Note: The hardcopy pocketbook did not contain any chapters labeled as "Chapter Eight" or "Chapter Nine." The numbering skipped from Chapter Seven to Chapter Ten. However, it does not appear any text was left out....
FOREWORD
Dora had a background for wanton sexuality that would amaze a psychologist. At the tender age of nine she had lost her cherry and gained an insatiable lust for sex. Dora could think of nothing else but lovemaking. Her mind was full of fantasies, and before her life was over she was to carry out every one of them.
She led a wild life in high school and then when she went to college it became even wilder. She started to copulate with every male that she could get her hands on. There were times when she didn't understand her own lust; she knew only that she had to have it constantly. She was a full-fledged nymphomaniac, unaware of her mental imbalance.
She had her body violated in every manner that would appease her. There was regular intercourse for a start, and then it led to oral and finally anal sex. There were other things that she did, too. In Dora's mind, if it felt good, then there was no reason not to do it. That was the reason she took on the fraternity one night. She was gang raped by over a hundred men in one evening, and she loved every minute of it.
She was still eager for more when the last man had dropped. Then something happened that began to change her life, or at least she hoped it would. She met Donald. Donald was a brilliant student. He was highly respected in the physics department. Here was a man with a future, a man who would surely provide Dora with all the material pleasures she could ever want. Donald seemed like the kind of man who would make a good father and husband, and so, for those reasons, all of which she considered, Dora married him.
There was only one thing that bothered her, and that was the fact that Don seemed to have no real sex interest in her, and in fact, not until three months after the marriage did they consummate it. The waiting and the hoping for some form of satisfaction was nearly unbearable for her. She couldn't wait, but she did. For three months she remained faithful to her husband, and then he was able to have sex with her. After that, things seemed to get better.
Gradually, though, things slowed down again, and this time Dora thought of nothing but her body and its need for gratification. She went on a sexual rampage and did everything and everyone that she wanted to.
CHAPTER ONE
I guess by now it wouldn't be out of the way to call me notorious. True, my escapades haven't been written up in a sizzling novel, nor have my indiscretions hit the headlines. But in my own small way, I have become at least a neighborhood scandal, and it is kind of fun to sit and talk to the curious gossips who come in ostensibly to share a cup of morning coffee and to chat about this, that, and the other thing.
I always used to hate that the "other thing" usually turned out to be sex. Not that I mind talking about sex, you see, but it did get to be a hardship when the only sex life under discussion was mine. It reached the point where fielding questions about being an unfaithful wife became tiresome, so I simply started telling the truth, and that's when the visits from the neighborhood biddies started to pick up steam.
Don't get the wrong idea about me, though. It's not as if I were running a cathouse, or was an out-and-out whore myself. It's just that I enjoy sex, and have never let my husband stand in my way, before or after he left me. From time to time, the milk truck that's always out front gets on my nerves, but if Don (he's my husband) wants to spend all that money to find out who I'm balling with, that's his problem, because he hasn't got the guts to divorce me, or the balls to beat me.
I honestly think he enjoys torturing himself over the guys who come to visit. Anyway, backtracking a bit, those broads who are so interested in how I got this way gave me the idea, and now I think it would be kind of a giggle to write it all down.
So here it goes, the whole story. All of it, with no holds barred. Of course, it's only fair to warn you that this is not for the squeamish or prudish.
I can hardly remember when I was a virgin, because somebody busted my thing when there wasn't even any fuzz on the peach. To my way of thinking, taking a nine-year-old's cherry couldn't have been much fun, but my uncle always was pretty sick. I had just gotten to the point where my mother was explaining what it meant to be a woman, through some of the loveliest blushes ever, and though my breasts weren't quite in bloom, I had two of the biggest nipples you would have wanted to see. I started growing up pretty early. My mother's , younger brother was nineteen or so at the time, closer to my age in fact than to my mother's (Grandma must have been a pretty swinging broad herself), and he was stuck with babysitting with me for quite a while.
One night we were watching television, and I was sitting on his lap, playing with his hair, you know, kind of trying to make braids, and like that. We were laughing and having a good time, and Uncle Leo was being a really good sport about everything. It wasn't too long before I felt something in the middle of his lap turn hard and move. I really didn't know what it was, but you've got to remember that I wasn't even ten yet. Those coy books about eighteen-year-old virgins not knowing what's up when they've got a man in bed with them, stark naked, are just too funny. I mean, after all, I ask you, if I knew when I was only nine, no matter what the circumstances, after Uncle Leo taught me that is, how can I believe a girl twice my age could be so naive? Anyway, that's not telling the story.
I asked him what the lump in his pants was, and he asked me if I wanted to see for myself. I said yes, and he shoved me off his lap, and unzipped his fly and took his meat out. I hadn't ever seen anything like it before, because my father had been very careful never to expose himself in front of me. So had my mother, as a matter-of-fact. Being an only child, and too young to babysit for anyone myself, I hadn't even seen a baby's prick. Let me tell you, it was quite an experience. I don't know if girls who see their first one when they're older get the same kick out of it that I did, but for me it was the beginning of literally a whole new world.
Uncle Leo's rod stood up, out from the opening, with a bush of curly black hair surrounding it, and the shaft was all covered with nice knotty veins, popping out from under the skin as if they wanted to escape. The head was sort of heart-shaped and purplish, and there was a hole at the tip that I could have gotten my pinky into. I didn't realize it then, but few men are hung quite so nicely as Uncle Leo was. It's really a shame that they finally caught up with him and put him away. I often think of the fun we could be having now, the three of us: Uncle Leo, me, and that beautiful piece of meat.
He asked me if I wanted to play a game with it, and I told him yes. First, he made me kiss it, and I liked that, because that huge hard piece of gristle was warm, and the skin on the outside was, to my surprise, soft and pliable to the touch. After a bit of that, he asked me to show him mine, and though at first I was a little timid, I finally figured that it would not be fair if I didn't. After all, Uncle Leo had been nice enough to show me his.
I undid my pinafore and took it off. I was in my undershirt and panties. I was still wearing undershirts, at that time, because even though my nipples were large for their age, they hardly needed any support from a brassiere. Uncle Leo took my panties off, and my slit, as I said before, didn't even have any hair on it. The lips were kind of large and fleshy, and they hadn't started quite to turn in on themselves, the way they do when you get older. The crack was well defined, and I must say that, undeveloped as I was, my little crack did indeed excite good old Uncle Leo even more. I knew he was excited, because he was breathing hard. At the age of nine, I could hardly be expected to put the right interpretation on the increase in size and movement that was taking place.
All he did at first was diddle my thing with his finger, and I must admit it felt good. But after a while, he tired of that, and sort of kissed it and tickled it with his tongue.
As I say, it did feel good, but that was all. At that point, excitement wasn't even part of the picture, except for Uncle Leo that is. He was making noises that sounded quite a bit like "Yum-yum," and his good old cock was bobbing up and down to beat the band. I reached down and touched it again, and it was hotter than it had been before, and I just couldn't resist the urge to kiss it again. This time I planted a big sloppy teddy bear kiss right on the tip, and licked at it a little, and Uncle Leo groaned.
"Oh, come on, Dora," he crooned in a voice I could hardly recognize, "eat my cock, come on sweetie, suck on it like a lollipop."
"But, Uncle Leo, it's not a lollipop, and I don't wanna kiss it anymore," I. said.
"I know it's not a lollipop, sweetie, but Uncle Leo likes it when you lick it that way. Besides, honey, don't you want to have a secret game with Uncle Leo, just between the two of us?" There was a gleam in his eye, and I've got to tell you, it was quite a long time before I understood what fucking around can do to a man.
At that time though, I guess I just thought that good old Uncle Leo looked awfully funny. He was still breathing kind of hard.
I hesitated. "I don't know. What would Mommy think, Uncle Leo?"
Is it too easy to say twenty years after, that I think I had read Uncle Leo's desperation? I really think that even at nine I realized what kind of power I could hold over him, with the magic words "Mommy and Daddy." Either one would do, I soon found out, and when I mentioned, or rather hinted at, telling my mother, Uncle Leo turned pale. That's when he game started to become really interesting.
Uncle Leo didn't answer my question, he just begged me to please kiss his weenie a little more, and I really got down to business. Remember now, I was only nine, so I couldn't get my mouth on the thing easily but, opening wide, and with Uncle Leo shoving a lot, I finally managed and, coughing and sputtering, I managed to give Uncle Leo the first blow job of my life. He grabbed my hair, and jerked my head back and forth furiously, and I felt my teeth scrape the skin as I went. Uncle Leo didn't seem to mind, though, and afterwards, when I saw the actual marks, red and raised like welts gleaming cruelly on his velvety white skin, I took a secret pleasure of my own. However, as Uncle Leo's excitement increased and he began to moan more regularly, sobbing encouragement to me in a raspy, barely human voice, the slick salty taste of his come dripped, slowly at first, onto my tongue. Not liking the taste, I drew back and watched, once I was free of the massive tool, as Uncle Leo beat himself off in a kind of animal frenzy. The drip became a gush, and I sat amazed at how far the milky-white liquid shot. As he relaxed and kind of collapsed in a heap on the sofa, senseless for the moment, I got up and put my panties and pinafore back on, and started upstairs.
"I think I'd better get ready for bed now, Uncle Leo," I said as I walked, "maybe we can play the game again sometime, but I've got school tomorrow. You'd better clean your gunk off the rug before they get home. Mommy doesn't even let me have cookies and milk in front of the TV."
Uncle Leo just continued to lie there, dazed, on the sofa as I made my way upstairs, but I guess he finally managed to pull himself together and hide, or remove, any traces of the night's activities. Neither my mother nor my father ever said anything about that night.
Before I continue with what happened with Uncle Leo, I've got to explain a little. I wasn't a Lolita type, nor do I think that poor, sweet Uncle Leo was a Humbert Humbert. He was just another horny son-of-a-bitch who got sidetracked somewhere along the line, probably because he wasn't getting laid steadily. If you ask me, half of the trouble in the world, including war and poverty, wouldn't be such a problem if more of the men got their pipes cleaned more often. I'm one hundred and ten per cent in favor of legalizing prostitution. I mean, what's a little vice in the world compared to poverty, pain, and death?
Anyway, what I really think was wrong with Uncle Leo was that he was a little retarded. I found out that I wasn't the only little girl whose thing he was diddling and, after all, if he wasn't retarded, wouldn't he have played with girls his own age?
After that first experience with Uncle Leo I still had my cherry, even though I didn't know it. Uncle Leo knew it and, with what amounted to cunning for him, he tried again and again to maneuver it so that we'd be alone together once more. It was quite a long time before he was successful, and I guess by the time it happened, he was extra eager because of the long wait.
That same summer, my parents took an apartment down the shore during the month of July, and the four of us spent an awful lot of time together, mainly on the beach and at amusement parks and movies, things like that. One night, Mommy and Daddy wanted to go out to a movie that I guess I was too young to see, and they left me with Uncle Leo, to stroll up and down the boardwalk. It was kind of fun, especially because Uncle Leo seemed to enjoy the same kind of things that I did. That's another thing that makes me think, now, that he was a little retarded-but you never know. They tell me that I get along with kids because I can relate to them on their own , level. Maybe that was what he was doing, and it didn't mean that he was retarded at all.
We spent a lot of time at one particular amusement pier that night, going on all the rides. I felt too grown up to be completely comfortable on the merry-go-round, but it was one of the few left that still had a brass ring to catch, and with his long arms and all, Uncle Leo was awfully good at catching the ring for free rides. We went up in a thing they called the salt and pepper shaker, and when we were high in the sky, Uncle Leo put his hand underneath my dress, and sort of pulled my panties down, so he could get his finger into my hole. He didn't even ask permission, but I didn't really mind, because we had played the game once before. I let him push his finger all the way in, and when he pulled it out again he smelled it, and licked it.
"Sweet little pussy," he gasped, "it isn't even old enough to smell like a herring yet." He licked his finger again, and left it wet with a lot of spit, and put it into my hole again. This time he hurt a little, but we were whirling around and around, going up and down, and as he probed around, with his long, broad finger into me up to the second knuckle, he was beginning to start some sensation down there for me. He took my hand and put it on the lump in his pants. This time I knew just what it was.
"Take it out," I said.
"Not here."
"Can't we play our game here, Uncle Leo? Nobody can see us." I really wanted to see his meat again? I really did!
"The ride's almost over, Dora, we've got to wait until we get home."
I knew that Uncle Leo was busting his buttons ready to go, and so was I. For a nine-year-old, I really had a hot little body. Uncle Leo to this very day probably doesn't know what all he started with his little games twenty years ago. When the ride was over, we started out for the apartment. When we got there, Uncle Leo checked out the time, as if to make sure that we'd be safe enough for a while. Apparently, he thought that we would be, because he took me straight back to his bedroom, and started to strip off completely. This time, he was going to do the whole bit. I didn't know it just then, but so was I. To coin a phrase: Yum yum.
I shucked out of my clothes with amazing speed. After all, I had been getting dressed and undressed by myself for three or four years by that time, and if Uncle Leo expected me to be slow, he probably thought of me as younger than I actually was. But as I had matched his own speed, he smiled and said, "Good girl, Dora, you really are a big girl for your age."
"Gee, Uncle Leo, I've been doing it all by myself for long enough," I said, a bit annoyed. "Do you think I'm a baby or something?"
"Almost, but not quite. You're big enough for me any old day. What do you want to do first?" he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and patted a spot next to him, indicating where he wanted me to sit.
"I don't know, Uncle Leo. It's your game, so you show me." I did know what I wanted to do: I wanted to kiss his huge piece of meat, but I knew that we'd get around to that anyway, most likely. It didn't hurt to let Uncle Leo think he was running the whole show, did it?
Uncle Leo picked me up, and put me in the middle of the bed, kind of crouching over me all the while. He tongued me like he'd done the first time, only this time it felt much better. Anyway, it was more exciting. Then he fingered me but, again, only up to the second knuckle. I didn't know then why he stopped there, and even now I can only guess that he was saving the best for last. He wanted to bust my cherry with his outsize cock, and though I didn't know that then, and as I say I don't really know that for sure now, it seems the most likely reason for his not pushing his frigging finger right up into my uterus. I didn't know that I had anything to lose, because my mother hadn't gotten that far in explaining sex to me. She was still bogged down on the importance and beauty of being a woman and having babies, I suppose so that when I did start to bleed, the curse wouldn't bother me any more than it should. After all, if it was so important and beautiful to be a woman, what was a little bit of pain? To this day, I practically need morphine to help me through that time of the month, but if I had to believe my mother's fairy tales, it would be like blowing my nose too hard. Anyway, I knew from borscht about cherries, or hymens, or whatever you want to call them, and I wouldn't have stopped Uncle Leo from shoving his finger in all the way up. What you don't know won't hurt you, right?
Anyway, after he got tired of playing with my thing with his finger (he might have been trying to find my untapped clit, for all I know, but that's something else I knew but nothing, absolutely nothing, about, and I never had the nerve to ask my own kid to spread her legs so I could see whether she had one yet or not, I mean, after all, a mother does have some sense of responsibility and decency), he started to give it a cleaning with his tongue. Oh boy, he really got in there and sucked and blew and kissed and fiddled with all he had! Each time he went in, he left more and more spit, until, I now think, that he could probably have gotten his whole fucking fist into me with no trouble at all, no matter how young I was. Either Uncle Leo had never heard of K-Y or he figured it would be more fun to lubricate me with his good old tongue. That's what they call Yankee ingenuity I guess. Anyway, by that time I was ready for anything, and Uncle Leo was hot to trot. He put a pillow under the cheeks of my ass, and spread my legs wide. I'm thankful, now, that I was tall for my age, then. Otherwise it really would have been murder. Anyhow, he had me spread open, and propped up, and his target was in clear, easy view, and his good old meat was ready, and when I say ready, I really mean ready. If I had put a bridle and bit on that thing of his, I could have taken the triple crown, you know, the Kentucky Derby, the Belmont Stakes, and whatever in hell the third race is.
