminy! What could he say to her tomorrow? What would a girl say if he told the truth, that he had found the prospect of her naked body so uninteresting that he had gone to sleep? It was unbelievable. Tonight of all nights in his fifteen years on this planet how could he have slept?
He knew better than to sit up in the sagging springed cot. Silently, he oozed out over the foot and crawled around the edge of the room past the squeaky boards and captured his pants. Moments later he was out the dormer window and down the drainpipe, hoofing his silent and barefoot way the block and a half down the alley to the backyard of Elton's store.
Once years ago Mr. and Mrs. Elton had kept an eighty pound English bulldog in the back yard. But Beans had gone on to bite that great Tramp's Ass in the Sky so now the store's backyard was unsupervised. Silently, Rod skinned over the fence and into what his bare feet told him must be a grown-over asparagus patch. He squatted in the darkness, trying to see something. The darkness was total. No matter how long he waited and squinted, he could see nothing.
Walking carefully, he stepped his cautious way through the asparagus until his bare feet found a pathway. Suddenly clouds blew away from the stars and he could see the upstairs window of the store's living quarters. But which window was Myrt's? The last thing he needed was to wake up old Mrs. Elton with her querulous voice and her endless ability to concern herself in what was none of her business. Nor, he decided on mature reflection, did he need old Mr. Elton prowling around the back yard with his twelve gauge, double barreled burglar-exerciser.
He squinted and tried to decide. Meanwhile another scud of cloud closed the moonless sky and he was bereft even of starlight. He sighed and began walking cautiously dawn the path toward the back of the store. He hadn't gone two steps before he bumped his knees into a wheel-barrow or some goddam thing left in the middle of the path. A hand came from the wheelbarrow and grabbed his leg.
Rod came as close as ever in his life to fainting. When his heart had settled down to a race again and he could breathe halfway normally he realized that the 'wheelbarrow' must be a folding cot. In those dear dead pre-air-conditioning days Myrt had beat the heat by sleeping under the stars in the back yard. Later, when he had his wits about him, plus enough experience in such matters to see the more obvious problems, Rod would come to appreciate the virtues of a folding canvas cot which, having no springs, does not lend itself to the rhythmic squeaking which tended to emanate from bedrooms in those days of the bare spring and unsprung mattress.
All of which had nothing to do with the situation of the moment: Creeping down the pathway in search of her room, he had encountered his Lady of the Lake on a cot in the backyard. She had grabbed him by the leg. Slowly, her hand was moving up his Levi-clad leg toward his cock.
Ruefully, Rod reflected that twelve hours ago he would not have believed such a thing -- would have been paralyzed and totally at a loss for what to do if a woman had grabbed his cock. But Rod was a quick learner. Distrusting the cot, he hopped around in the darkness shedding his Levis. Finally he had them off. He shucked his shirt and knelt in the grass beside the cot. It was still pitch dark but in less time than it takes to recount, Rod's busy hands had reconnoitered and evaluated the situation. His Lady of the Lake lay naked (he still didn't know the meaning of nude), stretched supine on a canvas cot. There was a sheet beneath her. There was nothing but clouds and starlight above her plump body.
Moving carefully, she edged over on the narrow cot, lying on her side, and made room for Rod and his rod. He scooted up beside her and discovered that a canvas cot, like a hammock, tends to dump everything into its central and lowest point. He lay on his side facing Myrt, his bare body pressed against hers, his hard throbbing cock digging at the threecomered fissure where two thighs become one belly. Jesus, did it ever feel good!
The memory of how good it had felt finally, after all the alarums and excursions, to stretch out in bed with Myrt of the jiggly tits and serene smile -- Myrt whose volcanic profile he had worshipped all that long hot summer -- the memory of a warm womanly body against his was suddenly so strong that Rod felt himself slipping out of his dream-awake half world as his reverie became unstructured. Suddenly he was wide awake, forty-five years old and gray haired. He was not alone.
There was somebody in bed with him!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was not all that unusual for Rod to wake up and find a woman in bed with him. After thirty years of free lance fucking a man got used to unusual situations. He also got used to waking up with a mind totally blank, and having to resort to all sorts of little subterfuges to avoid mentioning a name he might not even have known in the first place.
He lay perfectly still, suddenly and totally aware of the warm soft feel of a female body backed up against him. Son of a bitch! No wonder he had been sleeping in a tent. No wonder his dreams had been so vivid, reinforced with the pressure of a warm body against him breathing deeply and regularly. She was asleep, whoever she was.
Then suddenly Rod's relaxed stillness was converted into the rigidity of utter horror as he remembered who was spending the weekend in his apartment, whom he had bedded down on the couch -- who had wanted to sleep in this bed. Jesus H. Christ! If the law came pounding on the door and caught him in bed with this underage quiff they'd lock him up and throw away the key. And that would be nothing to what Rambling Rose would do!
Sweet festering feces! He was ruined. He could buy his way out of it, such being the vagaries of justice in a commercial country, but Rod knew with sickening certainty that before he got out of this shitpot he'd have signed over title to his building, his car, his boat -- every fucking thing he'd accumulated in thirty years would end up in some lawyer's pocket and Rod would be out on his ass, forty-five years old, gray haired, broke, unable even to find a job washing dishes. There was no fuck on earth worth that kind of price.
He had to get out of here, get his clothes on, erase every hint of wrinkle -- every clue to his presence in this bed. If this little bitch wanted his bed that bad, she could have it. But Rod . was going to bug out, get a room in some hotel, spend his time establishing alibis and proving it was all two other guys. No fucking way was he going to spend another minute alone with this goddam piece of jail bait!
And Rose -- god damn her ample ass! Rose's ass was going flying out that door the next time she showed up. Damn her! She was old enough to know better. Didn't she have any idea what kind of a mess she was getting him into? As if a quick blow job would stand up in court once somebody racked him on a statutory rape charge! He wondered if she had done it deliberately. Was his good old Rambling Rose trying to get some kind of a handle on him? It didn't make sense. She was a great one for Taking Over but Rose had never even hinted that she was interested in anything apart from his indefatigable cock. Well goddam her! She would never get a taste of that prodigious prod again. Never ever!
Oozing out of bed as quietly as he had one night thirty years ago on his way to Myrt's, Rod reached for his pants. Then abruptly he realized that pants and shirt were not enough this time. He intended to be fully and carefully dressed if it ever came to that -- not just pants and shirt like some Hairbreadth Harry gone flying out a bedroom window.
Hardly daring to breathe, he tiptoed about the bedroom easing drawers open, extracting a suit from his closet with an exaggerated care lest he tinkle a coat hanger. Sneaking continuous glances over his shoulder, he prayed the tousled blond head would not stir; that the girl's regular breathing would remain steady. Finally he had an arm-load of clothes. Still naked, he padded barefoot out of the bedroom and closed the door.
He was knotting his tie when the doorbell rang.
Shit! What should he do? Open it and get rid of whoever was there? Or wait, pretend there was nobody home, and then after a dozen rings that goddam juvenile delinquent would probably wake up and come padding out naked and naked and naked and make so goddam much noise asking him why he didn't answer the door that he would have to and how the fuck was he ever going to make anybody believe he hadn't fucked -- oh shit!
He put the chain on the door, opened it a crack, and hissed, "Somebody's trying to sleep in here!"
"Sorry." He could hear the pimples in that cracking voice. "Telegram. Sign here."
Rod signed the pad slipped through the door. Since when had they taken to hand delivering telegrams again? The last he'd heard the sons of bitches were mailing them and a telegram took three days longer than a first class letter. Then as he accepted the envelope that the boy outside traded for his signature Rod could see it was some kind of private messenger service. The boy was gone before Rod could decide whether or not to tip him. He bolted the door again and ripped open the envelope.
Unavoidably detained four more days. Will make it up to you when I return. Love, Rose.
God damn that miserable managing bitch! Fuck up his weekend, fuck up his life, fuck him out of every cent he owned for lawyer's fees, and then blithely fuck him out of four more days of his life and think she could pay for all of it by coming back here and giving him another quickie, assembly line blow job!
What was he going to do? There was only one thing he could do, Rod decided. Rose would be pissed off but he didn't much care what Rose thought -- not after this. She was probably off spending the week getting fucked in somebody's ski lodge anyway -- and leaving him stuck with her babysitting!
There was only one safe thing Rod could do. He could do the same thing any officer stuck in an unpopular war and doing something he knew was totally wrong could do: Rod was going to Cover His Ass. First, he would call up somebody at the county receiving home and explain the situation -- that some conniving bitch of a casual acquaintance had laid a kid on him, that he was a prim and proper man who had no intention of drawing comment or knowing looks from his neighbors, for some duly constituted authority to come and get this underage kid out of his apartment, and while you're at it, I want a doctor to look her over and give me a written receipt for undamaged goods.
He was reaching for the telephone when he remembered that the kid had already been hustled out of two homes already in the last day or two. Which didn't mean all that much to Rod. He had his own future to think about. Cover Your Ass! But if she woke up and over-heard him explaining the situation... Abruptly Rod decided he'd better do it another way. Get the hell out of here right now. Phone from down the street somewhere and not even come back until this luscious little piece of San Quentin Quail was long gone.
God damn it! He'd forgotten his shoes. He checked his pockets. Wallet, keys, credit cards, handkerchief. All he needed was a pair of shoes. He tiptoed in his socks to the bedroom door and stood listening a moment. Utter silence. He couldn't even hear her breathing.
Praying the door wouldn't squeak, he pushed it carefully open. She was still asleep. Blond hair covered most of her face. An arm was out of the covers and she had twisted and turned until one breast was exposed. Rod stood indecisive in the doorway. He ought to cover her up but if she woke she would assume he was doing just the opposite. And if she woke up and saw him staring at her what would she think? Either way his ass was mud. He began tiptoeing toward the closet and his shoes.
His hands were shaking so bad he could hardly get the closet door open. He stood looking into the closet with his back to the bare tit in his bed, trying to get a grip on himself. Jesus H. Christ! The way he was trembling and panting you'd think he'd never seen a tit before. As if he hadn't spent thirty years kissing them, sucking them, caressing and licking them, even fucking them on occasion when for familial or lunar reasons some amply endowed woman had preferred to enfold his needful knob in her cleavage instead of her cunt.
He knelt and suddenly realized his cock was harder than a worn out paint brush. Son of a bitch! After all the fucking and sucking he'd gotten scant hours ago. What was wrong with him? This goddam child wasn't even half grown. She still had a child's clear skin without the first hint of adolescent blemish. Her armpit had never known a razor. Probably her virginal little pussy would be as hairless as old Antoinette's had been that day when she was six and he was five...
That single bare fit that had drawn his eyes when he entered the room... suddenly Rod knew why he couldn't take his eyes away. Even in this permissive age so different from the uptight days of his boyhood -- even now when bare tits and asses stared at a man from every news stand and every magazine shop in this city...
Rod realized abruptly that, though he had seen and handled countless tits in the last thirty years, he had never seen one half grown in this peculiarly transitory stage of development. He fumbled in the closet and finally found a pair of shoes.. Clasping them to his chest, he got noiselessly to his feet and began edging out of the bedroom again.
The girl sighed and thrust her arms out. Twisting, she turned until she lay flat on her back. Now both of her firm little half-grown tits pointed defiantly skyward toward the ceiling of Rod's bedroom. Suddenly the room whirled and spun and Rod saw those two young tits through a pink haze. If he didn't get out of here he was going to have a heart attack.
Gasping and shaken, he managed to close the door and sit unnerved on the couch. He put the shoes on the rug and tried to pull himself together. Jesus! he told himself. It's only another pair of tits!
But it wasn't just another pair of fits. Rod had never seen a pair at exactly that stage of development: firm volcanic cones of perfect symmetry, still without a hint of the softness of sag that would come when they grew a little more and their firm jutting outline would soften into a rounded undersurface and a ski jump upper slope.
These tits would be too firm to jiggle. Their pink nipples and aureoles were still small and virginal but on this tiny perfect pair of cones they seemed disproportionately large, the nipples rock hard and skyward pointing even as she slept. They had, Rod supposed, grown so fast in the last few months that they would be terribly tender, susceptible to the slightest touch or rub of blouse or hand. Or hand...
Get the fuck out of here, he told himself. Get your shoes on and get out to a pay phone somewhere and call the county receiving home and stay the hell out of the way until they come and scoop her up and leave you to live the rest of your drab and wretched life in peace.
What would it feel like to get his hands on a pair of tits like this little blonde's, this Ellie's just once? Get out of here! Would they be firm and hard like the muscle in a weight lifter's biceps? Or would they have that same delicious warmth, that ineffable combination of firmness and yielding feminine softness that made a pair of tits feel so nice in a man's hands? Get out of here!
Were they really as perfectly symmetrical as he had thought? Surely anything that alluring must have some little yield. Maybe they were only symmetrical because she lay supine. What would they be like once she sat up? Jesus! So near and yet so far... Was there any possible way he could get a look at them with the girl standing or sitting?
No way -- unless she walked in her sleep. Suddenly he wondered if maybe she really did. How had she ended up in his bed? Who could tell what went on in a girl's mind at that age? If she was the kind of toughassed little underage pig he suspected, then why hadn't she grabbed his cock instead of quietly going to sleep with her back to him? Did she even know she was in his bed? If she didn't, and she were to wake up with him staring down at her...
Rod shuddered. He knew how shrilly little girls could scream.
But Jesus, what wouldn't he give for just one look at this lovely bodied little girl standing up! For just one feel!
Years ago when he had strained his back one day at the beach trying to convince a girl he was only thirty instead of nearly forty, Rod had experienced such intense pain that the doctor, a reader of Lil Abner, had given him some sleeping pills which Rod had known only as 'mule stupefier.' He still had a half dozen.
Shit! What was he thinking? Even if he could bring himself to do such a thing -- how could he ever get this sleeping beauty to take one? Get the fuck out of here and make your phone calls!
He wondered. Was there any alternative? There had to be some safe way to Cover His Ass. Rambling Rose was a good fuck and he didn't really want to kick her out. Nor did he want her to end up in the pokey as she most probably would if he were to call the county and get them to come take this luscious little piece of warm meat off his hands.
But Jesus! What could he do? A man alone... suddenly he realized what it must be like to be gay, to live in eternal fear of blackmail or extortion.' Every man bears within him the seeds of his undoing. Here all these years Rod had happily fucked his way through life without a thought of any blind spot. He had had the good sense never to marry, knowing perfectly well that he would never be able to remain faithful for more than forty-eight hours to one woman.
At forty-five Rod had thought he was home free. He had a steady income that he lived within. He had his health. He had more ass than he could use. How could he have known that this hidden appetite lurked within him all these years, just waiting for the moment when it could trip him up and turn all his golden age into shit? Get out of here! Go make your phone call!
He shuddered as his common sense warned him. You're allowed one phone call. As long as they were over eighteen or whatever it was in this state, nobody cared how many girls a man flicked. But this tiny, bare armpitted, half fitted, probably bare pussied blonde -- how old could she be? No use asking her. Any girl would lie her way past the magic number.
They would come tearing in here with guns and cameras and reporters and even if he somehow miraculously managed to prove he had never gotten into her Rod knew he could never face his neighbors again. He would have to leave this town, leave this state. Leave this life. Get out of here and make your phone call!
There was no safe way. No easy way. He had to go call the county and Cover His Ass. Never would he ever see the little girl stand up. Never would he know if those tits sagged just a tiny bit. Never would he ever get his hands on them. With a sigh fetched from his ankles, Rod began putting on his shoes and -- son of a bloody bitch! He'd sneaked in to his closet and what had he come out with?
Two left shoes!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rod couldn't help it. It was just too much. He sat on the couch and wiped tears of rage, of pain and frustration from his eyes. Of all the miserable, motherless and totally stupid things to do! Talk about Freudian slips! He was going to slip and end flat on his ass in jail and even there he would get no mercy. Rod had read what the other prisoners in this city's overcrowded jail had done to the last man caught fucking little girls.
Get out of here -- stop at the nearest store and buy a pair of shoes. But he didn't want to make a precipitous retreat. Somebody would notice a man in suit and tie and blue dress socks and no shoes. He had to get back into that bedroom, slip past those bare fits without waking the girl, and find a right shoe. And the hell of it was, he wanted to. He knew it was dangerous. If she woke up and started screaming he might as well go stick his head in the oven. But for one more look at that lovely little matched set of mammaries...
I'll keep my face to the wall. I won't look. I'll just slip around and get a shoe out of the closet and... And suddenly Rod knew what he was going to do.
There was no need to cover his ass by calling up the county and getting all kinds of strangers' noses into his business. He didn't care much what happened to Rose -- not after the bind she'd gotten him into. But Rod had two other lady friends. He could call Hazel or Vera, tell them the strict and absolute truth, bearing down on how this had cooked old Rambling Rose's goose and that from now on if Hazel or Vera would just do him the favor of chaperoning this little bitch or, better still, taking her home for a week, he'd be ever so grateful and in the future there would be one less cunt to make demands on his declining virility and, please Vera?
He dialed the lissome blonde's number. To hell with waking up the girl. He wasn't going back into that bedroom alone with her. No way!
Vera didn't answer. Fifteen rings later she still didn't answer. Shit! Was she still at the hairdresser or had she already gone out to work again? What time was it? He dialed Hazel's number and immediately learned that "At the customer's request this number has been taken temporarily out of service." So Hazel was off on vacation or some such thing. Who the hell else could he call?
The county, that's who!
Sighing, he put the phone back on the hook as quietly as possible. Had he awakened the girl with the noise of dialing? If she'd been on a bus for two days she was probably numb. But she'd slept quite a few hours. Any minute now she was going to come stumbling naked through that door, whining "Mommy, where's my rooooobe?"
He had to sneak in there and get a pair of shoes. He had to get the hell out of here. Every minute he spent here alone with this child was a minute that would have to be accounted for and explained away.
Child shit! She was old enough to grow tits -- old enough to come sneaking into his bed! Why was he worried? He hadn't done anything wrong. Rod had taken her in. He had fed her. He had made a bed for her. So why the fuck couldn't she lie in it? Lie in it. Lie. She would lie her goddam little head off when some juvenile court officer started interviewing her. She would be the injured innocent and Rod, good old blameless Rod who hadn't laid a hand on her -- good old Rod was going to get his ass racked. How old was she?
Rose had said she was fifteen. It wouldn't be the first time that manipulating bitch had lied. Was she even coming back at all? Maybe Rambling Rose had decided to bug out for good and leave him stuck with this kid for the rest of his life... Get in there and get your shoes.
Before he could waffle on it again Rod got to his feet, went to the bedroom door, opened it as quietly as he could and sneaked a quick look at a pair of bare tits -- at a girl to see if she was asleep. Jesus, what a lovely set of jugs. Get your shoes! He turned his face to the wall and congratulated himself. He still had a little self control left. His brains didn't turn to peanut butter and slide down to swell his cock at the mere thought of a fifteen-year-old. Slowly, he felt his stocking footed way along the wall, back to the closet door he had left open on his last abortive shoe hunting expedition.
So what the hell pairs-half pairs, that was -- which shoes did he have out there? He didn't know. Jesus H. Christ? What had happened to his head? Despairingly, he scooped up as many as he could carry. Clutching the armload of shoes to his chest, he began edging his way out of the bedroom, still facing the wall, still praying the gentle sound of her deep steady breathing would not change.
Pussyfooting around in his own goddam bedroom, for Christ's sake! He was nearly to the door when he suddenly realized there had been a simple solution to this problem all the time. All he'd really had to do was knock on the door, tell her to cover up, and walk in and help himself to whatever shoes he needed. But what was she doing in his bed in the first place?
There must be a slight draft somewhere. The door had gone half shut while he rummaged in the closet. Still facing away from the bare titted girl in his bed, he reached to pull it open. A shoe dropped from the mass clutched to his chest. It hit the carpeted floor with a thump he could have heard a block away.
Oh shit, oh Christ, oh Jesus! He froze, waiting for the girl's steady breathing to change, for her to sigh, yawn, open her eyes and scream. It didn't happen. After half an eternity of frozen suspense he edged out of the bedroom, spilled his armload of shoes on the sofa, and went back to the door. The shoe he had dropped was just inside. His eyes drifted back to those lovely firm jugs pointing defiantly skyward without the slightest hint of sag or droop. Jesus! What would happen if the girl were to wake up and catch him not just in the room, but with his hands making a warm living bra for those lovely erotic volcanoes?
Rod shuddered. He couldn't take his eyes away. Kneeling, he searched blindly for his shoe, still burning those twin peaks into his memory bank, arms aching from the effort not to reach out and grab.
This was his dream girl. He knew that now. He also, with some tiny still sane corner of his mind, realized she could not possibly have been born yet when he began having those lovely lascivious dreams so much more exciting than the real thing. It had to be a coincidence. She was just some girl who happened to fit exactly into the pattern of some Freudian garbage in his subconscious. Who was the original? Who cared? Probably the original whoever she was would be fat and fifty by now. But Rod was here, panting and yearning, eyes burning those twin volcanic shapes that fascinated him, made him want to grab, kiss, nuzzle, devour. Get your goddam shoe!
This was what it must be like, he suddenly realized, to be an alcoholic -- or to be saddled with a hundred-dollar a-day habit. He could not remember when he had had such an irresistible compulsion to do something that he knew goddam well was instant trouble. Not even thirty years ago all that lone hot summer when he had admired the new pair of tits in old Mr. Elton's store.
It would be so easy to reach out and grab those tits, pull that sheet the rest of the way off and find out once and for all whether she was old enough to have any blond fuzz around her little snatch. So easy... and so totally and irrevocably disastrous. What could he do if she were to wake up wild eyed and screaming? This was how murders were committed -- by some poor frightened man who could not keep his hands to himself, who panicked and silenced his screaming victim any way he could. Rod felt sweat start from his brow.
His hands were trembling so bad he knew he wouldn't be able to hang onto that goddam shoe even if his blind sweeps across the floor were ever to find it. Get out of here! He drew a deep breath, held it, released it and drew , another. Struggling as he had never striven before, he got his eyes away from those twin man magnets on the sleeping girl's bare chest. His, shoe was right in front of him. He captured it and, still on hands and knees, backed out of the bedroom. He was silently puffing the door shut when he heard a long, sensual moan.
Christ, he thought, what a narrow escape! For a moment there he had known he was going to lose, that like it or not, his hands were going to reach out and cup those firm little tits and she was going to wake up and -- He staggered blindly to the couch and wiped the sweat from his face. He was breathing in short puffs as if he were halfway into a heart attack. His eyes wouldn't focus. He leaned back on the sofa and forced himself to breathe slowly and regularly. Minutes passed and finally he guessed he could see to get his shoes on.
He must have five or six pairs here. Silently, he sorted through them and found a pair of wellingtons that would not seem too weird with a business suit. He put them on and fastened the buckles. So now what? Get out and . make your phone call!
He couldn't move. He sat on the couch, shoes and suit on, ready to face the world. And he couldn't move. He had managed to slow down his breathing now and he was no longer sweating. He struggled to analyze his mental state. Why couldn't he move?
Was his old id still planning on putting a worm into that lovely little apple that sighed and yawned and stretched and moaned in his bedroom? Or could there possibly be some more charitable cast to it? The poor girl had been shuffled around a lot in the last few days. A long, foot-swelling bus trip and he didn't even know where she'd come from. Then just as she had thought she was reaching a quiet haven with her rambling Aunt Rose, little Ellie had been bundled off across town to sojourn with still another stranger.
Children, Rod knew, were far more resilient and adaptable than the shrinks would have people believe. He reflected on his own boyhood when pounding his pillar had been blamed for everything from hair on the palms of one's hands through pimples, on through criminality and eventually the lunatic asylum. The only thing it had ever done for him as a boy was relieve the strains of adolescence and help him get to sleep. And if one were to be honest about it, what angelic little girl had not at one time or another discovered the delicious warm glow that could come from spreading her thighs and patting her hairless little pussy until something even nicer than ice cream happened inside her still growing little belly?
"Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"
Rod came out of his reverie with a jump. What the hell was Vera doing here? Had he called her after all? Then abruptly he realized it was not Vera. It was little Ellie waking up in his bed, luxuriating in horizontality after two nights aboard a bus.
Visions of sugarplums danced through his head at the thought of that taut, still growing little body stretching, kicking the covers the rest of the way off, arching her back and thrusting her tits skyward, putting arms behind her blond head, thrusting her legs ceilingward as she fought off sleep. Did he dare try for a look through the keyhole?
Now wouldn't that be something! About the time he got on his knees and began aiming his eye the door would open and she would stand there looking at him and Rod would be caught with his cock up and his psyche down.
"Aaaaaahhhhh!"
Just the sound of that lovely moan made him frantic. He remembered lovely long legged Vera, how she had wriggled and squeezed his cock with her capable funnel shaped pussy while emitting that same commentary. Christ! He didn't want to fuck this girl. He just wanted to look at her, maybe touch those unbelievably firm and symmetrical little pectoral volcanoes, memorize the size and shape of a just-maturing and still scant-furred pussy.
"Aaaaaahhhh!" There she did it again and finally Rod realized that it was true. His ears were not playing tricks. The girl was not really moaning 'aaaahhhh'. She was calling "Rooooood!"
There was only one Rod here. Well, he admitted with a wry grin, two if you wanted to count Rod's rod. It was too late now. He should have gotten out of here and made his phone call instead of mooning around hopelessly over things he knew perfectly well could never be.
So what was keeping him? He had his keys in his pocket. The door to the bedroom was closed. He could still slip out of here and be gone, handle it quickly, cleanly and neatly without ever seeing the girl again.
But, though Rod knew children are far less fragile than most people believe, and can grow up into normal well adjusted adulthood after unbelievable battering and sexual abuse, he also knew she had been given two fast shuffles already. Could he really give her a third?
Rationalizing, he told himself. Making up fine phony fibs to excuse yourself and do what you really want to do. Get out of here and make your phone call. What was the proper age for a kid to start flicking? Not what society accepted or demanded, but plainly and physically, when was a child ready? As soon, Rod guessed, as a boy was old enough to get a hard-on and to start wanting to stick it into girls. And girls? What the hell? Whenever they were old enough to want to feel something hot, hard and male sliding into them -- whenever they could enjoy it without hurting -- that was when they were ready. He remembered the mooning, the moody secretiveness, the incessant fist pounding of his boyhood. Christ! How much simpler life would have been if he'd found a sympathetic and under-standing older woman when he first started waking up with sticky sheets instead of a couple of years later!
In Rod's day there had been the ever-present fear of pregnancy. Nowadays... he wondered what kids nowadays were really doing. The papers and the sociologists and all the armchair experts could make up their own statistics to prove the world was going to hell -- as if it hadn't been heading that way since the old stone age. But this lovely little piece of quiff in his bedroom, for example... She had climbed into his bed while he was sleeping. What did she really want? Surely she must have had at least some idea what was likely to happen to girls who climb into men's beds.
Or did she believe any man with gray hair was long since out of it? Jesus! If only he could make up his mind. Did he want to fuck her or didn't he? Of course he wanted to. But was he going to? Or was he going to play it cool in his old age and turn down a lovely little piece of ass just because there might be some danger involved?
From behind the bedroom door he heard that voice once more calling "Rooooood!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Last chance, he told himself. You've still got time to slip out that door and make your phone call. But he knew he wasn't going to do it. Call it compulsion, call it compassion -- he wasn't going to send that poor lonely little girl with the volcanic jugs off to any county receiving home. "I'm out here," he called.
He was going to add, "And put on some clothes," when he realized how gross it would sound. Christ! He still didn't know the first thing about this child. She had crawled naked into his bed while he was asleep. What would have happened if she had been awake before he woke up? Would she have quietly crawled back out and returned to the couch? Or would she have started to play with his cock?
Was she an innocent child -- totally unaware of what goes on between men and women in beds? It was possible. Just barely, he supposed, but remembering his fifteen-year-old uncertainty about the rites of love he supposed it was possible. Had she grown up with a loving parent or grandparent who allowed her to climb into bed whenever she was feeling cold or lonely?
Or was she a maturing young lady who knew exactly what effect that lovely Lolita body could have on an older man? Did she want his cock or did she want to compromise him and extort something else out of him? She was, after all, from the same bloodline as his managing, take-over Rambling Rose.
The bedroom door opened a little ways and a tousled blond head emerged. He couldn't tell if she had any clothes on. She focused her eyes on his suit and tie and abruptly she was awake. "You going out?" she asked.
Rod nodded.
Disappointment crossed her face. "Oh," she said. There was an awkward silence while she still peered through the cracked door and Rod wondered whether she had put anything on. Where was the terrycloth robe he had given her? "Could you bring them?" she asked.
"Bring what?"
"My clothes. They're right behind you."
Rod looked behind the couch and sure enough. He caught up the bundle and handed it through the doorway. "You can come in if you like," she said.
"I'll wait till you're dressed," Rod said. He wondered if this girl would live long enough to realize someday the effort it had cost him to turn down that invitation. Probably she wouldn't. She was too open and trusting. Before she was twenty some dingbat would murder her -- probably with the supreme irony of raping her before she had a chance to tell her assailant that she was perfectly willing.
"It's all right," the girl insisted.
"Oh?" Rod was curious. "What makes it all right?"
"I'm a nudist."
"So am I underneath my clothes," Rod admitted. "But I don't go parading down the hallways."
Suddenly the compulsions and the terrible hang-ups all dissipated. How many murders would never happen, he mused, if killer and victim would just talk to each other instead of sitting around with silent festering emotions slowly simmering to the point of explosion?
God, even tousled with sleep she was a lovely bit of raw meat! But she walked, she talked, she was just another girl. A little younger than some, but she was just a girl. He had always gotten on well with girls. Maybe because they sensed deep inside that he really liked them and did not just use them to reduce the swelling in his skewer.