He got on top of me and covered me completely. Worried, I guess, that he might be too heavy, he propped himself up on his knees and one hand. The other hand, the right, he used to guide the monster head of his tool between the sides of my well-juiced little crack. Slowly but, I must say, not really gently, he forced his way in. I was tight then, and I still am now. Anyway he managed to get it in, just the head, and came to a stop. That was for the moment as far as he could go. He was just inside the lips and was, though I didn't know it, nowhere near the hole. He drew out and explored me with first just his index finger, and then with the middle finger also, and dilated the hole quite a bit. At the risk of becoming repetitive, you've got to remember that I was only nine. Keeping his fingers down there and keeping me as open as he could with them, he again attacked the objective with his rod, guiding it in between his fingers. This worked and, though the first inch or 'so hurt a bit, that was nothing compared to the spasm of pain, the excruciating wrench of agony when, slowly and a bit too surely, he passed the opening and hit up against a brief barrier, which he rent asunder. He nearly killed me is what he did. Finally in, oh, I would say two or three inches, certainly no more than that, he began to stroke in and out, paying absolutely no attention whatever to my piteous whimpering. All through the rest of it, I cried. That is, I cried through the first time. Smoothly and concentrating right on the tip, he stroked in and out, and came very quickly. Without withdrawing, he stayed there for just a moment and, after a while, he began to shove in a bit more and, lubricated by his own come, the way was quite a bit easier. In to the hilt now, his monster cock felt sort of good, while at the same time, it felt like I had an elephant's trunk inside me. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry or what, I tried to relax, and lay back trying not to think of what was happening. For a little while I did the multiplication tables in my head, and then I mentally recited the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. I had decided to go on to the Gettysburg Address and had even gotten to "Fourscore and seven years ago...." when I noticed that the whole thing really felt marvelous, I mean, really marvelous.
He was going in and out of me at full clip, the head of his cock, the ridge of it actually distinguishable from the rest of it, was massaging my little cunt and doing a good job of it, while the shaft following the head finished the strokes nicely. My box was really getting a good workout. I was working up quite a bit of friction and heat. I didn't know what an orgasm was, so I really didn't expect much of anything else and, for starters, what was happening was quite enough. Good old Uncle Leo came again, and though his come was steaming hot, it was considerably cooler than my twitching little pussy was, and the flow felt wonderful.
He was about to start in again, a third time, when I heard the door.
"Uncle Leo, they're home I think. What are we going to do?" Uncle Leo looked just as confused as I felt, and the few seconds we had before my mother and father came in and found us there on the bed wouldn't have been enough anyway.
Mother simply shrieked that she was going to faint, and sat down heavily in the lounge chair. She didn't really faint, but then Mother never did what she said she was going to do, anyway. My father turned a gorgeous shade of purple, which has always been my favorite color, and Uncle Leo just looked embarrassed. You've got to give Uncle Leo credit for at least having a sense of the appropriate. I mean, what else do you do in a situation like that but look embarrassed? He could have managed a look of contrition but I think, under the circumstances, it would have been a. bit much and, anyway, with Mother so busy swooning, and Daddy so busy turning purple, it would have been wasted. After all, enough is enough. Even the best actor doesn't use more than the role needs. But Uncle Leo wasn't an actor, although I'm sure he's doing fine in psychodrama, wherever he is, and the look of embarrassed confusion was quite genuine. But my father began to bellow.
"Oh, damn you, Feinstein. You're a real pig. I give you the best vacation in Atlantic City that money can buy, and you pay me back by fucking my only daughter." At this point, Daddy blushed at his language and turned to me. "Excuse me, baby, words like that you shouldn't hear." It made no difference to my poor old-fashioned father that I'd just done it, or had had it done to me, whichever view you take. His only concern was that words like that I shouldn't hear. He should only know!
"Listen, you son-of-a-gun," Daddy choked, "you get yourself off of," and then he looked more closely, and amended, "I mean out of, my daughter. Then you get dressed, and take the first bus out of the city, and just go away." He stopped and looked at my mother, who was so absorbed in what was going on that she almost forgot to concentrate on swooning for the moment. When she noticed Daddy looking, she arranged herself in a position more suitable to a fainting, aghast matron than rapt attention.
"Maude, you want I should give him money to get where he's going? After all, Maude dolly, he's your baby brother."
"Baby brother! Hah! No, I have no brother. Just a maniac who rapes babies. Look, Andrew, I want you to look. Is that," Mother asked, pointing at good old Uncle Leo, "the face of a brother? I ask you, is it? It is not, you should answer, I can tell you. It's the face of a maniac who rapes babies. Money? Poison you should give him better. Poison, a dagger, threaten him with the police, but money? Feh! Let him walk."
"But Maude, I haven't got a dime," Uncle Leo said, still mounted upon me.
"To you I'm not Maude. I'm Mrs. Wiener. To a brother, I'm Maude, to a maniac who rapes babies I'm Mrs. Wiener."
"Listen, Maude, this settles nothing. A hundred dollars I'll give him, he should go as far from here as possible. I don't want to hear from him, or see him. I don't even want a card for New Year." For my father that was pretty drastic.
"A hundred dollars? Look, Andrew, what an animal did to your only daughter, and to this animal you want to give a hundred dollars? Better he should send a New Year's card, and you don't give him anything."
In the midst of their bickering, Uncle Leo got up from the bed, and got dressed quickly. Not bothering to pack, he simply left, and none of us ever saw him again.
Except in the newspapers, when he got arrested for some morals charge or other. He was put in the State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and since both Grandpa and Gramma were dead at the time and are, needless to say, still dead, and since Mother and Daddy won't have him, there's no one into whose custody he could be released. After all if your own family won't trust you, who will? Actually, I don't think he's still in the State Hospital, although he might be. It's more likely that they found out that he wasn't insane, just a little weird sexually, and put him in prison. I haven't concerned myself much with Uncle Leo, however. I've got hangups of my own.
A while ago, a psychiatrist I told my life story to at a cocktail party was especially interested in the episodes with Uncle Leo. He tried to tell me that I was traumatized, and that I probably didn't enjoy sex.
"Don't be silly," I told him. "It's fuck, fuck, fuck. All the time. FUCK FUCK FUCK. And I love every minute of it."
"Well then, my dear, there's no need to get hysterical about it, is there?"
"Who's hysterical?" I asked, and, to tell the truth, I was dangerously close to tears. However, I don't really believe that Uncle Leo has scarred me for life, although I must admit that I'm sexually a little weird. But I'll leave that for you to judge.
CHAPTER TWO
To tell the truth, nothing exciting happened again until I was thirteen, or rather just before I was thirteen. My birthday is the third of January, which makes me a Capricorn. In my last year of junior high school, my best girl friend, Shirley, managed to get me a date with a dreamboat named Robin, who was seventeen. Shirley and I managed to convince my father that it would be all right because it was a special occasion, New Year's Eve, and we would be going double. And besides, Shirley argued, I was going to be thirteen two days afterwards anyway. Actually, Shirley was using the double date as an excuse, and she was also using my father, unbeknownst to him, as an alibi. She was also using me as an alibi, but of course that was fully unbeknownst to me.
The plan was this: Shirley, who was more than a whole year older than I (I was good in school so I got skipped a grade) and more than a little fast, was going to use New Year's Eve as an excuse to get laid in a motel for the first time. Knowing what I know now, I don't think I would have found the whole thing as glamorous as I did then, and I don't think I would have helped her. For the privilege of using my father as an excuse, or rather alibi, Shirley was to get me a date with Robin, who was a friend of her date's, whose name I've forgotten. What Robin and I did, according to her, was none of her business, as long as I kept her from getting in trouble with her parents.
I had never told Shirley about my experience with Uncle Leo, and she kind of stupidly assumed that although I listened with great interest to all of her stories about her necking, petting, and all-out fucking sessions, I was still a virgin myself. I never took the trouble to change the impression.
She thought, it seemed, that going to a motel was the most daring and adult thing to do, as opposed to the juvenile and uncomfortable way of doing things in the back seat of a car.
If things went right, her parents wouldn't ever know the difference, what with a whole neighborhood of kids having browbeaten their parents into giving them permission to stay out until three or four o'clock in the morning. We all thought we were so grown-up. I guess my father didn't want me to feel left out of a "peer group" that was older and more sophisticated than I was, through no fault of my own.
Anyway, the whole thing was arranged, and on New Year's Eve Robin came to pick me up, about nine o'clock, and the pretense was that we would go straight to Shirley's to pick her and her date up.
We didn't, of course, never realizing the discrepancy. They, we assumed, simply told her parents, the same way we told my father, that they were going to pick us up. If they had checked, we all would have been in deep trouble.
The evening was the standard New Year's Eve thing that has become such a drag that this past year, when I had a few friends in, we got started talking and never noticed when midnight came. We didn't even have Guy Lombardo on the television. But then it was different because it was my first, and going to a movie, and afterwards to a nightclub to throw confetti and blow horns and kiss at the stroke of midnight was rather exciting, in a way. At least it was the standard thing until we left the nightclub.
In the car, aglow with a couple of illegal drinks (Oh hell, I wasn't aglow, I was just plain lit), I moved over close to Robin and cuddled. He was a bit taken aback, but that didn't stop me. I just cuddled right in there, hanging on his arm.
"You know you're making it hard for me to drive," Robin said.
"If you want," I said, "I'll move to the other side of the car."
"No. Just let go of my arm so I can steer," he replied. "You're cutting off the circulation."
I let go of his arm and started playing with the zipper on his pants.
"Hey, what're you doing?" Robin asked in shock.
"Playing with your zipper. What did you think I was doing?" I countered.
"Do you really think you ought to? You might get me all excited, and then what will you do?" Robin sounded confused.
"I think I'll know how to handle that when it happens, if it happens."
"Don't worry. You get in far enough and it'll happen. I'm human like everyone else." His voice had an edge of defense in it, as if I had challenged his manhood.
I finished opening his zipper and fiddled around with the fly on his undershorts, until I pulled his prick free of its prison. He certainly wasn't expecting to be interfered with, or else he would have worn undershorts with a looser fly. I don't know why I was doing it, on my first date and all, but it just seemed like the thing to do. It was New Year's Eve, after all.
"Hey! You're getting me all excited," he exclaimed. "I'm not a little kid, ya know. If you're not going to do anything about it, stop now. I don't want to get blue balls."
"What's that?"
Robin stopped for a red light and took the opportunity to turn to me. "I thought you said you knew what to do if I got excited."
"I do," I insisted, "I just don't know what blue balls are."
"That's what happens to a guy when he gets excited and doesn't come," he explained patiently. "You know what coming is, don't you?"
"Sort of," I replied, and when the car was moving again, and he was paying more attention to the road than to me, I buried my head in his crotch and started to lick his throbbing, hot dick.
"What in hell are you doing now?" Robin wanted to know.
I looked up at him and smiled. "I'm licking your thing like a lollipop. I thought you would like that."
"Well, it's not a lollipop, and you can't have anymore," he said petulantly.
I guess he was annoyed at the coy way I said it. Even though I was older and knew all the right expressions, thanks to Shirley, I still liked the cute way Uncle Leo had of putting everything. I thought Robin would find it cute. Evidently, I was wrong.
After we rode along for a little while, Robin, who had tucked his prick back into his pants by now, turned to me, sort of halfway, trying to keep his eye on the road.
"Do you really want to screw around?" he asked.
"Yes."
"But you're only thirteen," he said, surprised.
"Twelve, really," I corrected. "But it still doesn't make much difference. I haven't been a virgin since Uncle Leo."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he wanted to know. I simply replied that I'd tell him some day, maybe.
"Are you sure that you want to, now?" he pressed.
"I told you yes once. Isn't that enough?"
He floored the gas pedal and we sped down the road. He drove like a maniac, and instead of cuddling next to him, I braced myself with my hands flat on the car seat, waiting breathlessly to see what damn fool stunt he was going to pull next.
We stopped, about fifteen minutes later, after a ride that seemed more like a bout with a roller coaster than anything else.
"This is where I live," Robin announced. "My parents are away for the holidays. Come on in."
"I don't know if we should. I mean, what if they should come back all of a sudden?" I was thinking back to that time with Uncle Leo.
"It's really safe.
They're in Puerto Rico. I doubt that they'll just barge right in. I'm telling you, it's safe." I was skeptical. Uncle Leo thought it would be safe, too.
Without too much need to be convinced further, I gathered myself together and we went in. The house was spacious, and I was impressed with the elegance of the decor, which, even in the half-light from the foyer, was quite beautiful.
Robin didn't bother to put on any lights downstairs. He just led me to a bedroom upstairs to the left of the large staircase and took me in. I thought for a moment that it was a pretty grand room for a seventeen-year-old boy, even if his parents were rich, but Robin told me that it was his parents' room.
"I have a single bed, and it wouldn't be very comfortable for the two of us," he explained.
He started getting undressed quickly, with no preliminary discussion, and I knew he expected me to do the same. As I watched him take off his dark dress suit, and all of the very obviously expensive trappings that went with it, I slipped out of my cocktail dress, my first, which was nice, and would have been a bigger thrill for me to have if it had cost me more than twenty-five dollars, or if Robin came from a less obviously well-to-do family.
I was sort of shy to take off my underclothes, because my bra had some padding in it, and I thought sure that Robin would feel cheated or disappointed. I just kept on undressing, though, and when I was down to my skin, Robin just looked for a long moment.
"You're a pretty nice handful," he said. "You don't look like you're only twelve or thirteen. Even undressed you could pass for fifteen, at least." He was practically licking his lips.
He was no slouch himself. His body was lean and taut, and even in the middle of winter he still had a tan, probably from a sun lamp, I thought, but it wasn't important.
He was good to look at, and though his meat was nowhere near as big and firm as good old Uncle Leo's (it's not an unfair comparison, you realize. Uncle Leo was barely nineteen, and Robin was seventeen), it was quite big enough. It was smooth and white, and nicely shaped, and the head was much bigger than I thought it would be from the way it felt to me in the car. It was much bigger than the shaft as well.
We got into bed, and Robin kissed me, opening his mouth widely, to the point where it felt as if he was going to devour me. He put his hand between my legs, and explored tenderly, gingerly down there for a moment. By now I was fully matured, and the lips were hanging down, and my clit was well-formed and in complete evidence whenever I got excited.
This time I was not a child, I was a woman. Robin realized it too, and got more and more excited as I returned his kisses. I spread my legs wide apart, and taking hold of his cock, which had swelled to its full size, and was respectably hard and throbbing, I guided it into my twat.
My pussy was still kind of hot and dry because there really hadn't been much messing around beforehand, but as I thrust my hips up, and opened my legs wider to give him clearer entrance, and as he poked and prodded with the tip, my juices began to flow.
He slid in easily, and the delicious tingles that went through my body, and with little stabs of pain from his inadvertent force now and then, were driving me crazy. I rotated my hips and Robin's eyes became glazed.
"Hold still, will ya, and let me do the work."
"But Robin," I tried to explain, "I won't feel anything if I don't move, too."
"Okay, but don't be so wild. It turns me off. Just a little bit."
He concentrated hard on moving in and out, and the pleasure was only mild because I restricted my motions, and couldn't force him into contact with my most sensitive areas. He seemed to be having a good time, though.
He stopped. "Aren't you kind of young to be wearing a diaphragm?" he asked.
"What's that?"
"That's so you won't get pregnant. You wear it so my come won't get all the way inside." He paused. "You mean you're not wearing one?"
"How can I when I don't know what it is?"
"Does that mean I'm going to have to wear a rubber?" he asked with a disgusted look. "Shirley never makes a guy wear one."
"How would you know?" I asked, convinced that Shirley had never gone to bed with him. She would have told me if she had.
"I've heard, that's all."
He got up and went to the dresser and fished something out of the top drawer. He came back to bed and sat on the edge. He was unwrapping something, and at first I couldn't see what it was. When he started unrolling the rubber thing, it looked like a long balloon to me, and I watched him put it on over his cock. He got on top of me, and started to put his prick back into me.
"Hey, take that thing off, will you? It feels like I'm getting fucked through a rubber sheet." It did, too.
"But you're liable to get pregnant if I don't wear it. You want that to happen?" he asked.
"I don't think that's likely. I'm only just starting to menstruate regularly. I don't see how I can get pregnant when I'm not even regular yet." Well, it seemed like good logic at the time.
"Okay, doll, it's your funeral. Just remember, even if you do, I can't do anything about it. There's no state in the union where we can get married. I may be seventeen, but you're barely thirteen. Or not even quite thirteen, as you keep reminding me." He was being more serious than the situation called for, I think.
"Listen, you just let me worry about that. I'll douche with vinegar afterwards, if that'll make you feel better." Shirley told me about that. She's never been pregnant.
"My father told me that Queen Cleopatra used a lemon slice as a diaphragm. If you're willing to douche with vinegar, you must be willing to use a lemon slice as a diaphragm. Dad told me that the acid kills off the sperm." Robin continued to be serious. I, however, was trying to keep from busting out laughing. I had this funny image passing through my mind of Marc Anthony going down on Cleopatra and puckering his lips from the lemon taste and saying something like, "I know, dear, but the taste, consider the taste!"
Robin pulled a blanket off the bed, and draping it around himself like a toga, he wasn't downstairs. I presumed, to get a lemon slice. I was right, for just a few minutes after, he returned with a whole lemon on a small cutting board and a paring knife.
"We'll take a slice from the widest part, across the middle. That ought to cover the cervix nicely," he said, performing minor surgery on the lemon. He held up a firm slice for me to see. "I wonder if it matters whether you leave the seeds in or not."
"Maybe," I said, "they have something to do with the whole thing. I vote we leave the seeds in."
He nodded in agreement. "Do you want me to put it in, or do you want to put it in yourself?"
"You put it in. I wouldn't know how."
He looked at me with a grin. "You think I know anymore about it than you?"
I got on the bed, with my legs spread wide, and my knees slightly up. It seemed logical to me that it would be easier that way. On second thought I placed a pillow under my buttocks, and satisfied that he would have a pretty clear view of my pussy, I just lay there, waiting for him to do something..
When he was finished fiddling with the lemon, he turned and just looked for a minute. I thought he was going to start putting the lemon in, when he started to play with my twat, and throwing off the blanket, he leaned forward on the bed, with his legs dangling over the end of it. He put his tongue into my hole and started to lick.
"Oh, you're going to drive me out of my mind if you keep that up," I gasped.
He stopped.
"Don't stop!" I screamed. "I didn't mean for you to stop. Suck my pussy, damn it. Eat me out, I love it."
He really threw himself into it, and the more he lapped at my box, the wider I threw my legs. He had his mouth and his nose up me, and was sniffing as well as licking, and I was going crazy. I threw my legs around his head, trying vainly to make him stop, and had him practically in a headlock, but the harder I squeezed, the more he sucked. He really went crazy. My juice was flowing like a faucet, and he was lapping and drinking and moaning.
"Mmm," he purred, contented. "Mmm."
I gripped him with my knees, and pulled him closer, forcing his tongue deeper into me. His animal noises were getting more and more wild, and so was I.
After a while, I remembered why we were not still screwing, and how we'd gotten sidetracked.
"Hey Robin," I yelled, releasing his head from between my knees. "What about the lemon?"
He continued eating out my hole. I suppose the grunts he made meant something like, "Okay, in a minute." His attempt to talk while he was still hard on my crotch tickled and excited me more, but I grabbed his head and pulled it away just the same.
"The lemon," I reminded him. "It's heaven to have my pussy sucked, but I want to get screwed. Get the lemon."
He reached for the lemon, and I got back into my lemon-placing position, with my ass on the pillow, and my legs spread wide, slightly bent at the knees, Robin approached, lemon in hand, his four fingers and thumb grasping it by its perimeter. He looked over my hole, and tried to find the most strategic approach. He decided to put it straight in, with his hand guiding the way. He started slowly, and to my surprise, as he went in further and further, my cunt stretched to accommodate his whole hand, with no pain, and a great deal of pleasure.
Probing around inside of me, he found the right place, apparently, and slammed the lemon slice on and was about to withdraw, but I clamped my hungry pussy around his hand and wrist, and contracted. It was the first time I'd had anything that large inside me. I tried candles, coke bottles, milk bottles, even the narrow end of a baseball bat that one of the neighborhood boys left at my house, but nothing I'd ever used to make myself come had half of the quality of good old Robin's fist. I was going to take advantage of it while it was there. Who knew when I'd ever get a chance like that again.
I bore down hard, and squeezed, moving back and forth, and was almost ready to have a banging, clanging orgasm, when I suddenly bore down a little too hard.
"Hey! Do you want to break it off?" Robin yelped.
I released his arm, and he drew it out, quickly, causing me to explode as it scraped against the sides of my gaping cunt. My climax made me drip and foam, and he dove down to lap every bit of my effusion up.
Either the lemon slice didn't add much taste of its own, or it didn't matter to Robin because he lapped and licked, shoving his tongue deep in from time to time, and I was in ecstasy.
Finally, excited beyond the point of any endurance, he got on top of me and slammed his hot, pulsating cock home. The ridge of it, where the head joined the shaft, left little electric sensations in its path of motion, and already having reached one orgasm, I continued to move from one peak to another, contracting in spasms, and making Robin reach the point of coming himself.
As soon as I felt him tense up to plow in to me and spray, I relaxed, and did that over and over again until, having nearly come six or seven times, he finally couldn't stand anymore of that because if I had done it once more, it looked as if he would have gone clean out of his gourd.
The next time he plowed in, ready to come, I thrust my hips up and squeezed hard, and he poured into me. The gush and flow was amazing. It was a continuous flow, and I kept pumping to meet every spasm. When he finally stopped gushing into me, he rolled over on the bed exhausted.
"Hey, don't fall asleep. You've got to get the dumb lemon slice out of me."
"No. You're supposed to leave it in until the sperm is dead. Even I know that," he told me.
"How long will that be?" I asked.
"Just until tomorrow, I guess. It wouldn't hurt to douche with vinegar when you get home, just in case."
"Okay. Let's get dressed so you can take me home."
"What time do you have to be home?" he asked.
"That's not really important. I'm tired and we have a long ride ahead of us. We'd better start now." I looked at him, drinking his good looks in. "Besides, I want to see the Mummer's Day parade tomorrow."
"You mean today, don't you?" he corrected.
"Have it your way. I just want to see the parade, and I want to get some sleep first. It's been a-lovely evening, really, but now I want to go home, and I'm not just about to wait for a bus."
"Nobody said you would have to wait for a bus, damn it, Dora. I just wanted to know what time you had to be home, that's all."
"To tell the truth, I don't really think they care at all. Ever since I was nine, my father pretty much let me have my own way, whether I deserved it or not, and my mother hardly ever talks to me. How many thirteen-year-old girls do you know who are allowed out until three or four in the morning on New Year's?"
"You're pretty sophisticated for thirteen, though, and maybe they realize it. But you're not really thirteen yet, and that makes you even more sophisticated for your age."
"If it's after midnight, and I know it is, then I'll be thirteen day after tomorrow. And besides, I got sophisticated because I had to figure everything out for myself. They didn't let me figure everything out for myself because I was sophisticated."
"If they really don't care when you come home, let's screw again."
"I thought you'd be too tired."
"Are you?" he asked.
"Not really." I wasn't either. "But still," I said, after a small pause, "I think I'd better get home some time soon. I do want to see the parade tomorrow."
"Fuck the parade," Robin said.
"But we're talking about fucking each other, and I think we ought to wait until another...."
But the whole issue was lost. He was diddling my pussy again, and I just couldn't resist. He got down on top of me, and rolled us over so that he was on top, and then he crawled out from under me.
He lifted me onto all fours, and slammed into me from the back and reached around and played with my nipples in the meantime. He squeezed and manipulated them, while he slammed into my box with his hot, hard piece of gristle from the back, doggie style.
The top of his prick reached all the way into me, almost touching the lemon peel, and the bottom of his thing stroked my clit, which was as hard as his cock, and believe me, just as hot. He was going at me full clip, and I started to vibrate inside, and the lips of my pussy grabbed and contracted, and my clit had little spasms all of its own. Seventh heaven!
My nipples were throbbing, raw almost to the point of pain from his rubbing, the only trouble was that I couldn't kiss him. As he got closer to orgasm, he would draw his thing out, all the way to the tip, leaving it to rest just on the outer lips, and then slam it back into my pussy, dragging the outer lips, the inner lips, and practically everything else into the deepest part of my hole with the stroke, and just at the moment he was going to come, he let go of my tits, and slammed me down on the bed, hard.
He jammed his rod up into me, right up to the hilt, and he turned my head, just at the right moment, to jam his tongue so far into my mouth, I almost choked. But that was all right. As he shot his thick load into me, and gnawed on my tongue, I filled with a hot glow that was being extinguished by his hose. It was perfect. Robin had it all over Uncle Leo's game, even if he couldn't match Uncle Leo's meat.
Eventually, I did get home, some time before dawn, but needless to say, I didn't even watch the parade on television.
CHAPTER THREE
High school was really just a constant parade of luscious boys with stiff, willing cocks for me. I read the Kama Sutra in my freshman year, and found a book of erotic engravings in my father's library. I was determined to try every position in those two books by the time I graduated from high school. I didn't quite make it, but with the boys' help, I did a reasonable job anyway. I remember two boys who wouldn't do anything with me unless the other was along. That was kind of interesting. Sometimes, we'd end up at my house, in the recreation room, with Jerry screwing me, and Hy getting sucked. Or one would lick my pussy and jerk off while the other screwed him. It wasn't that they were really queer, or anything like that, it was just that they found it more exciting to have little parties, instead of the same dull routine over and over again. It was Hy who first stuck his hot tongue up my ass.
I was afraid at first that he would try to screw me that way, but all he did was stick his finger up, and probe around, and that didn't hurt at all. It didn't feel quite like having my pussy diddled, but you can't have everything, now, can you?
It did add quite a bit when Jerry got on his knees and started chewing gently on my clit. Hy jerked his finger back and forth, and Jerry ate and sucked, and then Hy got down on his knees and sucked and chewed my asshole with great vigor. I wanted to try it on them. It would be the closest I would come to finding out how it felt to go down on a girl.
While I stood there thinking, and enjoying myself, Jerry slipped his joy-stick into me and pumped me full of come, and kept on fucking, while Hy continued to chomp at my backside. Jerry was working up to coming again, when Hy stood up suddenly, and slammed his rod up my ass. I yelped with the pain at first, but having them both inside me nearly drove me out of my mind with pleasure. To judge by the look on Jerry's face, they liked it pretty good themselves. I couldn't see Hy's face, but I assume he liked it, because he kept ramming me good and hard, and Jerry and Hy came into me, both ends at once, causing deep hot waves of passion to start at the very center of my being and work out.
We got into the bed exhausted, and though they were finished for the night, I was still ready for just about anything. As they lay there on their stomachs, I went from one to the other, licking at the cracks in their asses, and seeing their excitement, I forgot all shame, shyness, or disgust. I rammed my tongue home into their holes, one alternating with the other, while I diddled myself, rolling my clit over and over in my fingers, and fucking myself at the same time with my middle finger.
The smell of their asses, mixed with the sexy musk of their balls, and the smell of my twat, still reeking on them drugged me insensible. The feel of my cunt, wet with the spew of Jerry's two orgasms, was absolute heaven. It wasn't too long, after an insanity of motion that I started to heat and radiate inside, with huge spasms racking my body. Jerry and Hy were a high point indeed in my high school career.
There was another boy, Fritz, who was just as good, if a little more conventional. He preferred what he called the missionary position. Face to face, with him on top, with not too much variation, except that he was the only one I ever slept with who was a match in size for Leo. He was bigger. I have no gauge, and I never had the nerve to measure a guy, but his goddamn prick must have been fifteen inches long. It always made me wonder whether poor Fritz thought it was worth the trouble it took to get inside of me, but after a half an hour or so of intense struggling, he managed, and though I was always afraid that he would tear the diaphragm I finally got myself fitted for with his sheer force, he felt marvelous inside me. The slightest movement he made would give me an orgasm, and because it took him invariably, at least another half hour or so to come, by the time he did come, I was as limp as a dishrag.
When he did come, the gush of liquid was so hot, so intense, and racked with such spasms, that we could only lie there, spent and gasping for at least another half hour before we'd gather enough strength back to separate and resume our clothes. By that time, my little pussy was so stretched that I could have fit enough luggage for a long weekend trip into it. Some chicks call their gash their pocketbooks, but I'm the only one at Woodmere High who could call hers an overnight case. Well, at least I could after Fritz fucked me.
There were some minor things, you know, interim affairs, that filled gaps between the high spots, and all I can say about them was that I saw more cock than the urinal at the Y. There were two boys who stuck out from all the rest like giants among midgets. The first one was in my junior year, and I remember him because he was so shy. His name was Alfred. Alf was in my art class, and he said so little, and painted so well, that everyone was either jealous of him, or charmed by him.
He had curly blond hair, and wasn't more than an inch or two taller than I was. He had a deep, round chest, and muscular arms, and the best legs I've ever seen on a man outside of the ballet. I was sure that he was a virgin, but that only made me want him all the more.
I conspired with Shirley to get him to parties, and like all teenage parties, they almost always ended up in necking sessions on the floor. Alfred however, would kiss a girl a few times, chastely, without even opening his mouth, and then discover that what he really wanted was another Pepsi, and rush off to the bar, or he got hungry for another sandwich, and would run upstairs to the kitchen. I found out from each of the girls in turn, that if they bothered to follow him, hoping to comer him somewhere else in the house, that, he would conceive of a most urgent desire to go to the bathroom, and lock himself in for the rest of the night. It was most disconcerting.
If Shirley and I got him to go with us to sketch or paint in the woods, he wouldn't let us invite another boy along, knowing full well that it would likely end up in a necking session in the car, at the very least, and he avoided that. As far as Alfred was concerned, there was safety in numbers.
We fooled him one day though. It was towards June, and the senior scholarship competition was going full swing. Alfred depended on getting a scholarship to be able to go to art school, and because he was so good, the head of the art department at school gave him the advantage of starting to collect his senior year portfolio in his junior year. We had gone out with him, and he was determined to do at least four good water-color landscapes that day. Well, as usual, he knocked off his work quickly and surely, four pieces that were good enough for anyone to be proud of, student or professional, and then he helped us while we struggled to finish our first before we had to go home for dinner.
"I'm tired, I can't work anymore," Shirley announced, miles away from anything worth talking about. "Let's put the stuff in the car and take a walk."