"Why did you come sneaking into my bed?" he asked.
"Because I kept falling off the couch."
As simple as that.
"But -- didn't your mother or your Aunt Rose ever explain the facts of life?"
"Aunt Rose said you were real cool and I should be nice to you."
Rod managed to control himself. It was a question of semantics or mental set. Surely the girl didn't mean it the way it had sounded. He remembered Rambling Rose's oral precautions lest Rod's rod become uncontrollable. And a lot of good it had done! "That's not exactly what I meant," Rod managed to explain.
"Oh?" She was still talking through the half opened doorway. Rod was struggling not to stare. As gradually the girl relaxed in his presence and he began to glimpse ever greater areas of unblemished young skin Rod found it increasingly difficult to go on creating Noel Coward dialogue.
Suddenly the girl's blue eyes widened in startled comprehension. "You mean you like to screw?" she asked, prolonging the screeeewwww in a slow rising tone of unbelief.
If he'd been smoking this would have been the moment to cough and choke. "Most people do," Rod finally managed. "And one of these days if you keep crawling into strange men's beds you're going to lose your most precious possession." As he said this Rod was suddenly stricken with the utter fatuity of such remarks. If it was a girl's most precious possession, why did they all get so much pleasure out of losing it? He wondered if he was sounding as fatheaded to this adolescent as every well-meaning, brimful-of-experience-and-advice oldster had seemed to him when he was this age. "I'll wait for you to get dressed," he said, and closed the door in her face.
So here he was all dressed up and no place to go. There had been a song of that title when Rod was thirty years younger. People had been singing it that long hot summer he had hung around inventing dozens of little errands that would take him back to Elton's store for another penny candy and another sidelong glance at the marvelous protrusions in the front of plump, clear skinned Myrt's flowered print dress.
After his mind blowing first-time experience of firing a hand-held load under water, and after damn near sleeping all night and ruining his first assignation, Rod had finally shinnied down the drain pipe, hoofed it a block and a half down the alley to a fenced backyard and after more adventures in the darkness had finally ended up on his side, naked, up against an equally naked Myrt on a folding canvas cot in the back yard. It was before the days of constant burglaries and remote controlled floodlights so there was, at least, one thing he didn't have to worry about.
His real worry, now that he had accomplished the impossible of actually seeing, touching, being touched -- touched off by a willing woman, was a problem that had worried Rod ever since he had begun to experience these odd yearnings in his crotch. There was, he was pretty sure, something called fucking. It took a man and a woman -- or at least a boy and a girl, to accomplish it properly. After his submarine explorations he had finally verified all the rumors and suspicions. If he could get two fingers into it, he could get his cock. But would she let him? Fucking, he had been told, was sure to create an aftermath -- which was a technical word for baby. Did Myrt want a baby? Did she want him to marry her? Would he have to quit school and get a bigger paper route?
Pondering these dire thoughts Rod found himself in a position which, hours ago -- hell -- minutes ago he would never have believed. After this adventure-filled afternoon he could believe being naked in the same bed with a naked woman pushing against him. He could believe that she had stood still and let him kiss her tits, put his hand between her legs. He could even believe that she had given his cock one friendly squeeze that drew from it a megaton blast surpassing any homegrown effort with his fist. The only thing Rod could not believe was that he lay beside Myrt, his bare body against her nakedness and his cock was not even close to exploding.
But that, of course, was before Myrt's knowledgeable hand snaked down between their pressing bodies and captured it in her soft warm fist.
Oh criminently Jesus, oh mother! It was going to happen again. He just knew it. It was going to come flying out of him like some great erotic fire hose, blurting and spurting his load all over her smooth skinned belly! Then abruptly Myrt did something else. Instead of the friendly companionable squeeze she had given him that afternoon beneath the glassy surface of the lake, Myrt's knowledgeable hand kept right on squeezing.
Ow, wow OUCH! Suddenly she let go and when the first bright flame of agony was over Rod abruptly realized that so was the crisis. His hard-on was still stiffer than a forgotten paint brush but the danger of imminent blurting, hurting disaster was temporarily postponed. He shuddered at the realization that they were right in the middle of Elton's back yard, totally exposed and unprotected, and that he had nearly yelled in his outraged surprise.
But there was no time for that. Moving carefully, Myrt was rearranging her lovely roundnesses on the narrow folding cot. It was dark and Rod didn't quite know what he wanted. He allowed himself to be pushed and prodded until suddenly he discovered himself in what years later he would come to know as missionary position, kneeling between her widespread thighs, supporting his weight on his elbows above her Junoesque body. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something.
Oh gollyjesus! Rod thought as he suddenly realized this was the position he had heard described so many times. His cock was rock hard with excitement after all the delicious little frictions and collisions involved in rearranging themselves atop the narrow cot. Poised above her, he realized she was waiting for him to make the next move. Jesus! He wondered if he would know how to do it right.
He had to think it over and plan out his moves. Stalling for time, he buried his face between her tits and began kissing. Touching her tits beneath the lake's glassy surface had been enough to drive him half mad with erotic delight. But to do it in the dark of an August night with no water -- not even air between his lips and that perky nipple in the middle of her splendid brown aureole -- that, Rod decided, was truly the cat's pajamas! He could feel his cock swelling harder, thumping, throbbing!
It was pushing at the bush between her legs. He could feel the tender, virgin tip of his tool push halfway out of its protecting foreskin and just the touch of Myrt's auburn ringletted pubic patch against its tip was enough to send him rocketing once more out on an erratic, erotic joyride through exploding stars.
Jesus! He would never be able to get it in. He knew that now. How did anybody ever? Just the thought of being this close to a naked woman, the knowledge that it was not a hopeless daydream -- that she was actually willing to let him put his great thumping lump of love muscle between her legs, between the lips of her lovely, auburn haired pussy... he clenched fists and toes, gritted his teeth and struggled to contain his load.
Oh shit, oh Jesus, oh please! Just let me get it into her. If I can just get it in, just push it in all the way before I come I don't care what happens. If I die right now -- if old Mr. Elton comes out here with his double-barreled shotgun I don't care what happens -- just let me get it in!
Only seconds ago she had squeezed the life right out of his bone, shriveled his hard-on to a travesty of its former size and firmness. Now his inexperienced, fifteen year old prick was up there again, eager as a puppy dog to deliver its load of love. He was never going to make it.
Damn! How long was a fuck supposed to last? Rod's knowledge on this subject was incomplete. He had heard stories which, he suspected even the tellers did not believe, about marathon fuckfests in which a guy got his thing into a girl and she liked it so much she let him keep it there all night, leaving it to soak and revive between explosions. But Rod's only evidence was inferential. He had watched bulls and stud horses -- magnificently endowed animals who seemed not to know how to conserve their strength. One or two plunges and it was over. He had seen dogs who seemed to suffer from the opposite symptom. Suddenly he was worried. Would he get stuck inside Myrt like a dog? Jesus! What would happen if old Mr. Elton came out with a shot gun while they were stuck?
The thought scared the fine explosive edge off his hard-on. If he could just get it in Rod thought he could keep it for a few minutes. Getting it in was the problem. If he could just get it in Rod knew what he would do: He would ram it in deep all the way and just leave it there -- let it soak for hours if he had to, but he wasn't going to go sliding it in and out and ruining it all. Maybe, he decided, that was the proper way to fuck. The trick was all in getting it in. No flesh and blood man could be expected to have the self-control to actually be able to contain his load while sliding his slammer in and out of a real live woman. It was impossible.
He began moving, trying to find out how to get it in. He had assumed from all the pictures on toilet walls that you had to put it into a woman from the front. But heck, that wasn't even where the hole was! He would have to be careful which way he poked. Which way was right? Shit! He was going to come before he ever got close to getting it in. He just knew it.
Should he take a chance? Rear back and give one magnificent blind lunge, hoping he would hit the hole, hit it at the right angle? It might be his only chance of ever getting it into her before he came and it was all over. Jiminy! If only he knew what to do!
His cock was rock hard again, teetering over the precipice of a chasm of orgasm. Suddenly he felt like just giving up and going home. Maybe he ought to tell her he just didn't feel like fucking tonight. Was that the way to get out of it? It would give him a more urbane and manly image than he would get from firing his load all over the creamy smooth skin of her lovely ass. That was what he ought to do, Rod decided. Get the hell out of here. Who needed a woman?
Who needed a woman? Well, to start at the head of the list, he did. Rod knew there was no way he was going to leave -- not until he had either gotten his dying dick inside her for half a stroke before it collapsed or he died in the attempt. He took a deep breath and moved his ass up and away from hers to prepare his charge into the arena.
Immediately Myrt's knowledgeable hand was down there between them grabbing him, squeezing him delicately to the edge of pain lest pleasure end too soon. She was pulling on his cock too. Suddenly he realized what this lovely, smooth skinned imperturable woman was doing for him. She was leading him home, guiding his cock into her waiting slit. He could feel the warm wet womanliness touching the throbbing tip of his tool. Oh Jesus, did it ever feel good!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rod came to with a jerk. Damn! Was he going senile at forty-five? Here he'd let his mind wander back thirty years again to that long hot summer with Myrt. His cock was as hard as if he hadn't woken with his dream girl that morning, hadn't spent a jolly hour pouring it to the lovely lissome Vera, hadn't finally unloaded his second round into Rambling Rose's deep throat.
But, Rod sadly admitted, that wasn't why his cock was hot, hard, throbbing, ready to explode again. It was that goddam naked girl in his bedroom. What in hell was she doing in there all this time? Was she getting dressed? Or was she up to some new teenage shenanigans calculated to drive a horny old man right up the wall? He wouldn't put it past her to come parading out here naked.
She had said she was a nudist. He wondered if it was true. What the hell? If she was he might as well forget it. They were all uptight about organic foods or some such shit -- weirdoes who took off their clothes but had no intention of doing what comes next. Once he had briefly dated a nudist. If he recalled it properly, he had given it the old college try, had actually thought he had it made. But so far as she was concerned it was look, don't touch. So next night Rod went out and found a fully dressed girl and undressed her and did what comes naturally.
And here he was doing what comes naturally at forty-five: daydreaming again. What in the abysmal execration was that girl doing in there? He sighed and stood up, suddenly realizing he was still wearing a suit. It was ridiculous to go about this way in his own apartment.
But if he had a brain left in his head -- if they hadn't all turned to peanut butter and flowed elsewhere, he knew he still ought to go out and call the county receiving home. But even more certain than this knowledge was the conviction that he was not going to do it. Sighing, he took off his jacket and tie. Damn! He wore shoes so seldom in this informal town that his feet were starting to hurt already. He kicked them off too.
"Ta TAH!" The girl flung open the door and imitated a trumpet fanfare.
Rod was afraid to look. If she was a nudist he knew his self-control would fail, that no matter how uptight, one look at that trim little body and his willpower would turn into rut and whether she wanted it or not, that little girl was going to get fucked.
"What's wrong?" This time the self assurance was all gone from the girl's voice. Rod remembered the sad way she had been shuffled from house to house. And now he must seem to be rejecting her too. He took a deep breath and turned to face her. The girl was not naked.
He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. "Nothing," he managed. "Nothing's wrong. You look fine." Jesus, did she ever! This time the girl had combed her long blond hair and gathered it into a waist length ponytail. She wore a brief knit halter which barely concealed the contours of those twin pectoral peaks which had so fascinated Rod. Trying not to stare, he noted with one lightning inventorying glance that his guess had been correct. Jesus, those tiny tits must be firm! Even standing in the doorway there was not the slightest hint of droop or sag. They must have grown within the last few months. Probably the girl was still getting used to them, still bumping into things with that unexpected protuberance. Probably too, he realized sadly, they had grown so fast and stretched that lovely skin so drum tight that she would scream with pain the first time a strange hand touched her there.
But what the hell? It wouldn't be his hand. Not today. Thirty years ago maybe... thirty years ago any girl who exposed this much of her body would have been either alone in her own room, in a whorehouse, on a burlesque theater stage, or out of her mind. Nowadays... his glance drifted to her short shorts which were only nominally more than a bikini bottom, tight fitting, revealing every crack and wrinkle in the crotch of her firm little fundament.
Rod looked away and tried to breathe deep. His cock was hard, throbbing with frustrated desire. Jesus -- even his tongue had a hard-on! How was he going to get through a weekend -- no! a full week -- with this come-extractor walking around his apartment, distracting him, keeping him from getting anything done, leaving him incapable of thinking of anything apart from how nice it would be to grab her, undress her, bury his face in those lovely tits, drive his cock up between those long slim legs...
"Don't you like it?" little Ellie asked.
"Like what?" Christ! Lil Abner could do better than that!
"My outfit. Momma told me not to bring it."
"It's fine," Rod said distractedly. What the hell was she wearing? His mind was on her body -- on all that lovely unblemished skin. How the hell was he to know what she was wearing? Slowly the remainder of her remark soaked in.
"Your momma told you not to bring it?" he echoed. "She said I'd get raped."
Rod shook his head. It did no good. "I've got news for you," he finally managed. "Your momma knows more about it than you do."
"Oh, I've been raped before."
"You've what?"
"When I was eleven and Momma was playing a club in Miami."
Rod stared at the tiny blonde's untroubled countenance. "Jesus!" he muttered and sat down.
"I bet you don't believe me," Ellie said.
Rod was still staring. "Don't ask me why," he said. "But I do."
"It didn't hurt," the girl said. "But he sure scared me."
"Didn't hurt?" Rod echoed helplessly.
"It was the old man who managed the motel," she elaborated. "He was a nice old man. Used to give me candy and ice cream every day."
I'll bet.
"Then one day he raped me."
"And it didn't hurt," Rod echoed. Jesus! Only eleven!
"I don't think he really got it in," she said, as casually as if she were discussing the superiority of sugar pops over cheerios. "But he got me all sticky and dirty and he sure scared the hell out of me."
Rod shook his head. "He couldn't have scared you too much," he observed, "Or you wouldn't have come crawling into another old man's bed."
"Oh, that was years ago. I was afraid for a long time. Then finally I started screwing."
"Oh? And how long ago was that?"
"About a year ago -- when I was fourteen."
"And you've been going at it steady ever since," Rod concluded.
The girl shook her head. "I only tried it once. It was with a boy that used to park cars at a club where Mommy used to sing."
"Tried it once and didn't like it," Rod mused, echoing the punch line of a venerable joke.
"He was worse than the old man," Ellie said. "He didn't even touch me before he was shooting that white stuff all over me."
"I seem to remember having the same trouble when I was a boy," Rod mused.
"Somebody raped you?"
"No," Rod laughed. "I mean about shooting all that white stuff before I could get around to the interesting part."
"Is it fun?" Ellie asked. "Do you do it a lot?"
"Yes, and yes," Rod said.
The girl's eyes widened. "No kidding?" she asked. "Can you still do it?"
Rod didn't know whether to be complimented or insulted. "I can still manage it once in a while," he conceded. "But of course, with an old man like me you've got to realize it takes a while if you want to get a look at all that white stuff."