"That's a good idea," I agreed, but then my output for the afternoon, though not quite up to Alfred's was a bit more of a respectable showing than Shirley's. Alfred agreed, and we packed up the car with our gear, and started to walk along the stream, deeper into the woods. We were far from any paths by the time we decided to stop to sit down. With the light still bright, but filtered through the dense trees, we felt safe. Shirley got to her feet after a few minutes of just sitting around talking, and proceeded to strip. Not too long after, I followed suit. Poor Alfred! He really looked as if he wanted to run away, but fascinated, he sat and watched us as we made a spectacle of ourselves, undressing and trying to excite him by offering him our tits and cunts in a mad pantomime.
He just sat there dumbfounded. Before he knew what was happening to him, we were pulling his clothes off and piling them in a heap along with our own. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. I've never in my life seen anyone look so absolutely bewildered in my entire life, before Alfred or since. It didn't take him too long to get the idea that we were raping him, and the same as if her were a woman, it would be better for him to simply lie back and submit. Not that it was going to be hard on him. Even if I must say so myself, Shirley and I were pretty nice looking girls. It could have been worse. I mean, we could have decided not to rape him after all. Poor dear, Alfred enjoyed every minute of what we did to him.
After we got him undressed, we cleared away the twigs and leaves from a patch of ground large enough for the three of us to screw around on. We coaxed Alfred into the middle of the clearing, and started to go to town on him. Shirley sucked his cock and balls, and I kissed him gently, slithering my tongue into his mouth, between his teeth and down his throat insistently.
Shirley shifted her position, and threw her snatch right into Alfred's face. I had seen her coming towards us, out of the corner of my eye, and I had moved just in time. I must say that for all the trepidation, he had approached the situation with he certainly got the idea fast enough.
It drove me near crazy to watch Alfred lap out Shirley's hot oozing cunt. Hot damn, he really dove in, rolling his eyes, and groaning, and sighing and cooing satisfaction to himself. True to form Shirley started to hog the whole scene, and threw her mouth down on Alfred's cock, and sucked like a champ, shoving his rod down her throat, until she could swallow no more, and bobbing up to nibble delicately at his balls.
With nothing left to do, I lay down next to them, and threw Alfred's legs back and went to town on his asshole. Ever since Hy had showed me this trick, I sort of developed a taste for it, and besides, doing that was better than just sitting around watching and going off my head, imagining how his champion tongue would feel if it were inside of me. Good old Alfred was still going to town on Shirley's juicy cunt, and when I shoved my tongue up his hot, fetid asshole, pulling at the hairs with my teeth and nibbling on the pink skin around the opening, he let out a pleasant crazed shriek, and bucked so that all three of us moved two and a half feet. I maneuvered my hot twitching pussy onto Alfred's limp, hand, was lying inactive at the side of his body. Why waste it? I wriggled the thing half way into my womb (I hadn't worn the damn diaphragm that day, and so I couldn't get fucked, damnit) and though his hand had been limp, it stiffened, and his fingers started to explore as if I had excited every last one of his fingers as if they were all cocks.
I guess Shirley had gotten so hot that she couldn't stand it any more, because she got up, and straddled his cock, and started to ride good old Alfred like a bucking bronco. He really threw himself into her. I saw my opportunity. After sticking around at his asshole for a while, licking here and there at them both, I gave up on that and moved to put my pussy on Alfred's tongue.
He chomped down, and swished my clit around his mouth like mouthwash and sucked on it as hard as he' could, as if it were a cock. When I started to come, he lapped and gobbled;-and shoved his tongue in and out, flattening it and changing the shape of it using it like a french tickler. I looked around, over my shoulder, and saw a look of animal frenzy on Shirley's face that told me that she too must be coming. Alfred was still bucking furiously into her, so I knew he had yet to come. He stocked my pussy more fiercely and made deliciously pig-like noises of excitement. The thrust of his tongue became more violent, and I knew he must be coming. I turned around, and covered his whole face with my creaming twat, and watched Shirley as Alfred came into her, with wild jerking thrusts, and as she contracted her hungry pussy, getting every last drop of his sticky love juice as if her damn hole could taste it.
She got off of Alfred's cock, which still was half-stiff, bobbed up and down, while he kept gnawing frantically at my twat. His hand went straight down to his cock, and lubricated by his own come and the juice of Shirley's orgasm he worked himself back and forth until he was stiff again, chewing on my crotch all the while.
I mean this boy was fantastic! I motioned for Shirley to come to me and excited by the moment I lapped Alfred's come from her gaping hole. After all, it was really no different from shoving my tongue up a guy's asshole. I stopped for a minute, and stuck my finger into her pussy, and lubricated it, and then shoved it up her ass. All the while Alfred kept on chewing at my crotch. The light in the clearing was getting dimmer and dimmer all the time, and I could just about see Alfred's cock out of the comer of my eye as I lapped at Shirley's crotch and finger fucked her in the ass.
He was starting to reach his last convulsions before coming, and unable to resist, I took a chance, diaphragm or no diaphragm. I pulled my cunt off of his face and jammed it down onto his cock, just as he started to come. Like Shirley, I contracted and squeezed the walls of my pussy, eager to get every last drop of juice out of Alfred. I shoved up and down a few last times, giving myself an orgasm on his cock, and when I got off, the poor thing was chafed raw.
Actually, I guess that that's what he was afraid of, poor dear. He must have known that he was so good that no matter how much he gave to some dumb cunt or the other, that we'd always want more.
What makes Alfred stick in my mind is that for the rest of the semester, and all that summer, he serviced Shirley and me, both together and separately. All through the hot nights and steaming days, he sucked our pussies and fucked us and chomped on our tits, and after that first time, no matter whether we were alone or together, neither Shirley nor I remembered him coming fewer than four times. He was always so considerate besides. He always managed to make us have at least one orgasm apiece.
Alfred is indeed a happy and potent memory, but even he can't compare with Rickey. Rickey was on the tumbling team in school and had a nice piece of meat, though it was uncircumcised. At first I was a little leery of letting him screw me because of it. His meat wasn't his major attraction though. Unlike Fritz who was all meat and no technique (with that much meat who needs technique?), Rickey was all technique, even with his quite respectable size.
No matter how hard you tried to make Rickey tired, you couldn't. He would seldom if ever come more than once, but damn, he could hold it all back until you were so limp from having multiple orgasms that you would beg him to come, and then, on split second notice, he would release his pent-up load into you, and you would feel like kissing his feet. He was that good, and unless he's dead of a heart attack from overexertion, he's probably still that good. What was even better was that I never had to share him with Shirley, because I found him and caught him all by myself.
I walked into the gym one day after school to see a demonstration of tumbling and gymnastics and there he was, with his dark auburn hair, clipped into a crewcut so close you could see most of his scalp. The hairs on his chest were bushy, though, and the same color as his hair on his head. You could see that through the thin skivvy shirt he wore and over the top and around the sides. His muscles didn't exactly bulge. They were long and supple and he moved with the loose grace of a panther. His feet were small for a boy his size, like a ballet dancer's, with high insteps, and deeply curved arches. His hands were like huge hams, real destroyers. When my eyes finally got around to noticing the bulge in his crotch, I knew I wanted him. He was one helluva guy! A real animal.
I watched him tumble, and do some stunts on the parallel bars and could hardly keep from sticking my hand up my skirt and masturbating. After the demonstration, I waited outside the boy's locker rooms and when he came out alone, I was thankful to see him. I simply started walking along the halls with him.
"My name's Dora Wiener." I told him, smiling, and shaking my freshly done blonde hair so that it would look loose and sexy.
He started to tell me his name, but I stopped him.
"I know your name. Everybody does. You're famous around school." It wasn't quite the truth. I had only found out his name when I asked a girl sitting next to me at the demonstration, that very afternoon. His name was Rickey Stephenson. It was a very nice name indeed. He believed me, and was kind of flattered in that dumb way that all athletes are flattered when you recognize who they are. We also had an infuriating way of accepting the recognition as being only what was due him, no matter how flattered he was.
"Hey, you want a ride home?" he asked me. "I've got my convertible right on the lot and it's a nice enough day to take a ride, with the top down, if you've got the time. How about it, huh?"
"All right, I guess," I said, trying to look doubtful. I guess I succeeded, because he spent the next five minutes or so trying to convince me that it would be all right. Just like a man, thinking that it was all his very own idea. We walked out to the parking lot and his car was a very jaunty little Metropolitan, with a canary-yellow paint job. I wondered for a moment how he could fit all of himself into it, but when we were in, I saw that the seats were tracked all the way back as far as they could go, and that the pedals were tracked forward the same way.
I toyed with the idea of taking him to the same forest glade where Shirley and I raped Alfred, but rejected the idea. I also thought of directing him onto some of the lonelier roads so that he'd get the urge to neck, and maybe more, but it was fall, and even though it was nice, the weather was at best unreliable, and the car was too small for that kind of carrying on. I would wait patiently for another opportunity. We had a rather pleasant ride and the afternoon was a good one. We ended up having cokes at one of the sandwich shops near my house and he dropped me off at the front door. Just before I went in, he asked me, very respectfully I might add, if he could have my phone number, and I gave it to him. On impulse, I gave him a peck on the cheek besides and he actually blushed! Not even Alfred blushed.
We had several dates, after that-things like going to the movies and school dances. It was our senior year and there was never any lack for something to do. It was not until our fourth date that he actually even made his first attempt to even kiss me, with his mouth wide open, and his tongue probing the inner reaches of my mouth. Despite myself, I had desperate images of that same rigid tongue not in my mouth, but in my sloshing twitching jelly-roll, and reaming out .my steaming ass. Shit, I wanted that beautiful stud, but he was taking his own sweet time about it. I wonder even now, if it was because he was afraid of shocking me. Not very likely, but still, a possibility.
When Thanksgiving rolled around, my parents went away. It was a relief, because the more time that passed, the less I could communicate with my mother, who went deeper over the edge into weirdness by the hour. Daddy wasn't bad, and he's been the only comfort and refuge in the way of parents I could depend on, but he was wrapped up in my mother. On an unselfish level, it was good that they had an opportunity to have even a tiny vacation, but on the selfish one, I was overjoyed that I would finally be able to get Rickey alone.
We had Thanksgiving dinner at his parents house, and when I suggested that he take me home early, he didn't protest. He never protested anything. Good boy, that Rickey. When we got to my place, I asked him in, and like the little lamb being lead to slaughter, he followed.
We talked about this and that and the other for a minute or two, and he missed every opportunity S gave him to grab me and kiss me. I guess that he thought that it was off-limits in my parents' home.
I decided to precipitate matters a bit. I would be discreet, subtle, and above all, I would let him think it was his own idea.
"I want you to fuck me, Rickey. Do you want to fuck me?" I was so subtle that I could hardly breathe.
"Gee, yeah," he replied, employing his usual conversational brilliance. "That would be keen." Mens sano in corpore sanis.
He waited for a cue from me, I guess, and we went, with me slightly in the lead, up to my room, where, without having to be told, and with no help in untying his shoelaces (he may have been wearing loafers) he undressed. I got down to my panties quickly enough, and flopped onto the bed. He wasted no time whatever in getting my panties off, and when I noticed that he was uncircumcised, it almost ruined my whole evening. After all, swinger or no, I was still a good Jewish girl. I played with his cock, and drew the loose hanging skin back and forth a few times, pleased to see that he wasn't dirty, like I thought he'd be, or even vaguely smelly. With fewer qualms than I'd had, I let him get down to business. There was little pussy-lapping, or cocksucking that night, because, Ricky did indeed get right down to business. He wet his cock with spit, and eased into my waiting, palpitating cunt, and when I felt the delicate thrill of his thick foreskin moving back and forth inside of me, creating a causeway, so to speak, for his cock to travel, I decided that if I'd ever have any sons that they couldn't possibly be good Jews. Ritual circumcision became barbarism in my book.
Rickey flung my legs back, and gentled me into my first orgasm that night, by even steady strokes. Then, standing, and holding my legs as if I were a wheel barrow, he pile drove me into a second. Without pause, or losing the connection, he turned me around, supporting me with his glorious arms, and positioned me on all fours, and slammed me home to a third orgasm, doggie style. By the time he got around to my fourth, fifth and sixth orgasms I was inflamed and raw inside, from the friction, and the furious pace drying up any accretion of fluid as fast as my creaming cunt dripped it. I was screaming from the pleasure, glad that my parents were nowhere even vaguely in the vicinity. His last position before coming nearly blew my mind. He got on my back, and ramming his cock all the way into me, he straddled me, raising his torso up off the bed, and placing his legs around me. Then, slowly, he lowered back, until he was bent almost double, which raised his thing in me until it arched, parabolic, inside me, hitting every sensitive spot along its line, and mashing my poor clit so that it was so busy having orgasms all by itself that I hardly noticed the fact that he really didn't move. He just pulsed, with control that came from where, I don't know, and after who only knows how many consecutive orgasms, starting way inside me, and radiating in ruinous heat to the very perimeter of my being, accompanied by the staccato convulsions and spasms of my aching, spent, clit I screamed in ecstasy.
"Come, motherfucker, come! Why in hell won't you come?" I gasped.
"You want me to come now?" he asked.
"Hell, yes, what are you waiting for?"
He didn't answer. He simply let go, and bathed my insides with more come than I had ever believed existed. The cooling balm of it, and the pulsating gush, caused me to have a last orgasm, this time, this last time, calming and diminishing my frenzy instead of building it.
That night was the first of many such nights with Rickey. But if I say that Rickey was the high point of my high school sex life, I must add that even I didn't know that the best was yet to come.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was still only seventeen when I went to college for my freshman year. Nothing exciting happened because I was too busy rehearsing stupid plays with the drama club, and far too concerned with qualifying for the freshman math prize to fuck around much. After the drama club's season was over, though, and I was sure that I had the math prize in the palm of my hand, I let myself in to the most hectic round of party-going I've ever known.
Pre-Easter festivities at the University of Pennsylvania are something, really something. Each fraternity had hired dozens of rock bands to play at a series of five parties for each house. The bands would play upstairs and down in a constant blare of competing sound, and with the windows of every house along fraternity row wide open, the whole campus shook, from top to bottom.
The first four parties I went to were fairly mild, but the last one was a real corker. My date was an innocuous but presentably preppy looking lad from Maryland, dressed in the obligatory madras, brown penny loafers and faded blue jeans. His blond forelock gave him as much trouble as my own, falling into his eyes constantly, but he was my ticket to the most exclusive gentile fraternity on campus.
It was harder for a Jewish girl to get to see the inside of it because there was always a token Jewish pledge, just to please the campus officials, but once these pledges made it into the inner circle, they hardly, if ever, dated Jewish girls. It would be sort of like breaking trust with all the marvelous guys who let them into the house in the first place.
Anyway, Bernie was a nice guy and he probably didn't even know I was Jewish, and he invited me. The party was a swinging enough affair to start with, but around midnight all hell broke loose.
One of the girls had had too much to drink and got very sick, and although it was strictly against the rules, I dragged her upstairs to one of the johns. I held her head over the commode while she retched and puked into the bowl, and afterwards, I took her to one of the bedrooms, where I lay her down on the bed, and mopped up her sweaty forehead with a cool, damp washcloth.
It was about twenty past twelve when one of the guys in the house discovered us and announced to the house at large that there were a couple of dumb cunts upstairs in no-woman's land.
The sound of the resultant stampede was absolutely deafening. There must have been one hundred guys trampling up those stairs to see the pigs who had violated one of their most cherished rules.
One of them, obviously a figure of command and leadership, yelled, "Let's punish the pigs!" and there was an avalanche of voices raised in agreement.
They tried to strip the other girl, but she was so out of it that I guess they decided she would be no fun. They ganged up on me instead. My party dress wasn't very sturdy to begin with, and it ripped in their hands easily. The bra and panties weren't too difficult either. I was helping them. Offering no resistance whatsoever, I watched them mount me one by one, and like the bunch of amateurs they were, they got on, pumped a few times, and got off.
Inundated with come from about a dozen guys, but as yet to have one single orgasm, when the next guy mounted me I wrapped my legs around him, and slammed him hard into my drowned pussy, and kept him at it until I had at least one good orgasm.
Seeing that I didn't really mind, the others took their time. Some, who I suspect were a little queerer than the others, lapped at the come in my twat first until they got hot enough to lay me. By then, I was so hot that I was twitching and groaning, and slamming them home to a mutual orgasm, which seemed like a matter of seconds.
Punishment? Those schmucks should live to get that kind of punishment. They'd never recover from the pleasure. Reinforcements came up from the party and the line kept forming to the left, and the boys kept on fucking and coming.
It almost turned into a nightmare when I had discovered that either by accident, or design, all the monster cocks were at the end of the line. I really don't have any concept of how many guys diddled me that night, but I thank my lucky stars that I had my diaphragm on. It's one thing to get yourself pregnant by someone you know, but to get pregnant by one guy in the midst of dozens of strangers is something else entirely.
Anyway, I was close to fainting when they brought on the last five, or was it six? Every one of them with a cock at least as big as Fritz's had been. I was close to fainting from tiredness. I nearly fainted when I saw the size of what was going to fuck me next. They had saved the worst for last. But it turned out all right really because I had so much come inside me that I was overflowing, and every last sonuvabitch, mother-humping one of them slipped in so easy, and came so fast in his fraternity brother's slosh, that I had to laugh afterwards. Talk about sloppy seconds!
When they were finished with me, they let me go into the bathroom to get cleaned up, and even gave me a towel.
I sneaked a shower, thinking that that was the best way to clean off the accumulation of come and sweat.
When I came back into the room, the head man (all he was missing was a white robe and hood and the KKK insignia in blood across his chest) warned me that it would be futile to tell anyone of the "little" incident because it would be denied by everyone involved.
I told him that I had no intention of telling anyone. Someone brought me a pair of jeans that were small enough and a shirt to wear with Them because my dress was ripped to shreds. Well, practically to shreds.
My social life at the university had started with a bang.
I stuck around and did a semester's work during the summer sessions, and again, I had little time for screwing around. It was at the beginning of the fall semester that I met Donald. He was a nice, ordinary boy, who has grown into a nice, ordinary man, except for the fact that he's got a brilliant mind, and uses it.
He's the type who goes to sleep at eleven o'clock and wakes up, with no trouble at ail, at seven, begins his day efficiently, and ends it happily. Why I ever married him I don't know. The whole thing was duller than cotton stockings. I continued to sleep around promiscuously, and have sex with wholesale job-lots of young men.
Donald and! dated each other, and had a lot of fun, but he never asked me to go to bed with him, and to tell the truth, I didn't press the point, or his either.
He asked me to marry him during the second semester, just after I turned nineteen, at the start of my junior year. The plan we figured out was to get married during Labor Day weekend, after I had done my second semester, during the summer sessions. Meanwhile, we would date once a week, so as not to interfere with our studies.
What that did was to give me plenty of time to sleep with anyone else who took my fancy, or who wanted to try, anyway. Donald never questioned what I did with my time when I was not with him. He was very trusting: As I said before, I continued to sleep with as many young men as possible, and there were some incidents that stuck out in my mind.
Lawrence Soames was an English exchange student, and though he was all proper English manners on the outside, he was a seething mass of passion on the inside. I was surprised to learn, among other things, that he smoked hashish, and that was back when it was neither as popular nor as available as it tends to be now.
It was funny to watch him, his lantern jaw set, sticking out a mile, smoking, not a well-aged meerschaum, but an Oriental water pipe with the benign smile of a well-fucked potentate.
Relaxed enough after smoking for a bit, he would make gentle love to me, for a long, long time. As he came down from his high, his lovemaking would get wilder and more violent, and at last, straight, he would be brutal.
His orgasms would crash into me with the force of crashing waves, and the morning after, I would invariably find myself covered with hickeys.
He was divine, but our fling didn't last long. My skin couldn't take it, and after a while there was no room for new black and blue marks from his huge hickeys. It was either a break-up or skin cancer, and so with regret I moved on to the next one. Through it all, Donald was a faithful friend as well as fiance. And through it all our Friday night dates remained standard.
There was another one, a musician, who was something special. His name was Eric, and he played a trumpet. He was fond of group sex. Small friendly orgies, you know.
One month or so after Donald and I became engaged, I went to a small party at Eric's place. It was destined to end up, as usual, on a huge blanket on the floor, with all the furniture moved back. Why he bothered with furniture at all always confused me. He might just as well have installed wall-to-wall mattresses for all the use the furniture got.
We had been drinking and nibbling ridiculous little snack things, and Eric went around replacing one light at a time with a candle. It wasn't too long before the only light in the room was a group of flickering candles. It had happened gradually though, or at least more gradually than if he had simply turned out the lights and lit the candles.
As we sat there, getting a little drunker, Eric went around blowing out candles one by one, until the only light left was one flickering candle. That was the way his mind worked.
He sat down next to me and kissed me delicately on the back of my neck, and then, nibbled on my ear, and worked his way around to my chin. I assumed that everyone else in the room was similarly occupied.
Eric and I took our clothes off and made our claim on a small comer of the blanket. We lay down and held each other close, and kissed for a long, long time.
We weren't quite ready to make love, so we watched the others. There were two other couples in the room, and they had decided to join forces. It was a display, let me tell you.
The two girls were lying side by side on the floor, and one guy was spread across the two of them, fucking one cunt and eating the other, and the other guy was lying across the girls the other way around at the top, kissing one girl, and getting sucked off by the other.
I was fascinated by the inventiveness with which the four of them solved the problem of boredom. Eric was fascinated as well, and he held me close and played with my nipples as we watched. When it seemed everyone had come, we halfway expected them to get up and take a bow.
"Quite a performance. They should do it to music."
"You think everyone should do everything to music, Eric?" I asked.
We were surprised, after the strenuous performance that had finished seconds before when without hesitation they started up again. But it wasn't mixed doubles this time. For a brief time, the two boys sucked on each other's cocks, and the two girls sucked each other's pussies. It lasted for only a few seconds, when the two guys separated.
Lubricated with spit, the guys sat face to face, and jerked each other off for awhile, and then one of them took both cocks in his hands and rubbed them both off until they came, and then he slathered the resultant effusion as further lubrication up and 'down their cocks. This seemed to be the moment that the girls were waiting for. They split ranks, and the first girl, lubricated from spit, from the other girl's having gone down on her, and from having been fucked once already, straddled the two guys, facing one of them, and gobbled the two cocks into what must have been a monster pussy. I, winced as I watched her lower down onto two cocks at once, but the grin she had on her face told me that it couldn't have been all that painful.
"Oh shit, that's good," she moaned, "come on you frigging bastards fuck me, ream out my pussy with your cocks, I want to feel you all the way up inside me."
"Hey,-I can still feel your cock rubbing up and. down on mine," the first boy said, apparently pleased with the sensation.
"A prick and a pussy at the same time," said the other, "it's the greatest."
The other girl just stood there watching, but that didn't last for too long. The boys licked their fingers and each one inserted a finger into her, one fore, one aft. Finger-fucking her for all they were worth, keeping both her holes happy at the same time, while she had plenty of visual stimulation as well. Eric' and I couldn't take it any more. I was just at the point of masturbating and so was he when he fell on me, and licked me all over my body. His cock was fat, and his balls were huge, and he got around to sucking my cunt just as he jammed his cock into my mouth. I tried to force it all the way down my throat as he worked at my pussy, but although it was fat, it wasn't really long. Instead, I took his balls into my mouth, one at a time, with his prick.
"Mmmmm," he said, into my snatch, vibrating the clit.
He got off of me, and standing up, he lifted me to his eye level. He lowered me onto his cock, and filled me completely. I wrapped my legs around him and held on for dear life. With him inside me, I moved as much as I could, trying to stimulate him. His cock seemed to grow larger in me, and my cunt tightened and grew smaller. We started to gasp and heave, and my head started to spin. Eric's arms were giving out, and so he lowered me to the floor and followed me down, without missing a stroke. He slammed into my pussy, harder and harder, and I started to heat and convulse with multiple orgasms as he sprayed his gism into me. Eric emptied the very essence of his being into me, and lay back afterward, exhausted. I looked around to see what the other couples were doing, and they were collapsed in a heap, their arms and legs ail tangled together, in the same spot on the floor where they started. I got dressed, not stopping to thank my host for the lovely evening, and let myself out. I had work to do for tomorrow's classes and now that I felt satisfied, it was a perfect time to take care of it.
As summer approached, my schedule became hard to keep up with, but somehow I managed to stay well-fucked, get all my schoolwork done, and still see Donald every Friday. Donald wasn't much of a reality to me, and the only kind of marriage I could envision with him, was the same as the courtship. I couldn't see the words some rabbi said over us making any difference. As far as I was concerned, I would continue to get myself fucked by everyone I found appealing, and see Donald once a week on Friday nights. It never occurred to me that there would be meals to cook, and clothes to wash, and perhaps babies to raise. More than that, it never occurred to me that Don would want to make love to me. It hadn't been an issue between us so far, and I just didn't have enough foresight to envision it becoming one.
One Friday night, when he came to pick me up at the dormitory, he was more dressed up than usual.
"What's the special occasion?" I asked him.
"I thought you might want to go to the theater. There's a show trying out here, or touring or something, and it's supposed to be kind of good," Donald explained. "Do you want to?"
"I have nothing to wear!" I shrieked, which wasn't the truth, but I didn't relish going back upstairs to change.
"Wear what you've got on; it's just fine." which just goes to show you how far out from reality he actually was. I was wearing a sweater and blouse, which may have been just fine for a standard Friday evening at Smokey Joe's, but was just about the worst thing possible for the theater.
"I can't wear this; give me five minutes, and I'll go upstairs and change." He nodded to indicate that it was fine with him, so I went up to the second floor and put on a black sleeveless thing, with a nice gold circle pin at the neckline. I never could remember which side said you were a virgin, and which advertised that you were available, so I always equivocated and put it in the middle. Maybe that meant something. I never did find out. I put heavier makeup on, and did something quick to my hair to make it look more formal. I ran downstairs, breathless, and rejoined Donald.
"You look just great," he approved, "but I still don't see why you had to change."
"Just forget about it," I told him. "I'll feel more comfortable at the theater in this. Come on, let's go. Do you have tickets?"
"I have reservations at the box office. They said they'd hold them until eight-fifteen."
"My goodness, Donald," I screamed, "it's nearly five after now. How do you plan to be there by eight-fifteen?"
"I've got a cab waiting outside," he said. Donald always did think the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, but I didn't realize just how extravagant he was willing to be to keep that line straight.
The cab managed to get us to the theater in six minutes fiat, with Donald coaching from the back seat as to which streets to take to cut minutes off the trip. His efficiency is still staggering.
We picked up the tickets, and went inside. The show was nothing to write home about, but it was the most expensive evening Donald had ever planned for us, so far, and so I couldn't complain.
Afterwards, we went to the Hunt Room at the Bellevue Stratford for drinks, and I nearly fainted when I recognized one of the boys from the "little incident" at the fraternity house during my freshman year. Donald didn't know any of the boys who had been involved, and so the face didn't mean anything to him. He kept pretty much to himself on campus anyway. There was no need to wonder why he had never heard stories about me, or at least made no indications to me of having heard any stories. Either he had not heard them, or was too much of a gentleman to bring it up if he had, or the third possibility, he knew all about them, but didn't give a damn.
We passed by the boy and his date, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't shout "Whore!" or something like it on the way. Donald and I went right to the bar, not planning to eat anything, we saw no reason to get a table, and the boy and his date got a table in full view of us.
The evening progressed nicely, and Donald even managed a pun or two, and a couple of mild jokes. It was evident that he was trying hard to be an exciting amusing date that evening, and though he didn't quite make it, I was touched by his attempt.
Good intentions count for a lot with me, and I don't give a good goddamn where they lead.
It was a pleasant evening, and both Donald and I felt more relaxed than we had ever felt in each other's company before. I was starting to feel my liquor, and I; wondered where in hell Donald was putting all of his. He had at least three more drinks than I had had, and I never thought that having a hollow leg was one of the major requirements of a future nuclear physicist. It never occurred to me that Donald had had a normal rake-hell type of youth, and then it also occurred to me that there were almost too many things about Donald, like his capacity for liquor, only more important, that had never occurred to me. Was I marrying a stranger? Well, I knew that I was, so the answer to that was easy, but the hard question was what kind of stranger? Was I in for a few nasty shocks?
As the evening mellowed, and me along with it, I started to have a sneaking suspicion that Donald was fattening the calf for the. kill so to speak. He was deliberately trying to get me drunk enough to seduce. If only he knew, I thought to myself, he could save himself a hell of a lot of money; all he has to do is ask.
We were about ready to pay the bar bill,, when the boy from the fraternity house, who had been getting-drunker and more noisy as the evening progressed, staggered up to us. He leered at me.
"Hey, baby, are you ready for action tonight. He's not much of a stud, baby." He reeled forward. "Now me, I'm choice. Only, it must be hard for you to remember, I was so far back in line."
"Get out of here, and behave yourself," I begged, almost frantic.
"Why don't you introduce me to your friend here," he sneered, "once we're properly introduced, I can tell him what a good lay his girlfriend is. But he probably already knows that."
Donald got off his bar stool, and drew himself up to his full height, which the guy from the fraternity had either not noticed or forgotten in his drunken stupor. Donald at full height is six three and a half, in stocking feet, with shoes on, it's more like six four. And he's got the build of a fullback besides. I mean he's really impressive. One would never guess to look at him that he's not only a pacifist, but that he's never lifted his hands to anyone. Or hadn't at that point anyway.
"My name is Donald Cohen, and I'm this young lady's fiance. Since you seem to be on such intimate terms with this young lady," Donald continued with curious emphasis, "you ought to remember that her name is Dora Wiener. You also ought to remember, that since she's a young lady, she doesn't get talked to that way, in a public place or anywhere else, for that matter. She doesn't get talked to that way, or I get very upset. Do you think that you're sober enough to understand that?"
"Uh-I think I can manage that," said the boy from the fraternity, slurring his words a little less.
"Now why don't you introduce yourself to the young lady, so that she can avoid you in the future." Donald's neck was getting awfully red in the back.
"Jody, uh-Jody Duffield Evoy," he said, embarrassed, and also quite obviously scared.
"Now why don't you go back to your table like a good boy, before I drag you there and slam you through the seat?" It was then that I realized that Donald was doing a perfect imitation of Gary Cooper!
He paid the bar bill, and we walked out into the night.
"No reason to waste any money on a cab," he said, "We can take our time getting back to campus."
"You mean we're going back to the campus, now?" I was surprised to say the least. I was counting on him to spring a borrowed apartment, or something like that on me at the last moment. No luck. I'd just have to wait until our wedding night. Rats.
"Donald, you were wonderful in the bar, but what if the boy was telling the truth? What if I was that kind of tramp?"