"I don't believe it," Ellie said.
"What don't you believe?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. But that old man grabbed me and he was huffing and puffing and then Arthur was wheezing and having asthma and -- "
"You sure know how to pick 'em," Rod sympathized.
"You got any coffee?"
To Rod's mild amazement, this last request came to him as a relief. The whole situation had been drifting askew. This was not the scenario he had envisioned. But... why, he wondered, couldn't adults try to remember what it had been like when they were adolescents instead of retreating into some dream world where children were swaddled in cotton wool and never exposed to the grim realities of life until some magic legal date when they were suddenly adults with all the rights and privileges and responsibilities of a taxpayer?
So some old man had tried to rape her -- and gone off before he could even get it in. So she had finally gotten up the courage and the glandular pressure to try again -- and some pimply faced car parker had let his imagination outrun his staying power... it was a wonder well built clear skinned girls like this ever found a man who could keep his cool long enough to blow theirs.
"In the kitchen," he said. Ellie followed him, a clear-skinned dream of delight in the briefest of possible shorts and halter. The coffee pot was empty. She followed him about the kitchen as he washed it and reloaded it, bumping into him each time he turned around. "I'll give you a half an hour to cut that out," he said. Obviously, she didn't know what he was talking about. Rod sighed. Little girls were such a complicated mixture of sophistication and innocence. He wondered if she knew how close she had come to being raped right here in this apartment.
Finally the coffee pot was doing its thing and Rod sat at an edge of the table. Ellie sat across from him, within reaching distance across the tiny table. "You ought to listen to your mother," he said. "Just because it didn't hurt once doesn't mean rape can't be a very ugly business. You were lucky."
"Did you ever rape anybody?"
Rod managed to control himself. "Never had to," he said smugly, "But I've had some hard-up women almost -- " Stop bragging, he told himself.
"No kidding? You really do screw?" she asked, dragging out the ooooo.
"Not more than five times a day."
"Awwwwww -- " Rod shrugged and glanced at the coffee pot. It was not ready yet. He sighed. Ought to be thankful, he guessed. All this talk had taken the fine edge off his hard-on. Talking is the enemy of fucking, he reminded himself. By the time she was twenty this girl would be able to talk any superstud into flaccid impotence. What the hell? Now that he had control and knew he wasn't going to make a juvenile fool of himself and come all over the inside of his underwear... he decided he might as well give it the old college try. "Has anybody ever tried to give you advice?" Foolish question number twenty-two.
Ellie gave him a cautious look.
"Relax," he said. "Everybody screws. I'm willing to believe you do too and I'm not going to go telling you not to. But if you're interested I can tell you how."
"How what?"
"How to get more fun out of it and not talk your boyfriend to death before he can get started."
"Oh!" She gave him a searching look. "You mean I'm doing something wrong?"
"It's a very complicated art -- like flying on instruments," Rod explained. "If you keep talking you distract a boy's attention and he can't do it right."
"Awwwwww!"
"Well, just look back over what's happened every time."
"But I've only done it twice," Ellie wailed. "And the first time I was so scared I didn't say anything!"
"Rape doesn't count," Rod said. "And your biggest mistake the second time was in getting a boy with no more experience than you have. Somebody has to know what they're doing."
"You mean I should do it with an older man?"
Rod didn't answer.
"I think the coffee's ready."
Down it goes again! "That's what I'm talking about," Rod said dryly.
"What?"
"You've got to keep your mind on your business," he explained. "Sex is lots of fun but you can't go asking for a cup of coffee in the middle of it."
"In the middle of it --?" Suddenly Ellie's wide open 'blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You and me?" she asked in a dazed tone. "Do you want to do it with me?"
What can you do with that kind of innocence? This goddam little girl with the prick stiffening body had just brought him back down to sanity. Of course he didn't want to do it with her -- not as long as she was going to keep asking those stupid questions and destroying his hard-on. Now wouldn't he look fine kneeling between those long lovely legs trying to get it up and little Ellie asking if he fucked, if he liked to drink coffee, if rape was fun, if he liked her outfit, if -- oh shit! "Let's drink our coffee," Rod growled. He got cups and started pouring.
He put a cup of black coffee in front of the infuriating girl. She picked it up, sipped, and said, "Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!" Rod nearly dropped his cup, so like it was to the sound of joy overflowing that the lovely blond and lissome Vera emitted every time his cock managed to touch that secret trigger deep inside her lovely fleshy funnel.
Little Ellie sipped again and once more uttered that long drawn happy "Aaaaaaahhhh!"
Rod stood in the middle of the kitchen with coffee cup and pot in his hand, trying to decide whether he ought to go out and make that phone call. The danger didn't seem half as acute as it had a few moments ago before this prick stiffening girl broke the spell by opening her mouth. She'd do just fine, he thought ruefully, with a piece of hot throbbing meat stuffed in that mouth to stop her chatter.
"Guy!" little Ellie exclaimed. "Your pants bulge in front just like Arthur's used to every time he kissed me." Rod looked down. Sure enough, in spite of her infuriating and distracting chatter, he had a hard-on. Now how about that!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Can I touch it?"
Rod wondered if his imagination had taken over his hearing. Surely he hadn't heard this little girl say that. He stared at her. She was expecting some kind of an answer. "Sorry," he said. "I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"
"Can I touch it?" she repeated.
So he had been hearing her right. There was no doubt about it. She wanted to feel his hard-on. He was about to ask another stupid question when Rod suddenly guessed the answer. Living alone with her mother in motel and hotel rooms, this child had not been able to find too many friends of her own age. She was maturing rapidly into womanhood and, despite a couple of misadventures, had probably never had a chance to sneak off into the bushes with a boy for a game of show-and-tell. Despite an attempted rape and a bungled seduction -- and he could just guess how that pimply faced car parker had scampered off with his tail between his legs -- despite the usual complement of adventures for a pretty girl growing up in this century, little Ellie had undoubtedly never had a chance to study a cock at leisure, feel it, familiarize herself with this instrument of female salvation.
I'm a nudist.
Like hell she was. There was, Rod supposed, something to be said for nudism after all. It satisfied curiosity; it prevented the kind of fraud that involves girdles and uplift bras. If only it didn't do such a thorough job of taking all the joy and mystery out of fucking. But, he philosophized, if nudism were to prevail, he wouldn't be standing in his kitchen with a cup of coffee listening to a prick stiffening little half grown blonde asking him if she could feel his cock. Wow!
He wondered if he ought to go through the motions: ask the girl why she wanted to touch it, make her explain. What would she say? What would he gain? She didn't seem embarrassed. What the hell, she'd crawled into bed with him. He wondered what would have happened if he'd been awake when she did it. The girl was waiting for him to answer.
"Only on a reciprocal basis," he said.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I will if you will."
"Oh?" The girl sipped coffee. "Well, yeah, I guess so," she said.
Rod's rod gave a sudden exultant leap which was plainly visible even through his pants.
"Guy!" Ellie exclaimed. "It jumps just like Arthur's used to whenever he looked at me."
Rod wondered if it would act like the pimply faced cat parker's uncontrollable erection in other ways. Would he fire his load prematurely -- or would he have problems of another nature? He controlled his breathing and managed, "Do you want to see it hard or soft?"
"Guy, I don't know. Both ways, I guess."
Rod sighed. Virginity, in his opinion, was greatly over-rated. He preferred dealing with girls who knew their way around, who did not require printed instructions to 'insert tab A into slot B'. But you couldn't have everything and every girl had to start out somewhere. He remembered how patient Myrt had been with his first bungling efforts at sensuality -- how little real satisfaction she must have gotten from that first session. He hoped he had repaid her later. And if not, at least he' could pass on the touch and the torch to this willing pupil. "But I'll have to make one more rule," he explained.
"What's that?"
"No talking."
"Guy!" Ellie exclaimed. "I'm not stupid. I won't ever tell anybody."
Rod sincerely hoped and prayed she wouldn't. Not until he was dead and buried anyway. But that was not what he had meant. "I mean right now."
"Now?"
Rod sighed. "There are two kinds of people in the world," he explained, "Those who talk about it and those who do it. You'll have to decide which kind you want to be."
Ellie sipped coffee and frowned in concentration. "You mean I can touch you if I'll shut up?"
Rod couldn't have put it better himself.
Ellie stared at his crotch, which still bulged enough to ruin the set of his trousers. Clearly she was torn between two conflicting desires. So was Rod. He wanted to discourage this kind of exploration. Jesus! No girl her age could keep a secret. Sooner or later she would have to tell somebody about the wonderful thing that had happened to her and her girl friend would tell somebody else and sooner or later some mother was going to overhear and then oh Jesus, would the organic matter ever hit the fan!
But even as he made up all these high aiming resolutions Rod knew he didn't want to push the girl too far. If she wanted an education she was entitled to it. And he was eminently qualified as a teacher. And -- and shit! What wouldn't he give for a chance to put his hand between those long lovely legs, to feel and memorize the shape of those lovely volcanic cones that adorned her barely covered chest... but he had to give her a final chance to back out.
Had to give her more than that, he guessed. He didn't want this girl ever to be able to say or feel or think that he had made her do something she didn't want to do.
It was funny. He had fucked so many women in his life. But he had never gotten into one this young. He had dreamed of it often enough. Countless nights he had lulled himself to sleep with some seduction scenario. But always it had been seduction -- the slow and gentle leading of some innocent down the byways of eroticism, gently but surely teaching her one tiny little facet of sensuality after another until before she quite realized what was happening some girl had lost that most precious possession whose losing was always so much nicer than the keeping thereof -- a slow, gentle, mutually joyful and sensually exciting encounter on the dark fields of Venus.
This girl had thrown his timing all off, caused him to lose his stride completely. Girls were supposed to be innocent, sexually ignorant. Older men were supposed to be kind and gentle and answer questions and explain and do and do over and do into and -- older men were supposed to kiss them and cuddle them and blow in their ear until the poor innocent girl melted into a tiny pool of eroticism, incapable of lifting a hand to defend herself or ward off the firm phallus that was coming to change her forever from a child into a woman. God damn it! Innocent girls weren't supposed to go around asking a man if they could handle his prick!
But this girl had asked him. What was he going to do about it? Should he let her? What the hell? As some saint had once remarked, there are many roads but they all lead to the top of the mountain. If this was the road that could lead his hands up those precipitous volcanic slopes until he could put a careful thumb and forefinger over those tiny pink nipples...
"I'll tell you what," he said. "We can turn it into a game. You do whatever you want with me and I do what-ever I want with you. But no talking. Any time you want to stop, just say 'no' and we'll quit right there. And if you say anything else and take my mind off my business it'll be just the same as if you'd said no. Now how does that grab you?"
Ellie gave an enthusiastic nod and finished her coffee with a single gulp. She got up from the table and without ceremony grabbed at the bulge in his pants.
Rod thought he was going to come right then and there. Jesus! What was wrong with him? He hadn't been this excited since that day years ago with his Lady of the Lake. His cock was suddenly bolt upright, throbbing, thumping, threatening him with instant catastrophe. He strained, clenched toes and fists, gritted his teeth, and felt a tiny drop of love's elixir squeeze past the tip of his tool. He stood rigid and straining, holding his breath and waiting for the spasm to pass.
So all his soul searching and noble resolutions had come to naught. He was going to fuck this lovely little girl. Sure as hell one thing was going to lead to another and he was going to get it into her firm little ass -- if she could just remember to keep her mouth shut. He was putting down his coffee cup to dedicate both hands to that lovely little body when the phone rang.
Now who the hell? Casting a despairing look at the ceiling, he dithered momentarily between the living room and the bedroom phone. Finally he went to the latter. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he picked up the instrument. "Yes?"
"Rod?" It was a woman's voice.
"He lives here," Rod said. "Can I take a message?"
"I'm Ellie's mother; Rose's sister. Is Ellie there?"
Rod's rod dwindled past peanut size. Shit! Why couldn't she . have called an hour earlier -- or an hour later? Either way he would not have had so much trouble.. "Yes," he sighed. "Would you like to talk to her?" Without waiting for an answer, he handed the phone to the girl. Ellie stretched across him, raking him with the tips of her firm little tits.
"Hello? Oh, it's you, Momma." She listened while Momma's voice yammered in tinny unintelligibility. Rod sighed. "Are you here in town, Momma?" Ellie finally asked.
Shit squared and cubed! He had managed, Rod knew, to get the worst of two possible worlds. He had allowed this underage cock trap to seduce his seduce him! And now before he even got a chance to enjoy his final corruption Momma had showed up and was going to take little Ellie away and all he would have was the knowledge that he had not been able to obey his own common sense, that he had been no match for a fifteen-year-old, and that if she were ever to tell anybody what had gone on, whether he had ever gotten his worm into that apple or not, Rod's ass would be mud.
So what was he going to do now? Rod had a sudden sickening feeling that little Ellie had opened a door in his psyche which he would just as soon not have had opened. All his secret daydreams and wishes -- the weird and kinky little things that lurk in the dark and secret corners of every man's mind had suddenly come to light.
Shit! For thirty years he'd prided his ability as a cocks-man, smug with the knowledge that he'd never left a woman unsatisfied or unhappy. He had comforted the loneliness of spinsters, of widows and divorcees. He had brought a little happiness into their drab and wretched lives. When had he ever broken up a marriage or stolen a maidenhead or done any harm? Never.
And now he had nearly betrayed himself. What was worse, he realized, was. the knowledge that he had opened the gate for a whole new ballgame. Now that he had come this close to getting it into an adolescent, Rod knew Ellie would be gone within minutes, off to meet her mother -- god damn her!
And Rod-Christ! Was he going to turn into something on the precinct bulletin board? Would every cop in this end of town learn to keep his eye on that gray haired old fart who hung around playgrounds and schools?
I'll kill myself, Rod resolved. I'd rather be dead than turn into a clown -- a dirty old man who -- But he knew that now that he'd come this close his mind would never cease pawing at that dark corner of his psyche until he had actually done it -- until he had gotten his cock into some underage girl. Maybe then, he prayed -- maybe once he had satisfied his curiosity he could go back to happily studding his stable of regulars, pouring his tired old cock to Helen, to Rose, to Vera, to -- To little Ellie, god damn it! If he didn't get his cock into her before she left his apartment he'd -- Forget it -- that's what he'd do. Jesus. Force her, scare her, and what wouldn't she tell her momma? The lovely little blonde was still on the telephone, still listening. He wondered if she knew how deeply he was in her power. Goddam it! He was forty-five, a cocksman with thirty years experience. How could he let a kid this young, this inexperienced tie a knot in the end of his cock?
Ellie, like any teenager, seemed unaware of the effect her taut little body was having on him. Instead of going around him to sit and talk, she sprawled across his lap, bare midriff against his thighs, her firm little ass poking perkily toward his face. What would she do? What would she shriek into the telephone if he were to bend over and bite that delectable duff? She bent her knees and squirmed. As long legs came up toward his face Rod felt his cock start to rise again.