He looked straight into my eyes, with the same straight and steady stare he always had. Clear-eyed, he said: "Even considering the possibility that it's not an academic question. That still doesn't mean that he should behave like that in public. A gentlemen doesn't kiss and tell."
"So much for handy little platitudes," I snapped, "I want to know what your attitude is."
Donald thought it over for a minute or two.
"My attitude is that you are one person as Miss Dora Wiener, and you will be an entirely different person as Mrs. Donald Cohen. If by virtue of the name change alone. What you do now is your business, and I consider that I have no right to question or pry."
"But, Donald," I protested, "what if I think that you have a right? Doesn't that make it different?"
"I do not choose to use that right," he said, stiffly, "and that's for me to decide. And don't you go making all sorts of confessions to me, either. They may be good for your soul, but they give me heartburn."
"Then the matter is closed?" I asked.
"Yes." He simply didn't want to discuss it.
We went back to the campus, and he waited until I had signed in. He kissed me goodnight, telling me that he'd call Monday night, if it was all right with me, and left.
CHAPTER FIVE
The last week before the wedding was hectic to say the least. After grade reports were issued, I had a million and one things to take care of. The last fitting of my wedding dress, which was simple and short, because we were only going to have a simple chapel ceremony with the immediate family. My mother wanted to invite everybody and it would have given her something to do, but Don and I didn't want to end up with the immediate world attending. Poor Mama, her touch with reality slipping away with increasing speed, I could have given her at least that much, perhaps, but I didn't want my wedding to be her therapy. I know it sounds selfish, but I had been to too many Jewish weddings that turned out to be the world's worst farces. Nowadays, all you have to do is go to the neighborhood movies to see Jewish weddings satirized from here to hell and back again. No thank you.
And then, there was getting my trousseau packed, which was also a simple chore, because we were only taking a Friday till Monday Labor Day weekend honeymoon, in Atlantic City, after getting married by Rabbi Haas at his private chapel. We were going to go to Bermuda for the long holiday vacation between terms, starting the week before Christmas, and ending the week after New Year's, because it would be better that way. Don and I figured that by that time, we would not only appreciate it more, but we would need it more as well. Anyway, four days in Atlantic City can be fun, and besides, in a honeymoon, who can tell the difference between one beach and another.
The finishing touches had to be put on our campus apartment, because we would both start classes only a week after the honeymoon, and there would be little enough time to take care of registration without having to worry about the apartment besides. The more rushing around I did that week, the more second thoughts I had about getting married before my senior year was finished. It was all right for Don, because he was going to be a Ph.D. and didn't have to worry about senior years, or any of that other jazz. He was working on some very advanced and highly technical research for the school, in conjunction with the government, and at the end of it, he would submit the collected data as his thesis. He had finished all his course work long ago, having cut through almost three whole years of work by advanced examinations. But after all, it wasn't going to be bad, provided of course that my cavalier was as good in bed as he was in class.
The night before the wedding rolled around before I had a chance to realize it, and I found myself alone at home with nothing to do, and no place to go. At least in the dorms, I could always find a girl to talk to, or if things were really bad, I'd just go over to the library and bother some boy until he propositioned me. At home, the night before my wedding, and I didn't even have Don to keep me company. Some of his buddies in the physics fraternity were giving him a bachelor's party, and of course that was off limits to me.
Out of sheer perversity, I looked up Jody Duffied Evoy in the phone book. I dialed his number, which seemed to be in the campus vicinity, and waited. Three, four, five rings, and then finally, someone answered.
"Hello," the voice said.
"Hello. This is Dora Wiener. Is Jody there?"
"No, this is Brad Schinn, his roommate. Can I take a message?"
"It all depends," I replied. "Do you know when he'll be back?"
"About eight, maybe eight-thirty."
"Well, then, have him call me as soon as he gets in."
"Does he have your number?" the boy named Brad asked.
Does he ever have my number, I thought to myself. Aloud, I simply told Brad my name and number, pausing appropriately to make sure he got it all down.
I waited for an hour or so, and was just to give up on Mr. Jody Evoy entirely, when the phone started to ring insistently.
"Hello."
"May I speak to Dora Wiener?" the voice at the other end asked in a husky voice. "Speaking," I replied.
"Listen, chickie, you've got to be kidding," Jody said. "If your bruiser boyfriend ever found out he'd have my head. I think I'd better hang up now, before we both get into deep, deep trouble."
"Listen, Jody," I confided, "Don wouldn't hurt a flea. He was doing an imitation of Gary Cooper that night. Who knows from what movie he picked it up, but that wasn't Don. He talks kind of funny and pompous mostly. He's going to be a nuclear physicist."
"So what does that have to do with the price of eggs?" Jody wanted to know. He sounded decidedly hostile.
"All I want to know is, Jody, boy, was it the liquor talking that night, or would you like to show me what kind of stud you are?"
"When?" His voice was still hostile, but now, there was a note of interest as well.
"Tonight, if you're up to it." I tried not to sound too hard, meanwhile keeping just the right note of trampiness in my voice.
"My place or yours?" he asked.
"Yours, mine is impossible. I don't think my mother would appreciate it."
"Okay, but you'll have to give me until ten or ten-thirty to get rid of my roommate." He had an "it's settled" note in his voice now, and indeed it was settled.
I rang off, and looked at the clock. It was eight-forty, and that gave me just short of two hours to shower, get ready, and drive downtown.
You may be wondering just what in hell I was up to, making arrangements to get laid the night before my wedding. But actually, when you stop to consider, it wasn't too out of the way. Remember, that very night, Don was off at his own bachelor party, and everyone knows what they're like. The last one I heard about, every man there got his cock sucked. Why shouldn't a girl have an intimate private little bachelor party all of her very own, and get laid as well while she's at it. Thinking about the disaster that my wedding night portended to be, I thought that I deserved at least a good lay the night before. This Jody Duffield Evoy character, I thought snugly to myself, had better live up to his self-advertisement. I toyed with ideas of what to do if he turned out to be a dud, and decided that it wouldn't be maidenly at all if I were to humiliate him. If his image of himself wasn't quite true, and he couldn't quite cut the mustard, I decided that I would simply thank him sweetly with a big kiss, and do something subtle, like twist his fucking prick off by its roots. The more I thought about Jody, the homier I got.
I showered, and got into some clothes, and went to the garage to get the car. Daddy had given me a used convertible as a pre-wedding present, and I was glad, believe me, that it was in running condition. It didn't take me long to get the top down, and once that was done, I was on my way.
Jody lived in the fifties, on Osage Street, which was one of the last good streets left in that area of West Philadelphia. When I say good, I mean it was elegant to the very last degree, with houses of mansion proportions and pretensions, and only a few of them had been divided into floor-through flats. Those that had been divided, still maintained their air of super-refinement, and the street was filled mainly with well-paid full professors, and a few University officials. They were the only ones who could both afford it and find it convenient. Anybody but University people would have avoided the neighborhood, good street or no, like the bubonic plague. There had been too many murders, not to mention the rapes, within the six block radius of the street that Jody lived on. For me, it only added to the adventure. I drove like a maniac, and skidded up to his front drive. Without slowing down, I careened into the drive and parked right beside the side entrance. I looked at my watch. It was twenty-five past ten.
When I rang the bell, Jody answered through an intercom, and assured that it was I, and not some raving maniac who wanted to murder him in his sleep, he rang me into the downstairs reception hall with the relay buzzer. The hall itself was very narrow, and I imagine that there were apartments on either side of it. Leading up from the rear of the hall there was a stairway, and I climbed up. When I got to the second floor, Jody was sticking his head out the door waiting for me.
"So you found the place all right. I really didn't think you were serious to begin with," he said, amused, "and when you said my place I was convinced that you were just getting even with me."
"Don't be so paranoid."
"Hey, that's good. I never learned that word, and I'm majoring in-"
"Don't tell me," I cut him off, "psychology."
"Yeah." He grinned.
"You'll do anything for a laugh, won't you?" I tried to-look as if I were displeased, but I'm sure that I couldn't. I was having too much fun.
"Listen, it's late and! haven't got too much time. Why don't we eliminate the social amenities and go straight to bed." I wasn't trying to shock him, but he certainly did look shocked.
"My, you are business-like, aren't you?" he asked.
"I try hard."
"You don't have to try too hard with me, baby, I've waited more than a year to get a piece of your pussy all to myself." He practically licked his chops. "One little taste, and not even sloppy seconds. I love a sweet little snatch, and if you were that tight after who knows how many guys fucked you, think of what you'll be like when I've got you all to myself."
Suddenly I remembered who he was. He was one of the monster cocks at the end of the line. He certainly would live up to self-advertisement. He was a small stallion in size, and his balls hung loose, huge, inviting from a scrotum that was like the brown paper sack you carry lunch in. Yum yum.
We went straight into the bedroom, and got undressed quickly. I hadn't remembered inaccurately, there he was, Little Caesar in all his glory. He was one of the few who was not at a disadvantage in a crowd of other men, but he was by no means disappointing all by himself. He was huge no matter how you looked at him.
We went to bed, and sort of prowled around looking each other over. We finally settled down in one place, and started to suck on my left tit. I watched as his rod grew and stretched its skin taut. With a maniacal gleam in his eye he sucked on the other tit, so hard that I let out a little yelp.
"No marks. Do anything you like, but please don't leave any marks," I pleaded. "I'm getting married tomorrow."
He roared with laughter. "Listen, chickie, I won't leave any marks. I'm an expert, and I've never left any marks yet."
He licked my belly, and pulled me down flat onto the bed. He jammed his tongue into my crack, and sort of slobbered all over it, and licked at my clit. He reversed his body, and hung his cock and balls over my face, hoping that I'd get the idea. I did. On thing you've got to hand me, I'm not slow. Not when it comes to sex, anyway. I licked at his huge balls, and watched them move in their sac as if they had a mind of their own. The skin where my tongue had been reddened, and I kept on licking. I tried to get the hard red head of his cock into my mouth, but it was too big, so Jody clenched my head between his knees and thrust his cock down my throat. I gagged at first, but it didn't take me long to really get the hang of it. He had finesse. He knew just where to thrust so that he didn't rip my throat apart. He was like a combination Fritz and Rickey. Size and technique. After a while, I got tired of sucking on his cock, and disengaged myself, to reach up and stuck my tongue into his asshole, which was clean and hairless, like an unfolding rosebud. That'll throw him, I thought gleefully.
He stopped sucking on my pussy. "So that's the way you want to play, huh, chickie. Well, I can play that game, too." Overshooting my pussy a few inches, he buried his tongue in my ass, sending electric shocks of sensation through my body. We rolled over and over in bed in that position, writhing and sucking at each other's asses.
His cock kept bobbing and beating against his stomach, and soon, I longed to have him deep inside me. I stopped sucking, and pulled myself away from him and lay back on the bed.
"Come on stud, screw me. Give me your meat. Shove it in and fuck me." He didn't take much convincing.
He knelt between my spread legs, and started to ease into me. It didn't go very far in; he was just too thick. He paused, and reached over by the side of the bed. He got some vaseline out of the drawer.
"It isn't the first time that this has happened," he explained, almost shyly. "Size had its disadvantages."
"You don't have to apologize. I'm loving every minute of this." And I was.
"You'll love every inch of it, too, once I get inside you. Funny, though, you were the only girl I never had this trouble with when I fucked you that night."
"I had about two gallons of come in me to lubricate your way in, that night," I explained. He had a look of comprehension on his face that only matched his looks of anticipation.
He greased his cock, and got in between my knees again. Slowly, he eased his head in, and kept going, pushing, with the help of the vaseline. It moved in smoothly this time, and when he was completely in, he rested for a minute. And then he really started. In and out, I could feel every ridge, every vein, stretching me, pulling me. His hugeness was filling every crevice of me, and he managed to make contact with every part of my hole, inside and out. Even my clit. He reached down into my crotch, and with his finger, he diddled my clit, and I started to have crashing orgasms right away. All the while he stroked me with his monster prick, he diddled my clit and I kept coming and coming. Soon, he drew out, almost all the way, and pulled my legs around his middle. He moved to the side of the bed, and sat up, and with my legs still around his middle, he eased me all the way back onto him. He braced his feet on the bureau, and moved me back and forth on him with his strong, capable arms. I was in ecstasy. I continued to have multiple orgasms, but strangely, they weren't the body-wracking, soul-exhausting kind, and I could have gone all night, impaled on his cock, but just as I had what must have been my thirteenth orgasm, he started to gush into me, wetting my pussy all the way in. He pulled out to the tip of his penis, and just as he was finishing coming, he slammed into me with all his might, and with one last spasm, he emptied his last drop of come into me.
When we separated, he looked at me and said:
"You're good. I want to fuck you again. I know you can take it. I've seen you do it before."
"You're not too bad yourself, but I can't tonight. I told you I didn't have much time."
"But I'm still hot!" he protested, pointing to his still-hard, throbbing cock.
"How about if I suck you off?" I offered. "You jerk off until you're ready to come, and then I'll go down on you."
"Can I eat your pussy while I'm jerking off?" he asked.
"Sure, if you don't mind sucking your own come and vaseline besides," I told him.
Without any hesitation to speak of, he dove for my pussy, and started to eat it out like a champ, while he jerked the skin of his cock raw. He got my clit between his teeth and started to gnaw on it. He slid his hand up and down furiously, and watching him masturbate while he was sucking on my clit, got me hot all over again.
"I'm going to come," he cried, "I'm going to come!"
Instead of sucking his prick, which was all I had intended to do, I slammed my pussy onto his cock, just as he was about to come, and we both came together.
I was getting dressed, and Jody just lay there, his cock limp with exhaustion, just as he was, and before I left, I kissed him. Thrusting my tongue practically all the way down his throat, I remained for a long moment.
"You know, if you hadn't taken such good care of me tonight, that would have started me all over again." I was still ready for anything myself, but after all, I was going to be married the next day.
"You never did tell me why you were in such a hurry to get home, did you?" he asked, a curious look on his face.
"Yes, I did," I replied. "I'm going to get married. Tomorrow."
"I thought you were only kidding."
The sound of his laughter followed me out of the apartment and all the way down the stairs.
I got into the. car, and drove home, speeding all the way. I wanted to bathe before I went to bed, and lay out my wedding dress. I planned to stay in bed until it was time for me to get dressed for the ceremony.
When I got home, my parents were asleep, with the door to their bedroom shut tight. There was a note on my dresser in my mother's handwriting, which I didn't even bother to read. I knew what it would say, and I just wasn't ready for it at that precise moment.
I took a quick bath, and turned the air conditioner in my room up to its full force, and went to bed, after setting the alarm clock for twelve-thirty the next day.
When the alarm clock went off, I was still tired, but I managed to draw my bath. I went over my checklist, and found that everything was in order. I calculated that I had four hours to get ready for the ceremony, and got into the tub, determined to stay for at least an hour.
The photographer wasn't due for another hour and a half, and even allowing for a few minutes to keep him waiting downstairs, I had plenty of time to loll in the tub. Don was due at the same time with his parents and his two sisters, and after the photographer posed and took all the formal shots, we were to go to the chapel, and, I supposed, hear a homey little lecture on love and marriage from Rabbi Haas.
Everything went off as planned and if I say so myself, I didn't look too bad in my wedding dress at all. It played up my small waist and gave great emphasis to my tits, which made my poor mother practically faint every time she looked at me.
The pictures were taken, and the amenities observed. Don's father was half-plastered by the time we were ready to leave for Rabbi Haas' and so was my father. My mother only looked half-plastered. In truth, she was in a state bordering on hysteria.