Forget it, he told himself. It's over. You're never going to get into her now. She'll hang up and she'll pack up and -- and she'll leave you high and dry and Rod felt like crying. Here was this lovely, firm little body sprawled across his lap: his dream girl come to life after lurking in his subconscious for thirty years, emerging only to tickle his tool when he was asleep. Here she was on his lap in the living, breathing, warm and throbbing flesh! And she sprawled across his lap and he didn't dare lay a hand on that lovely smooth skinned, round, firm, fully packed little body. He wondered what would happen if he were to scream.
God! If only he dared put his hands on those long, smooth, perfectly tapered thighs... He hadn't been this hardup, this frustrated since that long hot summer when he had invented countless errands to go to Elton's store and sneak still another glance at the firm filling of the new clerk's bodice.
Christ almighty, there he went again! Daydreaming about a thirty year old fuck when he had a girl who hadn't been alive half that long across his knees. She was, he abruptly realized, in spanking position. God damn her provocative little ass! He was tempted to pull those tight-fitting short shorts down and give her little ass a couple of whacks and to hell with what she might say into the telephone.
Little Ellie seemed to be settling down for a long session. Blast and damn her! Why couldn't she hang up, pack up, and get it over with. It was finished anyway. Would she scream or gasp or giggle into the phone if he were to slip his hand between those long smooth skinned legs and sample the texture of that tender, sensitive inner thigh? Oh Jesus! She was squirming again, grinding the head off his cock and if she didn't stop it he knew he was going to come right in his pants.
Still murmuring an occasional 'yes, Momma' into the phone, Ellie squirmed until she had turned clear over. Abruptly she sat up and, clutching the phone with her ear and chin, she began working on his belt buckle with both hands.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Now that was the final straw! Rod knew what he ought to do. He ought to stand up abruptly, dump this little tease on the floor, and to hell with what she might say. But thinking it, he knew he wouldn't -- couldn't. After years of dealing with women on his own terms, this adolescent had casually walked into his life and touched some trigger so secret that not even Rod had known it had been there waiting all these years to enslave him.
She had him good. He couldn't stop her. He couldn't do anything that might endanger any chance, however slim, of getting his hands onto that lovely unused body. My god, he thought with sudden chagrin, in spite of one attempted rape and one bungled seduction, this girl was in all probability a virgin! Now how about that! A teenage virgin trying to undress him! The least he could do was help.
She had managed the buckle and was fiddling with the button of his waistband. Then finally she had deciphered that combination and was teasing away at the tab of his zipper. With a mental sigh for broken resolutions, Rod eased himself off the edge of the bed. As he half stood Ellie slid off his lap. Still murmuring 'yes, Momma' into the phone, she began pulling his pants down around his ankles. He sat down again and she pulled them off, bran-dished them like some captured flag, and tossed his pants into a corner. Rod reached for her but little Ellie, still holding the phone, danced just out of reach.
How far away was. her momma? The girl was fiddling with his shirt buttons now. Would there be time? Or would little Ellie turn coy and chicken out once she got his boxer shorts off and saw the great thumping hunk of masculinity that had made countless women's eyes bulge at first sight and bulge even more once they felt its firm length all the way up their unsuspecting cunts?
He grabbed again but she was just out of reach. He could stand up and chase her to the end of the telephone cord, Rod knew. But he also suspected any such maneuver would entail giggles and shrieks and an interruption to the soothing flow of 'yes, Mommas' that little Ellie kept murmuring into that instrument. What the hell was momma up to? Why couldn't she stop running up a bill and just come and pick up her kid and get the fuck out of his life -- providing she took long enough getting here for a fuck.
Still holding the phone with her chin, Ellie came closer. He wanted to grab her but she was pulling his long sleeved shirt off and he had to hold his arms straight down if she were ever to complete the job. Her face came within inches of his. He leaned forward, trying to kiss her. He missed but managed to capture the clean sweet smell of a freshly bathed woman who had not yet had time to stink herself up with perfume. His cock gave a sudden leap.
Christ but his cock was throbbing! He could feel it rise and strain against the fabric of his boxer shorts. It was funny the girl hadn't pulled them off too but he guessed she wanted to make a production out of it, unveil him, one thing at a time until she could admire the undraped magnificence of his masculinity. Rod wondered if she would return the compliment, let him take that tiny, next-to-nothing halter off her, peel down those skintight short shorts which emphasized every crack and crinkle of her crotch and were more erotically arousing than even the ineffable sight of her bare quiff might turn out to be. Oh Jesus, how he wanted to reach out and grab her, bury his face in that lovely smooth little bare belly, pull off that halter and shorts, kiss and lick those tiny pink virginal nipples into thrumming rigidity, kiss the smooth sensual softness of her smooth skinned inner thigh -- oooooohhhh WOW!
Just thinking about it nearly drove him mad with desire. Would momma ever hang up that goddam phone so he could get on with it? Where was she? How long would they have before momma came pounding on the door? He would have to allow time for a shower, for dressing. And they couldn't really go at it no-holds-barred the way a first time fuck deserved. The slightest abrasion or bruise on this lovely clear skin would require explanations, and explanations, and explanations. And goddam momma! Hang up for Christ's sake!
"Yes, Momma, I'll tell him," Ellie said. She was tugging at his undershirt now. Rod bent to help her and she began pulling it over his head. He put out his arms and managed to brush them across her legs in the brief moment before he had to straighten so she could pull his tee shirt the rest of the way. Even this tiny adventure in eroticism managed to endow his throbbing cock with an extra tingle.
"Momma wants me to be sure not to make a pest of myself," Ellie said, talking to him over the mouthpiece. Rod reached for her and the girl danced tantalizingly, just out of reach. She had stripped him down to socks and boxer shorts now and he had still not even managed to get a decent handful of the girl, much less start to undress her. He reminded himself that he had made up the rules of this silly game, that technically, the girl had already lost by talking on the telephone. But what did rules have to do with fucking?
Ellie came within reach but when he put out his arms to capture that elusive little body she gave him a playful push that sent him backward until he was sitting once more on the edge of the bed. She captured his right foot and, still murmuring 'yes, Momma,' into the phone, began peeling off his sock. Rod guessed he might as well relax. At least she was heading in the right direction.
Ellie dropped the phone. It bounced noiselessly on the bed and she recaptured it, once more to murmur 'yes, Momma' while twisting her taut torso around to capture his other foot. Now she had him down to nothing but boxer shorts. Sitting on the bed, they didn't stick out at such an absurd angle but still the intransigence of his erection was clearly visible.
Still murmuring into the phone, Ellie posed before him just out of reach, inviting his aching hands to grab her taut body. Rod didn't want to. This was not the way he worked. Rod had learned over the years that eagerness can ruin more promising situations than were ever lost from waiting too long. It was his way with women to offer encouragement, but never to force himself upon them. This diffidence tended to put women off guard, to force them onto the offensive -- and once maneuvered into this position no woman could take offense if she suddenly found herself in the not unpleasant position of being caught between the mattress and Rod's rampant rod.
What the hell? Wasn't this exactly where he was at the moment? He was letting this obliging little girl undress him. But goddam oh Jesus, how he wanted to get his hands on that firm little body! Finally he realized what she was up to -- as if it were all that difficult! He stood and made a halfhearted grab at her, knowing she would not be there by the time his hands were. And he was right. Instead, she was kneeling before him, still holding the telephone with her ear and chin, using both hands to peel his boxer shorts down, at long last unveiling that splendid spear that jutted from the graying thicket of his crotch.
"Oooooohhhh yes, Momma!" Ellie said into the phone. "I'm fine. No, I'm not catching cold."
She stood again and backed away to admire the undraped fullness of Rod's lean muscular body. Rod watched her eyes and saw them grow larger as she took in for the first time the full splendor of his rampant, hard throbbing hammer. From her unbelieving look he knew the little girl had not expected it to be that large. He hoped she wouldn't be frightened. Christ, telephone or not, he didn't want to stop now!
Ellie stood back, still murmuring into the phone, and stared at his cock. Rod looked down to see if there was anything wrong. Remembering that he was forty-five, that it was not all that easy to get it up any more, he considered the full firm erection this girl's taut body had elicited from him. No, he guessed, there was nothing wrong. Jesus, how his cock was throbbing!
It was not, as cocks go, all that big. Rod was six two, weight a hundred seventy, and even in his prime had never sported more than seven solid inches. Thanks to conservative -- and impecunious -- parents, he had never been circumcised. From the loose fitting foreskin peeped the angry purple tip of his sharp pointed, well-flared cock-head. Behind it an elegantly thin, heavy veined shank jutted from his graying pubic patch. His cock stood straight out from his body, jerking slightly in time with his heartbeat.
Ellie seemed fascinated by this prodigious prod. Rod didn't mind her looking at it. After all, this instrument had done him creditable service for thirty years. It was nothing to be ashamed of. But he had looked at it every day of his life. He was more interested in what little Ellie had inside that impossibly brief halter, inside those skin-tight short shorts. He reached for her, beckoning. God damn it -- did she want to undress him just to look at him? This was no time to stop.
"Yes, Momma," Ellie murmured, still studying Rod's rod. She moved closer and put out a hand. Rod remembered that she had asked if she could touch it. What the hell? Let her satisfy her curiosity. She had seen one old man's when he tried to rape her -- probably been too frightened to even notice whether it had one head or three. And that one bungled seduction with the pimply faced car park attendant... Probably poor Arthur had stuffed it back into his pants before he even finished coming all over the lovely trim little belly he'd been too anxious to get into. It was funny. Little Ellie with the nearly bare and impossibly cock-stiffening body -- little Ellie who talked so glibly about rape and seduction. This was probably the first time she had ever gotten a really good look at a cock. He stood, legs slightly apart, thrusting his pelvis toward her. He put his hands behind his back and waited.
Ellie came toward him cautiously. "Yes, Momma," she said with a hint of annoyance, "I am being careful." She put out a hand and captured the gently waving tip of his tool.
Rod struggled, gritted his teeth, tried frantically to do multiplication tables, and finally managed to control himself and not to put the solution in Ellie's hot little hand. She squeezed it, put a curious fingertip to his foreskin, peeled it partway back to see the unveiled spearheaded splendor of his glans penis. She put a hand down to cup his balls, took it away quickly when his excited body made them squirm inside the wrinkled scrotum. The touch of her hand drove him nearly mad with the desire to grab her, undress her, lick and kiss her, FUCK HER!
Yet, he realized with lascivious bemusement, she was not even trying to turn him on. She was not caressing, squeezing and tickling his cock the way an experienced woman would. Instead, she was touching it, feeling it as cautiously as some city child at the zoo touching a rabbit for the first time in his concrete bounded life. But Christ, how she was turning him on!
Rod tried to collect himself. He was seeing the girl through a pink fog of rut. Finally he realized that her curiosity had overcome her caution. He began very carefully curving his hands, moving his arms and then, striking suddenly, he had her by the waist.
"Yes, Momma," Ellie murmured into the phone. "He's treating me real nice."
God, what a firm little body! Not an ounce of fat or flab! Little Ellie possessed that combination of firm yet yielding softness that is found only in female athletes. He wondered if she was still supple and able to twist into unexpected and erotic shapes like that ballerina who had once done her best to marry him.
Ellie was fair caught now and he didn't intend to let go of her. Not for half an hour, at least. Telephone or no telephone, he got his hands on her waist -- nearly around it -- and began working those skintight short shorts down over the gentle roundness of her hips. She had a sensual, surprisingly deep navel for such a little girl. He sat back on the bed, spread his legs wide, and drew her unresisting body toward him. He bent over and stuck his tongue into her navel. Suddenly he didn't have to pull. Little Ellie was pushing.
Licking her, augering his tongue deep into her, he kept working at the waistband of those incredible, second-skin shorts, struggling to get them down over the curve of her hips.
"Momma, I'm not catching a cold. I feel fine."
Rod had worked the shorts down until he had exposed the top of the vee where one ass branches out into two legs. He worked diligently, pulling his tongue out of her navel from time to time to check his handiwork. He had them down to the beginning of the bony bulge of her moos veneris. It was smooth and hairless, which seemed to make it stand out even more from the gentle, nearly flat curve of her belly.
Then suddenly the shorts were free from the bulge of her hips. They hung inside out, held up only by her tightly clasped thighs. Ellie made a strangled little gurgling noise and moved her feet. She stood with her legs slightly apart while Rod, still augering his tongue into her navel, pulled her shorts down. She raised a foot and stepped out, then the other. He tossed the shorts in the same direction she had flung his pants.
"Momma, I'm not coughing, It's not cold here. Fm nice and warm. He's not going to let me catch cold."
Rod stood back and let his hand worm its gentle way up between Ellie's parted legs. He cupped the just-furring, still plainly visible lips of her vulva. God, what a lovely little snatch she had! Prominent mons veneris just beginning to grow a few wisps of ethereal blond hair, full pouting vulval lips that brought a sudden throb to his longsuffering cock. Jesus! She was so petite. Could he get his great thumping old war horse in there without hurting her? He pulled her to him again, burying his face in her belly with a sudden access of passion. Her thighs just above the knees were rubbing against the hot hammering tip of his tool. As he wrapped his arms around her ass and buried his face deeper in the soft firmness of her flawless little belly her thighs parted, then closed, trapping the tip of his raging rod between their softness. She squeezed her thighs tight over the head of his cock. Rod gasped and struggled to control himself. Oh Jesus, oh Marx and Engels, did it ever feel gooooood!
"But Momma," little Ellie was saying, "I'm not wearing my Barbarella outfit. Please, don't worry, I'm feeling nice and warm -- warmer every minute!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Some tiny still sane corner of his mind told Rod that he was crazy -- absolutely out of his skull. He was going to get his ass in a sling -- going to lose everything he had built up in forty-five careful years. What in hell was he doing undressing a teenage girl while she talked on the phone with her mother? Apart from trying not to come, that is, what was he doing? He had his face buried in her lovely little belly, his arms around her ass. She had her thighs clasped over the tip of his tool. He ought to get the hell out of here, establish an alibi to prove he didn't do it, that it was two other guys. Instead, his hands snaked slowly up the smooth expanse of her back until he was fiddling with her almost-nothing halter.
It didn't have any knots. Finally he realized the tight fitting knit fabric must slip onto her over her head. He began working it up cautiously, afraid to hurt those tender, just growing tits. Jesus! It fit her so tight he couldn't do it. He could never get it off without skinning her. He struggled ineffectually and finally gave up.
"Mother, I've got to put the phone down for a minute," Ellie said. "I can hear something boiling over." The girl dropped the phone in Rod's lap where its coldness gave his rod a sudden frisson. She crossed her hands at the bottom' of the halter, ducked her head, and it was off with one fluid motion which did not even muss her waist length blond ponytail. Once more Rod was staring at those prodigious twin peaks which had frightened him right out of his own bedroom. Jesus, what a lovely little matched set of mammaries!
He drew her to him, brought his mouth carefully to the tip of one pectoral volcano, put his lips over her tiny pink aureole and began running his tongue in lovely lascivious circles around her pink nulliparous nipple. He was rewarded by a sudden quiver that ran the full length of Ellie's body. Her arms went around the back of his head, pulling him in deeper.