In a caravan of cars, most of which were entirely unnecessary, we proceeded to the chapel. We managed somehow to get through the ceremony, even though Don looked green at the gills, and I felt as if I was about to shit in my pants at any moment. Afterwards, the two families paraded by us, and hugged and kissed and Mazeltoved to their hearts' content, and way past mine. Don just looked numb and benign, and we ate and drank until it was time for me to go upstairs to the room that the Rabbi's wife had provided for me to change into my going-away outfit.
Changed, I came down, and tossed my bouquet, which was really only a nosegay, but who's quibbling. Someone's maiden aunt, I'm not sure whose, Don's or mine, caught it, and a contented "AAAHH" was heard through the crowd.
Don and I got into the convertible, which was decorated with the usual white streamers, and in no time flat we were on our way to Atlantic City.
CHAPTER SIX
Don's driving was even more erratic than mine, but we arrived in Atlantic City in one piece. How I don't know. On the way, it became obvious to me that Don's-capacity for liquor had failed him on his wedding night.
The hotel clerk wasn't even mildly suspicious, which was a great disappointment, because I'd spent the whole ride down visualizing the grand scene that I'd play getting out my marriage certificate. I was even toying with the idea of going to the trouble of showing him the one in Hebrew, and having Don translate it for him with great pompous splendor. No luck. Don had made reservations weeks in advance, and had explained that we'd be newlyweds when we arrived. I guess they were expecting us. Nuts. To this day I regret not being able to flaunt my marriage certificate at the hotel clerk. It's too late now, and if I ever get married again, it won't be the same kind of fun.
We got up to the room, and after the bellhop arranged the bed, turning down the pillow elaborately, and fiddled with the air-conditioner controls,, which didn't really work, Don broke down and gave him a dollar tip.
He went out of the room satisfied, and alone at last, I thought that we would at least exchange kisses. But no, Don went into the bathroom and got into his pajamas. I went in after he was through, and got a shower, and fixed my hair, and arranged my nightgown until I thought everything was perfect. I stepped out into the bedroom, expecting Don to be sitting up in bed eagerly waiting for me. I must admit, I was pretty eager myself, because even though I'd been screwed before, it would be my first time with him. There was still a bit of the first time excitement I thought that virgin brides would feel, if only because of this.
To my surprise, Don was sound asleep.
The next night was no better. After a full day of swimming and playing on the beach, I was so sunburned that even the thought of being touched was repellent to me. The third night, Don had an attack of diarrhea, and so he didn't feel much like doing anything that night, either. The fourth night, I masturbated while I was in the shower, because I was so frustrated by that time I couldn't see straight, and I was lucky. Again, when I was all finished getting ready for bed, he was asleep.
As strange as it may sound, we drove back from Atlantic City without having made even a vague move at consummating our marriage, and if I had known then what I know now, I probably would have had it annulled. Non-consummation being perfectly valid grounds for annulment.
As it was though, I was pretty dumb, and I didn't bother, because I was hot only determined to make the marriage work, I was, at that point, determined to remain faithful as well.
When we got back to the city, we went right to bed, exhausted from the drive, and to tell the truth I wasn't about to press the point. I didn't want Don to be embarrassed, and more than that, I felt so good just having him in bed next to me while I slept that it wasn't as frustrating as I thought it would be at first, thinking that it might go on like that for quite a while. As long as I masturbated two or three times a day, it didn't get on my nerves at all.
Don and I were so wrapped up in registration at first, and then in our schoolwork that it really didn't seem to be an issue, any more than it had while we were dating. In between my studying, and writing papers for my senior seminar courses, I did the housework, and cooked a hot meal for Don every night. I even darned a few pairs of his socks, when I discovered that we didn't have enough extra money to get new ones after we had paid for my books and some special laboratory equipment that Don needed and that the University wouldn't supply for him. Every Friday night we went out, just like before, so I wasn't too far from wrong in my assessment of the situation. The one I'd formed before we got married, I mean.
It went on like that for a while, and the only hard part of the whole thing was turning down those perfectly gorgeous men who would proposition me. It made no difference to them that I was married now, but it made a big difference to me. At least I worked hard so that it did.
It went on that way until the Thanksgiving break. It was the first long weekend of the year, and thinking that we would have too much work, I turned down invitations for dinner all around. My mother was hurt, but then again, she couldn't really, have managed it, because she had just had a nervous breakdown, poor dear, and just days before had been released from the sanatorium.
Don's mother invited us as well, but Don insisted that we couldn't very well accept an invitation from his mother when we had turned down one from mine. He was always fair that way, Don was, giving credit where credit was due. Invitations from friends were easier. We simply told them that finals were just around the corner for me, and that Don had reached a crucial stage in his research, and that neither one of us could afford to spend any appreciable amount of time away from our work. It wasn't any great wrench for me to say this, because I had never enjoyed social-type folderol in the first place, and in the second place, I thought I was telling the truth.
Actually though, Don had other things on his mind. I found out later, and I shouldn't have been so surprised, but I was. After a simple dinner in the apartment (I had made a roast chicken instead of a turkey, because after all, the leftovers from a five-pound chicken were going to be hard enough to get rid of, and I had a lot of trouble finding a chicken that small, let me tell you. Everyone else was looking for the largest bird he could find; I must have been the only one searching for a skinny chicken that Thanksgiving, instead of a fat turkey.) Don and I sat listening to records because even though we refused invitations to go out, he convinced me that with the whole country stopping all of their normal business for four days, we could at least take a few hours off.
He put on Ravel's Bolero, and after that, there was some very romantic and exciting music by Franck, We were both feeling mellow, and Don came over and sat next to me on the sofa, putting his arm around me. I think that was the first affection he had ever displayed towards me, and we had been married nearly three months! I snuggled up close to him, and he started to caress my nipples gently. At last we were getting someplace, even if it had taken us three months of marriage and more than a year of courtship to do it!
I lifted my face up to his, and he kissed me, chastely, without opening his mouth. I insinuated my tongue between his lips, and explored the inside of his mouth. He was so big, that it surprised me that it took him no special effort to be gentle. I'm only five one, and with his height and bulk it wouldn't have been any trick at all for him to break me in half.
He took my hands and led me to the bedroom, and for the first time since we were married he actually got undressed in front of me. I was pleased. This was real progress. At last he was feeling comfortable enough with me to share our bed, and to leave all childish modesty behind. I undressed as well, trying not to watch him too obviously for fear that it would turn him off.
When he got into bed, I restrained myself from grabbing his cock, because I knew from experience that in the best of circumstances, that can have a prove-it-to-me connotation, which was the last thing I wanted to imply. We had just taken our first giant step forward together and I didn't want to take ten backward by losing control of myself.
He took my face in his hands, and kissed me, breathing in and out, sharing the life's breath between us. I was deeply moved by the beauty of his first gestures of love. I hadn't made a mistake in marrying him after all.
He reached down and caressed my breasts, and I started to get deeply excited as I had never been before. No one had ever treated me with such tenderness and respect. It was always, it would seem, screw and suck and be wild and animalistic, which had its place, and I wasn't knocking it, but no time before, with no one had I ever felt this deep warm glow of well-being rise from deep within me and suffuse my whole being so entirely. Here at last was a real human being, with real feelings and emotions. A big strong man who wasn't afraid of being tender and warm and gentle. His touch electrified me. My only confusion was why he had waited so long before. Maybe, I reasoned with myself, it was just that the timing was all wrong, what with school and all. And besides, I tried to convince myself, there's no rule that says you have to be fucked on the first night.
This was absolute heaven. He was kissing me all over, and I was sure that the time was ripe for me to risk touching him. I started at his deep strong chest, hairy with an overgrowth that could have been a sweater it was so dense. I traveled my hand down to his groin, and discovered that he was still soft.
He snarled at me. "Okay, so you've found out. I'm impotent. But not completely. I can get a hard-on." His face was contorted and ugly. "But if you want me to get hard, you'll have to tell me about the night you got gang-fucked by a whole fraternity." He looked at me.
"You think that stories haven't gotten around? I waited for three months hoping that just having the most notorious body on campus would excite me enough. But nothing happened. I waited for three months, reading dirty books on the john at work, between experiments in the lab, trying to get hard enough to jerk off. I'd have blue balls otherwise."
His face was crumpled in a pitiful look. I felt sorry for him. This man was my husband.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Dora," he explained, an amused look of self-contempt on his face, "you're sexy enough. I would get hard as nails, and jerk off three or four times when the guys talked about you at night in the dorms. You can do it for every other guy, but you haven't done it for me. There's something wrong with me. I'm a eunuch, Worse yet, maybe I'm queer."
He looked as if he were going to cry, but he continued. "The night you and I ran into that guy from the fraternity, I got so excited thinking about it afterwards that I came as soon as I pulled on my meat the first couple of times. Thinking about the two of you together, screwing in front of all those other people made me hot again, so I jerked off using my own come as lubrication. I'm really a sick one, aren't I? I'd better just stick to my test tubes and centrifuges."
This man, stripped so naked, so vulnerable in front of me was more than he had ever been before that night, my husband. I wanted to soothe his strafed nerve endings and tell him, softly, sincerely, that no matter how long it took, I'd wait until he was ready for me on his own terms, but I knew deep inside me that he needed me now, tonight, and that delay would be disastrous.
"Give me your hand," I directed, and when he obeyed, I placed his fist into my cunt. "More men have fucked that and sucked it than I can count, starting when I was nine years old. Feel it, wet your fingers in the juice." I paused and shoved his hand up farther, causing me to palpitate and heat. "Do you like that?" I looked at him, and he averted his eyes. "Look at me," I commanded. "I asked you if you liked to feel my taut, my sweet pussy. Tell me, do you like it?"
He swallowed hard and nodded his head.
"Well, if you like it, play with it, diddle it." He explored for a while. "Do you know what a clit is?" I asked him. Again he only nodded. I took his hand, and directed it all the way up into the crevice where, almost hidden, my clit throbbed and begged to be played with. I took one finger of his hand at a time and diddled myself with each one of them.
"Do you still want to hear me tell about the time I got gang-fucked?" He said yes, but I could barely hear his voice, it was so faint.
I started to recite the details of the night. He listened impatiently until I got to the part where they tore of all of my clothes. His breathing got harder, and more labored. "And then one after the other, they got on top of me and plowed their huge, hot cocks into me, ripping me open, and lubricating me for the next one with their come. They saved all the monster cocks for last, and even they slithered in easily on top of all their fraternity brothers' come. I wrapped my legs around each newcomer," and here, I giggled at the unconscious pun. It is to Don's eternal credit that even considering the situation, he too was able to laugh a bit. I continued. "I wrapped my legs around them, and they plowed into me, with the lips of my pussy sucking them dry. One guy was queer I think, because he lapped my cunt out good before he mounted me, tasted all the mingled come before he got hard."
Don was finger-fucking me like crazy by now, and I reached down to see if he was hard. Not quite, but enough. I pulled him by the cock and guided him into my waiting pussy and he expanded inside of me to proportions I wouldn't have believed possible from any man, let alone one who had told me not ten minutes ago that he was hopelessly impotent. He filled me like no one ever had, not one of the monster cocks at the fraternity house, not Eric, not Fritz, no one. He was a little clumsy, but with direction and patience I knew he would be a good lover.
"Come on," I coaxed, "fuck the piss out of me. You're the best. Oh, little pussy's never had a cock like Don's. Come on plow it in, ram it home. Fuck, good-good fuck baby wants Daddy's fuck, come on, ram it. home."
"I want to fuck you raw," he rasped, jamming his engine into me, driving me mad. "I want to rip the skin off your pussy. Daddy'll fuck you like you've never been fucked before," he moaned aping the words with his actions, carrying me away with transports of sheer ecstasy.
Stroke after stroke, he pushed his ramrod into me, bouncing onto the diaphragm and tearing it to shreds. I was in such ecstasy that I didn't even care. He jammed and rammed, going all the way up inside me stretching my uterus, banging against its walls. I couldn't tell where the pleasure stopped and the pain began. He dug his fingernails into my flesh shooting searing stabs of pain through my body like electric shocks. His stroke was long and deliberate now, and he wasn't afraid to come almost all the way out before he rammed his prick all the way back into me. He was too big for me to wrap my legs around, but I just about was able to throw them back.
He held them up that way, and started to whisper.
"I love that pussy, sweet pussy, your pussy, love your pussy, suck pussy, I'm fucking your little pussy-gonna bang your pussy to shreds." He repeated it over and over again like a magic charm as he continued to ream me savagely. I was starting to contract, and have spasms, and the lips of my cunt grabbed hold of his stallion's cock and squeezed as if it had a mind all of its own. He quivered, and I could feel the skin of his scrotum as his balls beat a tattoo on my ass, and the skin started to contract and vibrate, and even in my ecstasy, I could feel his balls as they rotated wildly, and then-he came. Hot gushing spurts, filling me with an ocean of thick creamy white liquid, quenching fires, and starting new ones. I could feel the quick spasms jerking through my body, leaving waves of convulsive heat in their tracks, and soon it was over. He was spent, and so was I. We fell asleep in each other's arms.
The next morning I awoke more refreshed than I can recall ever being before.
As luck would have it, Don got me pregnant with the first try. I'm most fertile at the end of the month and thereabouts, and there's a good chance that even if the diaphragm had remained intact, I would have gotten pregnant anyway. That's what the gynecologist said to console me when I had explained what happened. He said that little or no effectiveness can be expected from any contraceptive technique in the most fertile five days. "Not anything," he explained with care, "not a condom, not a diaphragm, not even the old slice of lemon." I nearly laughed out loud when he told me that. Even with his informative little lecture the doctor didn't convince me that tearing the diaphragm helped matters any.
I have no regrets though. Simone is a beautiful little girl, and I wouldn't trade her for all the money in the world. She's the only thing I have to show for my ten years of marriage, aside .from a thirty-five thousand dollar house, a full-length mink coat, a diamond necklace and two cars, and Carrying a baby is no picnic anyway, nine months of dragging another life around with you as if it were a permanently attached suitcase, but like everything else in my life I had to find an even harder way to do it. I started staining badly in my third month, and they thought I was going to lose the baby. When a month went by, and I was still carrying, three different doctors told me to go right to bed, and wait for a miscarriage that was going to be pretty messy. I told them it would have to be messy with me going to classes: business as usual. I was never one to let anyone stand in my way, even if it was my own unborn, or soon to be stillborn infant.
Classes were rough, and careening around with my huge belly didn't make them any easier. I was a tiny girl then, and still am now, and every ounce of weight the baby gained showed on me, and how. The fact that the damn kid was supposed to be dead and rotting inside me, made the weight gain a bit scary. Well, if I was going to die of cancer, or a hydrated mole or whatever they called it, I was at least going to be buried with a college degree.
I'd stomp upstairs to class, and practically roll down again afterwards, feeling every damn separate ounce the whatever weighed pulling on my sacroiliac one at a time,, each in its turn. I continued to do well in school, but the worry of what was going to happen with things there, really made it difficult. The continuing ordeal of "Dora Faces Life" was not easy.
Don took a great load off my mind by not bothering me, and obsessed with guilt at what he'd done to me on our "maiden voyage" together, having to see the result day in and day out, he took refuge with an analyst whose name was, appropriately enough, Dr. Butcher. Dr. Butcher became Don's mother, father, wife and child to him, and I didn't complain about it a bit. Every time I felt the weight of my burden shift or heave, the thought of frivolous sex became more and more nauseating.
I stuck it out until May, and then I heard, or rather, felt, a heartbeat, and rushed off to my doctor who listened to my thing with a stethoscope, and then he heard and confirmed my thing's heartbeat. I found out, just in time for graduation, in my sixth month, that I was going to have a baby, not a thing, after all.