"Mother, I'm not bothering him. He's busy doing something. No, I can't tell you what he's doing. I've never seen anybody do it before. But Momma, he's busy concentrating on something and I promised not even to talk to him -- not a single word until he's through."
Rod switched to her other nipple and began licking lazy, lascivious circles until the girl's other tit was as rampantly erect. as the first one. He plugged one nipple into his ear, continued kissing the other, and thus did little Ellie learn that there is more than one kind of telephone.
"Ooooooohhhhh Momma!" she squealed. "Ooooohhh yes, yesss, of course I love you!" She threw her arms around Rod's neck and, without letting go of the telephone, was suddenly sitting on his lap, astraddle him, her tiny, almost hairless pussy gaping a half inch from the tip of his thrumming, thumping tool.
There was, Rod guessed, no time like the present if he were ever going to give this lovely quiff the kind of present it deserved. He got his hands around her ass and began drawing her gently toward him. His old warhorse, with thirty years of experience, was aimed unerringly toward the tiny slit of pink dampness between those pouting, nearly hairless lips. She was so dose he could feel the warmth of her youthful yoni radiating love and unquestioning acceptance to the stranger prodding at the gates of her maidenhood.
And that, Rod discovered suddenly, was about all he was going to do -- just prod. Though he had always preferred to find diversion with women who knew the score and had already been initiated into the rites of love, Rod's rod was singularly well adapted for maiden flights of eroticism. His cock was sharp pointed, tapering smoothly to a tremendously flared glans penis which gave him the acuity to prize gently at the edge of a hymen, stretching and tearing gently rather than bursting it with painful suddenness as some blunt-headed blunderbusses have been known to do. But once he got the thin end of the wedge into a girl, the sudden dramatic flare of his glans penis could more than make up in sudden stretching excitement for the initial low-keyed penetration of his sharp pointed prick.
But it was not sharp enough -- or little Ellie was too tight. He pressed, felt a solid wall of resistance, and knew from her sudden indrawn breath, the abrupt rigidity of her tiny body that he'd better stop now before she dissolved into terrified tears. Jesus, was she ever tight! He wondered if he would ever get it in. Could anybody?
She had turned him on sufficiently so that he wasn't worried about that problem. Christ, his cock was as stiff and hard-throbbing as it had been when he was this lovely child's age. He had a hard-on all right. But it was going to take a cold chisel to get into this tight pussied little virgin. Rod felt a sudden sympathy for poor Arthur of the pimply face and hair triggered cock. Even the dirty old man of a rapist was now easier to understand. No wonder he hadn't gotten it into her!
"Momma please believe me, nothing is going to happen. I'm all right."
Rod had a sudden suspicion that little Ellie was wise beyond her years. He wondered. Maybe the girl had not filled him in completely on the story of her love life. Maybe other men had tried and failed. For a virgin who had survived an attempted rape and a bungled seduction she was playing it pretty cool sitting here astraddle his prick, pouring platitudes into the telephone. How many times had she squatted astraddle some hopeful stud, let him do his damndest, and how many times had she watched some would-be stud fire his load prematurely and retire in confusion, brought low by this slip of a girl?
"Yes, Momma," the girl sighed. "Goodbye, Momma."
Rod didn't believe it until he heard the phone click. Christ! Was that conversation finally over?
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhh," little Ellie said. She. was talking to him now. "That feels goooooood!" Then abruptly she clapped a hand over her mouth, remembering the rules they had agreed to. He worked his cockhead carefully up and down her slit, searching for the tiny opening at one edge of her hymen. If he could just get the tip of his cock started...
He found it and began to pull her down onto his spike. Immediately she stiffened, hissing with pain and apprehension. Rod relaxed. "I don't think you're really old enough," he said. If that doesn't make her determined to go through with it, nothing will.
Sitting astraddle his lap, little Ellie looked like she was going to cry. He patted her back and pulled her face to his. They kissed and after a moment he discovered that this blonde virgin was quick to master the art of swapping tongues after her initial surprise. They kissed long, leisurely, happily. Finally they had to come up for air. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "There's more than one way to skin a cat."
Little Ellie's face lit up with hope.
Rod supposed he could lay her out in missionary position and, with the mattress beneath her and his cock on top, it would take nothing but a quick thrust and no conscience to convert her from a girl into a woman. But it might also just be brutal enough to turn the girl off fucking for the rest of her life. If he had learned anything in thirty years of seduction, Rod knew how important it was that a woman never feel crowded, cornered. She had to believe, whether it was true or not, that she was in control, that she was doing the man a favor, that she could quit or change her mind at any moment. So, instead of going at the girl in missionary position, Rod scooted up onto the bed and lay on his side, gently drawing little Ellie up to lie on her side facing him. He didn't even put himself between her legs.
Caressing her tiny clear skinned perfection, kissing her, fondling her symmetrical tits, memorizing the smooth curves of ass and thigh, he got her gentled down just as a trainer calms a jittery horse. Slowly, the fear and tension left her body until he had his hand between her legs again, caressing the smooth pouting lips of her almost hairless pussy.
Gradually all this tender loving care turned the little girl on until her thighs were gaping wide, once more inviting him to try his luck. But Rod knew better than that. One painful prod of his cock and she would be uptight again. And even with this lovely little piece of half grown gash, Rod was forty-five, had come twice today you couldn't expect miracles.
His raging, fuck-the-consequences hard-on of a moment ago had also gentled down to manageable proportions. But Christ, what a lovely little body she had. He tried not to think about it, knowing that a hyperactive imagination can destroy a fuck just as effectively as a talking woman. He gave a wry grin at the thought of all the hot young studs who have let their minds run away with their cocks until just the thought of the wonderful time to come was enough to destroy any prospect of ever having that good time. Little Ellie put out a questing hand to renew her acquaintance with his cock.
Rod took a deep breath and dived once more into tit territory. As his lips locked over one tiny pink nulliparous nipple Ellie's hand clamped convulsively over the head of his hammer, nearly destroying his comfortable hard-on. Rod supposed he should be annoyed -- ought to suspend the no-talking rules long enough to give her a short lecture in the anatomy of eroticism. But what the hell? It was going to be a long time before he got this girl softened up enough to slip his spear painlessly into the hitherto unexplored confines of cunt country. And with a vibrant, taut young body like hers he could gain and lose his hard-on a dozen times before -- before Momma! Oh Jesus!
"I'm afraid we're going to have to call time out on the no talking rule," he said. "Where is your mother?"
"In Vegas," Ellie said. "She's got a job and if the show doesn't fold she'll send for me in a couple of weeks."
Rod's sudden panic evaporated. So Momma wasn't going to be around today to scoop up this lovely little cock-pocket before he could check out its lining. He wondered if he ought to tell the girl about Rambling Rose's phone call.
Ellie seemed in no hurry to leave. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it, Rod guessed. She was studying him with rounded blue eyes. "Uh, can I ask questions?" she inquired.
Why not? Rod smiled and caressed her. "Be my guest," he said.
"Why is it so big?" She indicated the cock she was still gripping.
"Because you're such a lovely little girl," Rod said.
"No, really," she insisted. "Why?"
"That's the real reason," Rod explained. "Most of the time it's small and soft so it won't make a bulge in my pants or be uncomfortable but whenever I see a really nice looking girl I'd like to put it into it gets ready."
"Guy!" Ellie marveled. "I never knew that."
"Nature has a way of working these things out," Rod explained. "Don't you get all wet and slick when you think about how nice it would be to have something big and hard sliding into you?"
"Guy yeah!" Ellie said in astonishment. "I never knew that was why." She opened her hand to study his spear-headed, elegantly slim shanked cock. Despite the distractions, the nearness of this lovely, just blossoming body ensured Rod's comfortable hard-on. "How long can you keep it that way?" the girl asked.
"That depends," Rod explained. "Amateurs bungle it quite a lot. You've had that experience a couple of times already, I guess. But if a man keeps his wits about him and pays attention to the job, he can keep it up for hours -- sometimes even all night."
"Guy!" Ellie marveled. "Really?"
"Really," Rod chuckled, and punctuated his remark with a kiss on one tiny pink nipple.
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"It can," Rod admitted. "Whenever nature makes it big, nature expects it to finish off the job with a load of that white stuff. If it stays that way for a few hours and doesn't get a chance to fire its load, that old warhorse can come down with a charley horse you wouldn't believe."
"Guy!" Ellie said. "If you can't get it into me, what are you going to do?"
"Oh, I'm sure we can work something out," Rod said, and kissed her other tit.
Ellie shivered and gave a little squeal of delight. "Oooohhh!" she begged, "Do it again!"
Rod did. Carefully, he laid her lithe little body out supine in the center of the bed that had lately supported the lissome Vera's palpitating body. Vera was womanly perfection -- what little Ellie would be in another dozen years. And little Ellie was a preview of Vera. Ellie was his dream girl -- live, breathing, wanting, and with a face.
Rod bent over the face and kissed it. Ellie gave a happy sigh and tried to capture him and draw him down atop her but Rod was up to other things. Carefully, he kissed her lips, her eyes, her ears, worked his way down the hollow of her throat until he was darting loving lasciviotts circles of burning kisses around the twin volcanoes of her chest.
Ellie was breathing raggedly, squirming and trying to control the sudden access of passion that flooded her inexperienced body. She was blushing. Blushing not just around face and neck. The blood was flowing through her white skinned body, turning her pink clear down to her tiny waist.
Rod worked his way methodically down her vibrant torso until once more he was augering a supple tongue into her navel -- so surprisingly and delightfully deep for so young a girl. Ellie giggled and her legs flew up in the air. He got his arms around her ass to hold her down while he worked his careful way up and down her ticklish flanks before descending to kiss the firm flatness of her belly, running loving caressing hands around the firm globes of her ass, darting a finger in between her thighs to give her damp a 'sensuous tickle. He kissed the smooth, just fuzzing rise of her mons veneris and elicited a long drawn 'aaaaaaahhhh!' from the girl. He took a deep breath and began blowing warm wet air over the pouting lips of her perfect little never-been-used pussy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rod tried to remember when be had last dedicated himself to this noble sport. It had been a long time. It was time now, he guessed, to remedy that lack. Or was it? He reminded himself that he was dealing with an inexperienced partner -- one who required the same gentle attention to detail as any horse being broken to the saddle. He didn't want to frighten her. Above all, he didn't want to turn her off from the fine future that lay ahead of this lovely creature in freestyle fucking.
But young people were liable to have all sorts of unexpected hang-ups, thanks to mothers more concerned with toilet training than with problems that lay some fifteen years in the future. He wondered if little Ellie had had her little ass paddled repeatedly and had it pounded into her that certain things were 'dirty'. Hell -- everything about fucking is 'dirty' unless one happens to be in that vast majority of mankind who have discovered one of Christianity's most illkept secrets, that fucking is fun, and nothing that can relieve the tensions and strains of getting through life -- nothing that could cost so little and bring so much joy to life can possibly be dirty or clean or in between. Being a fact of life, flicking just is.
But Ellie, despite her inauspicious beginnings with a hair trigger stud and a failed rapist, was a willing pupil so far. There was no point in forcing her. Rod could feel the tenseness growing in her body, compounded of fascination, desire and disbelief. Of course she liked to have her bare body kissed and caressed. What normal healthy female didn't? And of course she could guess in which direction all this cuddling, this squeezing, caressing and licking was leading. Every instinct in her thrumming body told her it was going to happen, that it was going to feel even nicer than his lips had felt over her mouth, her tits, in her navel -- that she wanted it to happen and soon.
But every girl has a momma and every momma does things which, if she were only to stop a moment and think about how she came to become a momma and how much fun it had all been... Rod sighed and played it safe. Abandoning his nearly achieved goal, he captured Ellie's creamy skinned long slim legs and began nibbling on her toes.
Ellie squirmed and giggled and Rod was so close to the foot of the bed that it seemed logical for him to turn end-for-end so he could lie comfortable while kissing her feet, nibbling on her toes and provoking giggles from a tiny blue eyed face that was now somewhere near his knees. Things would sort themselves out sooner or later, he was sure. But which way?
He got his hands back down where he could cup the firm half globes of her still untried ass. Ellie squirmed and giggled and tried her best to control herself -- not to wriggle so far as to be beyond the reach of Rod's lips which were kissing her ankles and working their lascivious way up her calves while his hands toyed with delights to come. He could feel the firm pectoral cones that had frightened him out of this room a short while ago, now rubbing against the tip of his foreskin, giving him a luscious turn-on with each sweep of his wildly waving cock. Jesus, did it ever feel goooood!
He slid slowly up her body, kissing her knees, moving her eminently edible legs about to kiss, to lick and nibble the tender skin of each popliteal fossa until Ellie squirmed and giggled and locked her legs over his ears.
He moved slightly until he had moved the next step upward on their journey toward mutual salvation, nibbling his way about her lower thighs. He could sense the girl's rising excitement as she realized he had not really abandoned his goal, but was merely attacking from a different direction. The girl wavered between hope and disbelief, he supposed, still all quivery inside from the promise of that warm breath across her bare labia. Rod tried to remember what it had been like when he was that age, experiencing everything for the first time. He remembered how his teacher had kissed her slow way from his mouth down across his body while he lay rigid, suspended between hope and disbelief as her warm wet lips drove him slowly up the wall, making him grit his teeth and clench his fists with the effort not to come before he could see the end of this fantastic game. Would she or wouldn't she? All his life he had heard that word bandied about. But did anybody really do it?
As his teacher had worked her way past his waist, down his flat, hard muscled belly until her nose plowed into the edge of his pubic patch Rod hadn't really believed it was happening. It had to be another of those dreams that were making it increasingly difficult for a teenage boy to get any sleep. Even when he had felt a warm female hand cup his balls, tickle his taint and fasten round the shank of his wildly waving rod, Rod had not believed it. To be perfectly honest about it, he had not believed it even when he felt the warm wetness of her mouth descend over the tip of his tool.
But thirty years later he could believe it. He struggled to put himself back in that same frame of mind, put himself in Ellie's place. She wouldn't really believe it was going to happen. But she wanted it to happen. She was not backing away or struggling to avoid him. Little Ellie was ready to take what life and Rod were ready to give her.
And Rod was ready to give it. He was too damn ready! If he couldn't slow down and get control of himself he was going to cone all over those two lovely firm little fits and disgrace himself just as the car parker and the failed rapist had done.
Get a grip on yourself. It's only a pair of legs you're kissing -- only a fine firm little pair of fits that're rubbing against the tip of your tool. Christ almighty, you're getting all steamed up as if you'd never done anything like this before! It's only a willing teenage blonde with a brand new, never-been-used body and she's naked and she's in your bed and -- oh wow! Rod struggled not to come. Jesus, what a lovely work she was! Not a blemish on that clear skin -- not the slightest hint of sag or wrinkle. It was as if she had been wrapped in cellophane for fifteen years.
But little Ellie was ready to emerge from her wrapping. She had wound her arms around his thighs and was burying her face in them, suddenly as overcome with lust as Rod was. He embraced her tight clasped thighs, savoring the smooth warmth, struggling to get himself under control. Jesus, he was acting like some teenager!
It was ironic after all the trouble he'd had getting it up for the lissome, funnel cunted Vera. Even Rambling Rose with her frontal assault on his cock had not been able to raise him to this fine sustained pitch of erotic excitement. Christ, if he didn't break loose and take a cold shower or read some uplifting books or something he was going to come before he could even think about getting it in.
"Aaaaaahhhhh!" Ellie commented. Suddenly she broke loose from her tight clasped embrace of his thighs. Before Rod had time to realize what she was up to the luscious little lay was grabbing his cock with both hands. Oh wow, was it ever nice! But she was squeezing too hard in her girlish enthusiasm.
Thank heaven for little girls! Ellie's sudden sensual explosion had violated all the rules of the game. She was squeezing the very life out of his poor old cock. But her squeezing had prevented blurting, hurting spurting disaster. Rod gritted his teeth, clenched fingers and toes in a long motionless minute of frozen ecstasy. Jesus, it had been close! Any closer and the game would have been over as a disappointed little girl and a suicidal old man staggered toward the showers.
They broke free from the clinch and rolled apart, still end for end on the bed, and lay admiring one another's bodies. Little Ellie had scooted down for a better grip on his gouge and now lay with her face directly in front of his crotch, studying intently the magic wand that waved in front of her, jerking gently back and forth in time with his fluttering heart.
Rod lay with his face opposite her mid thighs, studying the pouting, hairless lips of her love nest with equal concentration. It was funny. He had been enjoying and giving enjoyment to women for thirty years and he couldn't remember having seen a pussy without hair on it since-since the day he had been five and old Antoinette six, he suddenly realized. He wondered what ever happened to her.
But mostly he wondered if he was going to be able to keep his hard-on long enough to finish off this project with little Ellie. At forty-five, with gray hair on his chest, even in his crotch, to perform satisfactorily with this lovely young lady was a tight rope act, balancing delicately between the woolgathering inattention that could cost him the fine firmness of his hard-on -- balancing between this and the opposite extreme of inchoate joy that overcame him in great pink billowing waves of don't-care passion every time he looked at this tiny feminine perfection and allowed himself to realize that it was here after all these years, that he actually was touching his dream girl -- that her luscious little hairless pussy waited only inches from his face and -- oooooohhhhh!
Just to think about it brought him to the yawning edge of a chasm of orgasm. Shit! He was never ever going to keep his bone up long enough to get it into this lovely incarnate vision out of his lifelong dreams. Ellie put out her hand again and grabbed his cock before he could stop her. Oh shit, oh Jesus! That did it!
He was going to come this time. Clench toes and fingers, grit teeth -- do whatever he wanted, this lovely smooth skinned little gash could pull the come out of a statue! He felt his cock give a colossal leap as his twice-drained prostate gathered forces for still another gut-wrenching cataclysm and then suddenly oh, wow OW!
Once more Ellie was squeezing the bejeezus out of his throbbing cock. He felt a tiny preliminary spurt, precursor of the cascade to come, and then sheer sudden blinding pain as her fist closed tight, squeezing his poor throbbing cock to within an inch of its life.
Gasping with pain and from the sudden letdown after near disaster, he wondered if this child realized what she was doing. That was twice now she had saved him. Coincidence? Or did she think... sadly, he knew what she was thinking: Give Daddy a great big hug. She thought the tighter she squeezed the nicer it had to feel. He would have to put her straight on that before she killed him. But meanwhile, pale and shaken, teeth still on edge from grinding together, he was weakly thankful for her ignorance. His hard-on was assured now. He had fired that first tiny spurt of come. If he could just keep his mind on what he was doing and not let it shrink to nothing, Rod knew he was past the crisis. She might have an incredibly cock stiffening little body and she might be able to coax the come from the statue of any pillar saint -- but now that she had gotten him past the hurdle of that tiny first drop of come without dumping all his load, Rod knew little Ellie was not going to get the come out of him -- not for an hour or two anyhow.
Slowly and gently, he bent his head forward and began nibbling at her thighs. Little Ellie's arms went around his legs and he could feel her rapid breathing as warm breath laved the lump on the end of his lance.
It was hard to believe that he had finally made it after all these years: After thirty years of ramming his cock into women of every age, size, color and creed Rod liked to think of himself as an equal opportunity cocksman -- it was hard to believe that finally he was this close to the real thing. Real thing? The others had all been real things. But somewhere in the cobwebs of his id had lain this dream image of an ephemeral girl -- some perfect fuck out of a mental realm of platonic ideas. For thirty years this faceless dream girl had filled his lonely spells, drained his gonads of the accumulated frustrations of twentieth century living. After thirty years it was hard to believe he had finally found her in the flesh, that it was no longer a dream, that this time he was wide awake and she was real, live, breathing, throbbing, waiting for him to initiate her into the joys of womanhood. It was hard to believe. But especially, graying and forty-five, it was hard to believe that he could get it up so hard.
He felt lovely blonde blue eyed, smooth skinned and perfect bodied, firm titted little Ellie purse her lips and once more blow warm breath on his cock. He wondered if, despite her almost total lack of experience, this precocious young lady might possibly have gotten her hands on one of those helpful how-to-fuck manuals that come in plain brown wrappers. Jesus, what a lot of trouble and fumbling and embarrassment he could have saved if there had been such a thing when he was Ellie's age!
Kids... what a mixture of sophistication and innocence. She talked knowledgeably of rape, yet had never had it in her. She recounted her misadventure with the car-park boy, and had never had it in her. Virgin still, she lay relaxed, no tension now in her lovely clear skinned body as she blew warm breath on his cock with tender loving care. Rod wondered if it was all from his slow, careful buildup or if Ellie had been cheating -- reading ahead in her textbook.
Either way, what the hell? It was time to get back to work. Tend to his end of the business and see what this willing young lady could do to her end, supplied with sufficient and graphic stimuli. Rod got his hands around that lovely, firm fleshed little ass and drew her toward him. But this time he didn't hug her to him and bury his face as before. It was time for phase two of the countdown procedure. Grasping her knees from behind, he parted her thighs and gently prodded and urged until little Ellie lay with her legs apart just like his, uppermost knee bent and heel resting on nether knee to relax with crotch wide open for whatever might come.
Carefully, he worked himself into position until his ear lay pillowed on the tender, sensitive skin of Ellie's inner thigh. Her hairless twat faced him only inches away, pouting vulval lips gaping, waiting. Between them the unbroken hymeneal membrane of, her maidenhead stretched plainly visible.
Rod smiled to himself. In thirty years of fucking, though he had savored all the delights of eroticism, he had never eaten a cherry before. He stuck out his tongue. Ellie squealed and giggled. Her thighs came together to clamp firmly over his ears.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Look Ma, no hands! He moved in closer, driving his tongue into her secret slit, savoring the clean, slightly salty taste of girlish innocence. Ellie struggled not to move. She too wanted to savor this moment without the distractions that can come from shrieking and giggling and leg waving and -- ooooohh wow!
Rod wrapped his arms around her firm little ass and dived for home plate, trying to ignore the delicious sensation of smooth warm thighs closing over his ears. He wanted to concentrate on that increasingly rare commodity beneath his tongue. How many times would a man in his station of life ever get another opportunity to taste and feel the thrumming tautness of a hymeneal membrane which -- unless the rigidity of his old war horse failed him -- would soon be shredded to those ragged remains of carunculae myrtiformes which his fine old phallus had rubbed, titillated and tickled into passion flushed palpitation so many thousand times?
It was almost worth not fucking her just to see what a virgin looked like. But not quite. Collector mania, like anything else, could go too far. And behind this lovely curtain lay a whole new, never been used stage on which the girl was waiting for him to stage her first-ever passion play. He couldn't let her down.
Let her down -- Christ! He couldn't even let go. It had been a while since Rod had dedicated himself to this noble exercise. Too long, he guessed. Or maybe it was just because his dirty old man's mind was getting its bifocals all fogged with passion at the thought of a virgin. He had his arms around her ass and was hugging her tightly to him, his mouth fastened squarely over the hairless pouting lips of her wide gaping pussy. He ran his tongue lovingly over her cherry, taking time out only for lightning forays to her tiny clit which, thanks to his devoted attention, was now throbbing with a hard-on as rigid as his. Each time his tongue flicked down to touch her clitoris little Ellie had to struggle mightily not to go right out of her mind.
She was wise enough in the ways of thin walled hotels and motels not to shriek at the top of her lungs but he was turning her on so that she could not control the almost constant keening moan of joy surpassing that wracked her firm little body.
Her flat belly was rippling as all the internal muscles of her love machine ground and twisted, struggling to get a grip on something they had never gripped -- something that was still not inside her. Rod wondered how soon her untried little body would be ready for him to remedy that lack.
Not yet, he guessed. And even if she were ready, Rod was not in any hurry. He could stick his cock into a tight pussy any time happy, fun loving, lissome bodied and funnel cunted Vera dropped around for him to scratch her itch.
But how often did a tiring, graying man of forty-five get a chance to lick a maidenhead? It might never happen again. He ran his tongue over that taut membrane, savoring its clean, slightly salty taste, memorizing this lovely sensation of borrowed youth to comfort him in his declining years. It was the dessert for his thirty year career in freestyle flicking: the tiny, almost unbearably sweet little something that topped off a long and memorable feast. Jesus, what a lovely hot lipped little pussy! He drove his tongue into that tiny bit of membrane that separates a girl from a woman, wondering if it were possible to open up a virgin cunt with his tongue alone. Talk about hard-ons! His cock was throbbing, thumping, waving wildly under the stimulus of nothing stronger than little Ellie's passionate warm breath. But even his tongue had a hard-on as he ran it in loving lascivious circles around her thrumming clit, making the girl giggle and squeal and rock her little ass back and forth as she struggled to thrust him into her deeper, harder, faster!
As his tongue explored the full expanse of cunt country between this lovely creature's wide gaping, hairless vulval lips, Rod realized that getting into this tight-cherried creature might take all his ingenuity coupled with all his strength and patience.
Maidenheads are amazingly unalike. Some girls are born with only the slightest hint of hymen -- the vague beginning of a curtain that can still remain unbroken after a royal night of gangbanging. Other girls become women with one quick, nearly painless thrust. And others can require hours of painful patient work before a bloody sheet proclaims an end to their amateur status. And then there is the occasional leather cherried girl who can drive men to drink as they struggle ineffectually to penetrate a membrane so tough that only a tiny quick slash by the surgeon rescues her from the fate of Elisabeth the First, who was not all that happy about being known as the Virgin Queen.
Rod licked and probed, seeking an entry into the treasure trove behind little Ellie's formidable front gate. It should be near the bottom, or rear, depending on one's viewpoint. He poked and probed, driving his tongue at her hymen from all angles in increasing desperation. Christ! He could just imagine a hypothetical bit over the telephone: Sorry to bother you, Doc, but I've been trying all day to get my cock into this underage virgin and, Doc, man to man now please -- you've just got to help me out! He'd be lucky if he made it two blocks before Hippocrates turned over in his grave and the sirens started shrieking.
Son of a bitch! Of all the stupid things to do. It had been a while since he'd been at this line of work but he really ought to know better than that. Rod still lay end to end, his face in the girl's crotch and her warm breath driving him out of his skull. He'd been going at her the wrong way. He drove his tongue toward the bottom of her vaginal curtain, up from his angle and there it was, the tiniest of apertures waiting for the thin end of his wedge. He thrust mightily with his tongue and managed to slip the tip of it past the edge of her cherry. Technically, and just barely, little Ellie was no longer a virgin. He had his tongue into her at least. He wondered if he would be able to get anything else in.
The effect on the girl was astonishing. Here one minute she'd been happily squirming and giggling, clasping and unclasping her thighs over his ears as she blew warm breath lovingly over the throbbing tip of his tool. Then as Rod's supple lingual surrogate launched its maiden voyage past the portals of her pussy, little Ellie's body suddenly galvanized as if she were having a seizure. Trembling and fibrillating like a bull who has just felt the estoca, she lay rigid, not breathing.
Rod wondered if he had hurt her. Could he actually have that much of a hard-on in his tongue? Surely any virgin as willing as this cheerful child couldn't be all that tender. If she was, how could he ever hope to stretch that opening wide enough for his war horse's triumphal entry?
He lay rigid as the girl, waiting with numbed shock to see if she was going to scream, push him away, call it all off. Who knew what a virgin might do? She might be overcome with a sudden attack of prudery or religion. She might decide she was still too young. She might do literally anything! And what would he do -- poor old man with a hard-on like he hadn't possessed in thirty years? What a waste! All the times he'd needed a hard-on and now that he finally had one, this lovely cock stiffening little lady was going to bug out on him, leave him stranded with nothing but the cold callused comfort of his fist. Shit! Still they lay rigid, neither moving as Rod waited for the girl to make up her mind. Was it hurting her? Was she frightened? What the hell was wrong with her? She hadn't said a word -- just suddenly tensed up until her lovely body was stiffer than a discarded paint brush.
"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" The girl's breath came pouring from her like a punctured tire. Slowly her body relaxed its terrible strain.
Rod still had his mouth glued tight over her pussy, his tongue still probing gently at the edge of her tiny entry. He waited to see which way little Ellie would go. Would she push him away or would she draw him into her deeper, harder, faster? He felt her firm little ass make a tiny involuntary movement and wondered if she knew that her body was obeying an older wisdom and betraying her. Her ass was beginning -- imperceptibly, to rock and thrust as she invited his continued participation in this game of love.
Did she know that her passion knotted belly had already made its own decision? He felt her warm breath flow over the tip of his tool and then as for the first time her lips parted wide and began slowly delicately to engulf the hot throbbing head of his spear Rod knew that Ellie knew perfectly well what she was doing. The sixty-nine connection between them was complete. Well how about that? He was getting a blow job from a virgin!
Well, he amended, ninety-eight per cent virgin. He had the tip of his tongue just barely past her cherry. Now what could he do to remedy that?
Nothing he guessed. Suddenly he was too busy controlling the sudden access of passion that little Ellie's willing tongue was laying on around the hot thumping head of his newly revived hammer.
This neophyte maiden was not an accomplished, no-nonsense sword swallower like her rambling Aunt Rose. Instead, she was satisfying her first-time curiosity with the same avid attention to detail that Rod had devoted to her maidenhead. Little Ellie must have spent considerable time in soul searching while he kissed his way first down her torso, then up her long, slim-trim legs and augered his loving way into home plate. She must have focused a nearsighted, fascinated stare on that throbbing honker that waved each time she breathed on it. She must have searched her heart of hearts and wondered what she could do to give the owner of that magnificent organ some tiny token repayment of the celestial, concerto his supple tongue was playing on her still virgin snatch.
Now she had it in her mouth, was running her lips loosely up and down the head. Her jaws tired from gaping wide and her teeth came together gently over his tight-stretched foreskin. Like some genie at last free of the bottle, the angry purple head of his prick burst forth from its confining prepuce to throb and exult in the soft warm womanly wetness of her young mouth.
Little Ellie gasped at the sudden sensation of all that unveiled masculinity inside. her virginal oral orifice. She drew a deep breath and struggled to wrap her tongue around that thumping thrill drill. Rod gasped and gritted his teeth. Jesus, did it ever feel gooooooood!
He drove his tongue deep into the tiny opening at the edge of her hymen, working with renewed enthusiasm to enlarge that needle-eye gateway to salvation.
Ellie strove to match him lick for lick and Rod with some tiny still half sane corner of his mind had to admit that the girl despite her lack of experience, was managing to achieve a favorable balance of payments in this, her first reciprocal and most favored nation trade agreement. He took a deep breath and dived deep into cunt country and strove to do his best to solve the foreign trade problem.
No matter how hard he tried, Ellie was winning. Oh Jesus, was she ever winning! Her amateurish efforts were immeasurably more erotically stimulating than Rambling Rose's gulping and gobbling onslaught. And Rose, he remembered with a happy cunt-eating smile, had only gulped and gobbled him for one reason. She had thought a quick lovelacing would destroy any interest or ability for his worm to get into this lovely new-crop apple. Rose would be surprised. He fondly hoped she would never find out but...
But to hell with it. To hell with everything but the lovely feel of a youthful mouth wrapped round his cock, firm young legs wrapped round his ears, clean young never-fucked pussy wrapped round his tongue -- wow!
It felt to good, tasted so good he wanted it to last forever -- or ,at least for another forty-five years till he died a doddering ninety and they had to jack him off before they could nail down the lid on his coffin. Jesus, what a lovely little pussy! If only he could keep it up he didn't mind if he never got around to fucking her. Jesus, with a mouth like that who needed cunt?
He did. He needed to lick it, kiss it, suck it and eat it, get his once-in-a-lifetime fill of fine young prime meat while that same meat did her loving amateurish best to thank him for favors received. Little Ellie... Jesus! And he had almost called the county to come and take her off his hands!
The lovely, taut bodied little blonde had a natural feel for this sort of thing. She was going to become a great mistress of the erotic arts if he didn't devour her luscious little body first. God, what a lovely clean salty pussy! And she was licking and sucking, gobbling him with a ladylike restraint that knew just when to stop, when to give him a moment's respite and breathing space lest he come and ruin this lovely erotic session.
Then suddenly little Ellie was losing control, writhing, moaning, half losing his cock from her wide gaping mouth. He felt her belly knot, unknot, twist up again as her legs clasped and unclasped spasmodically over his ears and oh Jesus did it ever feel good. Then suddenly little Ellie fell away limp, totally relaxed, drained and unconscious.
For the first time in her brief, adventure-filled life, little Ellie had just come. She had also fainted.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rod pulled his face from the cockpit and surveyed the ruins on this field of erotic endeavor. Even in a dead faint Ellie's clear skinned body was heartbreakingly, ballbustingly lovely. His cock was hot, hard and throbbing. He studied the girl and knew she was not in really bad shape. And now, he suddenly realized, was the moment of truth. He would never find her more relaxed than this minute.
It was funny the way things had a habit of working out for the best. Another second and he would have dissolved in a blurting spurting spasm of orgasm as destructive as little Ellie's. She had saved him by coming a moment before he had. Now she lay loose, totally tractable. Now was the time to do the dirty work.
Hastily, he rearranged her on the bed, supine, face up and legs spread wide apart. He flexed first one knee, then the other until the girl lay in missionary position. She gave a long deep drawn sigh and he realized she had drifted from faint to sleep. Soon she would awaken. He had to work fast. Studying her slight, prick stiffening form, he realized he still had a supertempered hard-on -- the kind he remembered from thirty years ago. There would be no trouble from that angle. He studied her lusciously edible little body again.
She was thin, just rounding into womanhood and her lovely little ass, firm as just-ripening melon halves, raised her invitingly. But not quite far enough. He captured a pillow and slipped it beneath her delectable little ass. Now the taut curtain of her still unbroken hymen stared straight up at him waiting, daring him to try.
Little Ellie sighed and stretched, raising her arms over her head. Tiny, totally non sagging tits rose invitingly. He bent to kiss one and she gave him a sleepy smile of happy satiation. Rod got between her legs and positioned his rod, aiming its sharp tip at the tiny opening of her still unbroken cherry.
There are two ways of breaking a maidenhead, just as there are two schools of thought about removing adhesive tape. Should he go at it little by little and prolong the agony unbearably? Or should he take advantage of her drowsy relaxation and give one magnificent full length thrust? A single shriek and she would be a woman. If he could do it. But what if he were to give one single bull-like ramslam and still not get it in? It would hurt him. But Jesus, would it ever hurt her!
It might drive her clear out of the game. And wouldn't that be a kick in the ass after he had gone this far! No way, Rod decided. Any man who makes a career out of fucking as many woman as he can has to be something of a gambler but Rod couldn't gamble with this lovely little girl's delectable duff. She was too luscious to go making a mistake and spoiling. One more bungle after the forestalled seduction and failed rape and it might be enough to turn this lovely candidate off fucking forever. He positioned the tip of his tool carefully at the edge of her hymeneal curtain and began poking, working slowly and carefully, struggling to pry that superfluous membrane out of the way. Grinning with concentration, he was reminded of the old Arab story about the camel who got its head into the tent.
If he could just get the tip of his tool properly started he knew that sooner or later he would get it in -- if little Ellie didn't wake up screaming.
He pushed and she woke up smiling. "Is it in?" she asked. "What happened?"
"Welcome to the club," Rod said. "You've passed your initiation and you're now a woman."
"Guy!" Ellie said. "That felt good. Can we do it again?"
Rod pushed carefully, twisting and turning slightly to pry his prod a little deeper into cunt country. Ellie's blue eyes clouded with sudden pain and apprehension. "Guy!" she exclaimed. "We still haven't even done it yet?"
Rod smiled in comprehension. She had just come -- perhaps for the first time in her life, and only now was she realizing that she had only had the appetizer. Now she was going to get the main course of their erotic feast -- if he could just get it into this tiny twat.
If only she weren't so breathtakingly lovely, so much Miss Instant Orgasm of 1976 it would be easier but every time his eyes took in the tiny perfection of that flawless body spread out below him awaiting his thrust his thruster threatened to thump out its load long before he would ever get past the taut membrane that blocked his passage. He risked a sudden little thrust and felt a faint tearing sensation.
Ellie gave a yip of surprise and pain and he could feel her body tighten until further progress was impossible. He remembered his no-talk rule and guessed it had served its purpose. He had been afraid she would turn into one of those raucous, incessant talkers who could drain the hard-on from the most virile of studs not by fucking but simply by talking. Little Ellie had done a creditable job of keeping her mind on her business. And the business was fucking. He gave another slight push and she winced.
Was he getting it in at all? He reared back where he could admire the full length of her petite body and incidentally check on the progress of that fleshy spear easing its way into her. The tip of his tool was well into her, halfway back to the flare of his glans penis. One more thrust would do it. But it would hurt like hell and maybe turn her off fucking forever. He relaxed, let the tip of his tool come almost out and Ellie's strained look disappeared.
He ran his hot hammer up and down her labia, lubricating it in the clear thick fluid that is love's lubrication. While Ellie smiled inwardly, her face positively mystic with the vision of joy to come, he once more unobtrusively readied for his thrust. He gave a sudden lunge, not trying to go all the way. Ellie gasped, then smiled when he stopped short of hurting her. Slowly she began to relax again. He had made it a silly millimeter deeper into her safety deposit box.
"Relax," he said. "It always hurts a little getting it in the first time but no girl has ever died or even been sorry she did it."
Ellie grinned gamely but she couldn't make her apprehensive body relax. Every muscle of her lovely hairless little pussy was tensed to resist the entry of this invader. Rod continued talking, meaningless comforting sounds such as men use with skittish women and skittish horses. "Now I'm pulling it out a little ways to let you rest and get ready for the next time," he lied while slowly but steadily pushing his prurient prod deeper into her still unstirred honeypot.
Suddenly he felt it slip smoothly past the portals of her pussy as the great tapered head of his reamer tore the rest of the way through her cherry. Smoothly his cock slid through the now open doorway and he felt it go deep, deeper, deepest down the long smooth narrowness of her virgin cunt.
Little Ellie's eyes opened wide but he knew this time it was more surprise than pain. As his cock went in, in, IN, her wide-eyed surprise turned slowly into delight. "Aaaaaahhhhhhh!" she commented.
"My sentiments exactly," Rod said and continued his thrust. Damn, was his cock ever hard! As it slid into the girl's tight vaginal tube he felt as if he had grown another inch in honor of the occasion. He could feel her flat muscled belly make room for this purple headed invader that barged in like a berserk snowplow, pushing hitherto unmolested organs this way and that to make room for love, for life, for living. "Aaaaaaahhhh!" Rod explained.
"Guy!" Ellie squealed, "That feels great! Can you do it again?"
"Actually," Rod said dryly, "I'd been planning on doing it two or three times at the very minimum." Slowly, he began pulling out.
Tight -- oh Jesus was she ever tight! Slowly he pushed the rest of the way down this fleshy tunnel of love. Ellie's eyes widened in delight and disbelief. "Guy!" she marveled.. "It's not even in all the way yet!"
It was such a lovely tight little cunt that suddenly Rod knew his dream had been accurate. This was the feeling of unbearable pressure and supernal joy that punctuated his dreams whenever his dream girl came along to relieve the buildup in his crotch. But how could a living breathing girl be so good, so even better than a dream? Who cared? He was fucking her. After thirty years he was wide awake and he had it in his dream girl and he could finally see her face and she was blonde and blue-eyed and hairless cunted and oh Jesus, was she ever tight!
Still thrusting, he wondered if he would reach bottom before she winced and gritted her teeth. But little Ellie was deep, no matter how narrow and tight. His graying moos veneris ground against the hairless mound of her tight little pussy. He held for a moment of frozen ecstasy, eyes closed, not able to believe this was really happening after all these years. Jesus, what a lovely little dream of a snatch!
Ellie gasped and he thought he was hurting her, then he saw the smile of joy unconfined that wreathed her face. He held for a passion filled moment while Ellie's little ass strained upward to meet his thrust and draw him in deeper.
Slowly, he relaxed his grip and began pulling it out. Wow! Even pulling out the tight clinging feel of hot happy woman drove him nearly mad with joy. Her firm flesh clung to him, her little pussy starting to turn inside out as his cock shank retreated. He held a moment, feinted inward, gave a couple of short strokes to lubricate her tight stretched cunt walls, and began pulling out again.
As the pressure and stretching of this tremendous invader left Ellie's taut, passion thrumming belly she smiled and relaxed slightly. He held for a moment, feinting, thrusting the tip of his tool barely in and out the opening lined with the just-shredded remainder of her maiden-head.
"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!" Ellie said.
"Ooooooohhhhhhhh!" Rod replied as he began once more to push his prod slowly, with all deliberate speed back up her newly opened tunnel of love.
"Eeeeeee!" Ellie squealed. Her long lovely legs flew skyward, waved wildly for a moment, then came around his waist as she locked her ankles in a loving lascivious scissors. Rod drove his shaft in to the hilt, hesitated a moment, and began pulling out. Ellie was locked too tight around his waist for him to get it out more than halfway. She was gasping again, in the throes of passion as this new sensation filled her body with thrumming delirium, sending her scaling the slippery walls of passion peak, turning her brains into pullulating puddles of prurient joy that melted, flowed, ran in tickling trickles down her spine and out her pussy.
Rod felt his rod laved in love's elixir as the girl came again -- for the second time in her life. "Wheeeee!" she wheezed in happy satiation. "Do it again!"
"Be glad to," Rod grinned, "But if you're going to come with every stroke... " To hell with philosophizing and predictions. Fucking was more fun. How long could he indulge this happy child? To hell with wondering about that too. He pulled out slowly, feinted a moment with the tip of his cock barely parting her pouting hairless vulval lips. This time he put it back in, drove his cock all the way up her narrow little pussy and got nothing more from the girl apart from a joyous smile and an "Mmmmmmmmmmm."
Which was exactly the way Rod felt about it. There was nothing on earth could ever replace fucking. Take all the next best things on earth, food, money, fast cars, boats, horses and airplanes -- everything that money could buy and none of it nor all of it together could ever equal the simple joy that could come from a man's cock buried deep in a woman even if that man hadn't a dime in his pocket -- or even a pocket. All it took was a warm willing woman to make a pocket for his cock.
And Rod was fucking his dream girl. He poured it to her slowly, steadily, pacing himself while Ellie moaned and crooned and begged him to please stop it and pull it out deeper, faster, you're killing me and oh, please kill me some more!
After half an hour of slow steady pumping Rod's back began tiring and he thought enviously of the oil well rigs that bobbed up and down in tireless monotony all around this town. He wished he had that kind of stamina. But he had something better: he had a young, willing girl who was still getting her first fuck and she didn't seem to be tiring in the least. Feeling her ass bounce up to meet him with each thrust, he decided to harness a little of that energy.
Gripping her trim little ass to preserve the vital connection, he began leading the girl through the complicated foot and leg work that was necessary for a man and a girl to turn over without pulling his cock out of that lovely young haven of warmth and femininity.
Finally he lay on his back and little Ellie lay clasped tight to his chest, her firm pectoral volcanoes ploughing furrows in the gray hairs of his chest. He showed her how to bend her knees and bring her legs around until suddenly the girl understood what she was supposed to do.
Rod lay supine, smiling up at the lovely creature with the totally non sagging fits who squatted astraddle him, spiked on his indefatigable erection. His old war horse was back in fighting trim now and he knew he was good for hours.
"Guy!" Ellie exclaimed as she bounced experimentally, her firm little jugs jiggling slightly, her flat firm belly rippling as it swelled to make room for Rod's rod sliding up into her, "Guy! This is even better!"
She bounced joyously up and down the full length of his greased pole, affording him an uninterrupted full length view of his dream girl. Tight -- oh sweet loving Jesus, was she ever tight! But he had his second wind now. Rod could go all night. When she tired he would let her go to sleep with his cock still in her and when little Ellie woke up they could start again.
"Eeeeee!" she repeated, "There goes that funny feeling again!"
"You're coming," he explained. "After you've done it a hundred times then I'll do it too."
"Really?" Ellie's eyes brightened. "Can you last that long?"
"Cross my heart," Rod promised. Feeling the lovely smooth friction of his rod sliding in and out of her tight little pussy, he was sure he could make it. And if he couldn't there was always another time.
"Guy!" Ellie exulted. "We can do this all night and all day tomorrow before Aunt Rose gets here!"
Rod straightened slightly, captured her slim body, kissed her lovely little tits until her perky nipples were firm. As the girl began once more sliding up and down his rod he wondered when he would get around to telling her that Rambling Rose was going to be gone several more days.