With Don and my father in the auditorium to cheer me on silently, I received my B.A. degree in English. I would have liked to have had my mother in the audience as well, but unfortunately, she took to bed practically the same moment she heard that I was great with child. I don't know whether it was sympathy, or envy, but there she went, and there she stayed for the whole nine months.
As soon as graduation exercises were over, I took to bed myself, and prayed every day that I would have a baby and not a horrible monster. I read "Madame Bovary" again, and "Anna Karenina," along with some old comic books that Don managed to get in a swap for some perfectly good test tubes that he couldn't use. I preferred Little Lulu to Batman, myself, but beggars can't be choosers.
The three months passed quickly, and I went into the hospital right on schedule, and dropped the baby, Simone, a five pound, seven ounce girl, with no trouble at all. Giving birth was the least troublesome part of the whole process. These guys who are working on test tube babies, babies born what they call "in vitro" have the right idea. Who wants to drag all that excess weight around with her. When the thing becomes optional, you just wait and see how many stupid broads still carry their babies around with them in their bellies. Zero per cent pal, absolutely zero.
Simone was, and is completely normal in every way, except that she's a little bit too bright for my own good. The machine is completely sensitized.
She was no trouble at all to take care of, and as a matter-of-fact, it was great fun to have her around, and just enjoy! It was nice to have an excuse not to have to read, or do papers for classes, and remember that I didn't even need an excuse, legitimate or otherwise. My interest in the baby didn't fade, but as my stitches healed and were removed, and my crotch didn't ache every time I moved in a chair, my sexual urges started to return. Don, however, was still deep in the throes of his therapy with Doctor Butcher, which I began to resent deeply. There was enough money from his scholarships and various stipends to support us nicely while he finished his research, but there was hardly enough to pay the breakneck fees that the doctor charged and still survive.
His justification, Don told me, for charging his ludicrously high fees varied from session to session. One time it was the plaint that psychiatrists have to eat too, and my answer to that was "not caviar" while I was trying to stretch chili for three. Then, another time, he reminded Don that only if he paid dearly for his therapy would he take it seriously enough for it to do any good. My answer to that was the therapy would be fine, but my husband would die of exhaustion and malnutrition meanwhile, trying to keep the therapy going.
His final argument was a corker. He told Don that he had a right to charge in accordance with the expense incurred getting his highly technical, expert knowledge. But why Don. I discovered that this same Doctor Butcher was treating patients at the clinic for free, and that some of them earned more than Don did! This really raised my hackles. I tried to convince Don that the best therapy he could get would be to fuck his wife every once in awhile, and he just ran to Butcher the next day to ask if it was all right.
Having gotten the stamp of approval from the good doctor, Don managed to lay me once or twice a week, and it was better than masturbation, or better than nothing at the very least, but my depression kept increasing and towards spring, I found myself going out of my way to take Simone for walks on campus, or in the park. Sometimes, when the weather wasn't quite good enough, I took her to the music room of the University library, and dandled her on my knee while I listened to music through earphones.
It was ridiculous, because I always listened to the same records I could hear at home, with better sound equipment and less inconvenience, but in the back of my mind the nebulous hope that maybe I'd meet a sexy-looking man was always lurking.
I knew that I had sort of promised myself that I would be faithful to Don, but he wasn't making it easy. Any of you who always blame the wife when she cheats, listen to me. Half of the wives who cheat will do it eventually anyway, but of the half who were-determined never to cheat, no matter what their past was like, and end up cheating anyway, there's probably more to it than just being weak-willed. They probably aren't getting enough at home. I said before that I thought that insufficient sex was the cause of a lot of the problems that men have to suffer with. The same thing goes for women.
Anyway, one day a really nice-looking guy, about thirty or so, followed me from the music room to the park, and sat down next to Simone and me on the bench.
"Hiya, cutie," he said to Simone. "Do you want to introduce me to your big sister."
"I'm young enough not to need flattery like that," I told him. "I'm her mother. Simone, say hello to the man." She gurgled and showed him a tooth.
"Hello, Simone, I'm Randy."
"Hello, Randy," I cooed, "I'm Dora."
"All right," he explained. "Now that we're all properly introduced, I can invite you out for coffee."
"Simone doesn't drink coffee, thank you," I told him, suddenly wary of the speed with which he worked.
He looked straight into my eyes, and said:
"But Dora does, doesn't she?"
I admitted that I would love a cup of coffee, but that it was a little dangerous to be seen together on campus, what with my husband working at the physics labs so close by.
"Why, Dora," he said, in mock horror, "whatever can you think of me! What on earth do you think I have in mind?"
"The same thing I do, if you're smart," I countered.
He looked me straight in the eye. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue that goes deep into you.
"All right then, my place or yours?" I could see that he was testing me for a reaction. I wanted to go with him right then and there, but I was having second thoughts about the whole thing. After all, I was a wife and a mother, for however little it was worth.
"How about if I take a rain check?" I tried to return his direct gaze without flinching. I couldn't. "You give me your telephone number, and I'll call you."
"You won't call, I know that," he said sadly. "But I'll give you the number anyway." He wrote it down on a piece of paper.
"I guess it goes without saying that you won't give me yours." He looked at Simone, and then back at me.
"You don't need it," I answered. "I'm going to call you tomorrow. I promise."
"Okay, I'll wait and see. I'm a skeptic."
"Listen, kiddo, you've got nothing to lose, absolutely zero, if I don't call you, and everything to gain if I do call you, so don't complain." I tried to make it sound light and flip, but I think it probably sounded hard and cold.
"I won't hold that last comment against you; I still want you to call."
He got up and walked away. I looked at the piece of paper. It said:
Randy Lammett, Room 345, Hotel Brittany.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I knew that it was no use kidding myself about Randy Lammett as I lay in bed next to Don's inert form. I hadn't been laid anything near like regularly since we were married nearly two years before, and if the depression got any deeper, I would fly out and never come back. I hated to do it to Don, and I tried to convince myself that it was all my fault, that if I were any decent kind of woman, I would wait until he was ready for me on his own terms, but it was no good. I couldn't think of a single normal woman who wouldn't stray from the path if her husband treated her the way Don treated me, or didn't treat me, which is closer to the truth.
I didn't sleep all that night for arguing pros and cons with myself, as if that did any good. My mind was made up practically from the moment he followed us out of the library. I hated to admit it to myself, but the truth is the truth, no matter how painful it may be to face. I wanted to get fucked again, and Randy Lammett was the first decent-looking male who'd paid any attention at all to me since Simone was born. Except for Don, that is, and I had gotten to the point where I would rather go unfucked than be driven crazy by his half-hearted attempts to please me. The damned trouble was that I wouldn't mind it if he was perverse, or even perverted, just so long as he did it with all his energy, but he was so determined that he would have normal sex, in the normal "polite" way that it destroyed every possibility we could have had together, at least as long as he held on to that insane idea. Whenever we tried to make love, I would end up more frustrated than I'd been before. To taste what he could have been and never to have it again was not only a frustration to me, it was a real tragedy.
And besides, the pitiful way he would go about it. He would lie there daydreaming about something or other, with his back to me, waiting, and praying for a hard-on. If by some miracle he got hard, he would roll over and ask:
"Uh, Dora, do you want to-uh, put it `in'?"
Now the reason he would wait like that, I imagine, was so that he wouldn't offend my sensibilities with what he thought were sick fantasies. His guilt was so pervasive that he refused to bother me unless he already had an erection. Now, me, I'm kind of adaptable, you might say. What some people call pragmatic. No fantasy you use is sick, if it helps you give pleasure to someone else and to get pleasure yourself. The first time Don fucked me the games we played might be considered absurd, or even sad, but by heaven, they got me fucked like I never had been by one man before, and hadn't been since. The trouble was that Don was too busy getting "healthy" to realize just what he was depriving me of.
When Don just lay there, sleeping, and didn't even bother to peck me goodnight on the cheek, I was furious, but still, I knew that I was in my own way trying to find enough fuel, for a fire big enough, to justify my contemplated infidelity.
All night long I rationalized it one way and the other, and finally, on towards morning, having resolved nothing, and worn out from the struggle, I fell asleep. In its way, sleep solves a lot of problems. I dreamed about Randy Lammett that morning, although the odd thing about the dream was that in the dream, Randy had no face. That's why I remembered it. I knew when I woke up, that I was going to call Randy. I had known it all along, of course, but still, I would have felt just a little cheap if I hadn't lost some sleep over it.
Don was a dear. He always changed and fed Simone first thing in the morning and put her back into the crib to play until I woke up. That morning it was no different. Simone played quietly by herself in the crib until I got up, still tired, and changed her again. She gurgled and cooed at me, and I'm sure she said, "Mama," a couple of times.
I had coffee, and talked to my daughter while she played little games in the playpen. I tried to gather my wits and courage about me to call Randy. It took a few minutes.
I dialed the phone to get information, and got the number to the Hotel Brittany, and dialed again.
"Room 345," I said when the hotel switchboard answered. I waited.
"I'm ringing," she said nasally. A minute later she said, "I'm still ringing." Another minute went by, and she reassured me, "Still ringing, miss." I was just about to hang up and call it a lost cause when the operator told me, "Go ahead please."
"Hello," Randy's voice came sleepily. "Who is it?"
"The girl in the park. Do you remember me?" I asked.
"Do you forget your own name once you learn it?" he fairly shouted into the phone. "Boy! Am I glad you called! You're wrong about one thing, though."
"What's that?" I asked, curious.
"You're not a girl, honey; you're a woman."
"That's nice to know. I don't feel like one lately."
"What's the matter, aren't you getting enough?"
"You know, I wish I could say that that was an impertinent question, but I can't, not after yesterday." I was almost ashamed of myself, but I didn't quite manage it.
"You still haven't answered my question," Randy said.
"No," I said flatly, "I'm not getting enough. I want to come and see you. I feel like I've got a wild beast gnawing at my entrails."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yes." I was getting hot just thinking of the possibility of being with him.
"Well, if you can find your way over here, bring Simone and we'll all have a good time."
"Maybe I ought to leave the kid with a baby-sitter?" I wondered aloud.
"Suit yourself, but won't your husband wonder about that?" he asked.
"He might, but I'll tell him that I felt like going downtown to shop. I can call him at work and ask him to pick up the baby at Mrs. Hart's house and pick me up at Wanamaker's or something. I'll work it out."
"You sound experienced at this kind of thing," Randy said.
"That's a lousy thing to say. This is the first time since I got married, and I wouldn't do it now unless I were really desperate."
"Okay, I believe you, but all this discussion isn't getting anything done about the situation. How long do I have to wait?" He sounded as impatient as I felt.
"Give me an hour. I want to shower and dress, and I've got to drop Simone off at Mrs. Hart's, but that's all right. She's always home, and she lives two buildings down from us."
"Okay, see you soon," he said, and rang off. An hour later, I was in the lobby of the Brittany Hotel, waiting for the switchboard operator to announce me.
"It's all right miss, he's expecting you. You can go right on up."
I took the elevator, and got off at the third floor. The elevator operator pointed out the direction I had to follow to find Randy's room, and I went down the hall. When I found the room, I rang the buzzer over a card slot with his name inserted. Apparently, he was' a permanent resident there.
"Come on in, the door's open," he yelled from somewhere on the other side of the door. When I walked in, he was directly on the other side of the door, sitting naked facing me. He was playing with his cock, which was nice sized, and uncircumcised. He was hairy, almost as hairy as Don, but he was blonder, and smaller. I hadn't noticed the day before, but he had a cleft chin, and the dimple was so deep that it was practically a hole. He sat there, posing for me, and chafing his cock, displaying the most obvious attributes of his manhood for me in the most brazen manner he could. To follow suit, I closed the door behind me, and started taking off my clothes on my way across the room. With each article I stopped and spun around, and he started humming "A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody" in bump-and-grind time. I played the game too. As I walked I bumped, after each article of clothing I took off; when I got in front of his chair, I was completely naked.
"C'mere, and let me get a taste of your snatch," he ordered, and I went Up to him, and let him eat my pussy. I got tired of that after not too long, and I knelt down between his legs and sucked his cock. His fingers twined in my hair and coaxed me down farther and farther, down all the way to the base.
He pulled me up to my feet, and drew me to him, spreading his legs wide so that there was plenty of room for me to stand between them. His cock was standing straight up, and because I am so short, he was able to tease my cunt with the feel of its tip. With my two hands I spread my pussy apart, exposing the inner lips, and pushed the head of his cock slowly inward, gently downward, until he made contact with my hole. Moving forward, I eased his cock into me, and when he was all the way in, I had to stoop forward slightly to keep him from coming out again. I moved back and forth, ever so slightly, the slow and easy sensations of fucking being all I could handle at first, after so long. It felt good to have a cock inside me again after so long.
He caressed my ass while we fucked, and insinuating his finger into the crack, he searched for my other hole. Gently, he probed on the outside, and finding no resistance, he continued to push inward with his finger until I was filled with him, front and back. I leaned over and took his lips to mine hungrily and sucked them, and gnawed at the tender flesh on the inside. I pushed my tongue deep inside his mouth and matched the movement of our bodies with it. It felt good to have him inside me, moving gently like that, but he was building no heat in me, and I longed for him to slam his cock home, ramming his balls up against my ass as he did.
I leaned back, and fell to the floor and he followed me down, and then he tickled my pussy with his rod, rotating it just a little. The heat was beginning to build, and my juice was beginning to flow. He kissed me and played with my nipples which hardened and excited at his touch. So long without a fuck, I was beginning to go crazy. I rolled over, pushing him until he was on the bottom, and started to ride him like a horse, rocking back and forth, clenching his cock between the tight bps of my pussy, forcing every inch of him inside me, filling my wet throbbing cunt with his stick. The mingled smells of our bodies, and of our sweat filled the room, as I reached my first wet, aching orgasm, convulsing and contracting, Randy's face was contorted in ecstasy, but still he didn't come. He rolled over on top of me, and drawing his cock out to the tip, he began to go in and out in quick small motions, not moving very far, staying right next to my clit, and I thought that any minute, he would slam his cock into me and draw it out again, and slam back in, but no, he kept moving quickly right on the verge of the inside, not really out, not really in, either, and the heat and sensation began to build towards a fever pitch that I could hardly stand. He contracted, and I knew he was about to come. Fearful that he would fall out of me from the force of his orgasm, I lifted my hips and wrapped my legs around him. Forcing him in with my legs, and keeping him there, I rotated my hips wildly, and contracted fiercely, trying to make him come. I worked and worked, until at last the look of contorted pain mixed with pleasure changed and the unmistakable look of release pervaded him, as he unloaded into me. I had only one orgasm, but that was enough, because it was my first since that night with Don, three months after we were married. A year and a half is a long long time to go without a real orgasm. It just isn't the same when you masturbate. There is always the point, just before you reach the peak of excitement that you wish you had a cock jammed inside you all the way up to the throat, choking you, filling you, for your hungry twat to grab onto while it contracted and convulse in crazy spasms.
We sort of crawled up on the bed, and lay down together, and rested. We must have fallen asleep, because when I looked at the clock, what seemed like moments afterward, it was quarter to one. I rolled lazily over in bed, and shook Randy.
"I've got to go now," I told him. "If I'm going to get anything done, so that my husband doesn't suspect, I've got to leave now."
"Do you really feel like leaving?" Randy asked.
I told him no, but explained to him as best as I could that I had other things to consider. He waved all of my explanations away, as if they counted for nothing.
"You must realize that I have other things to do beside getting fucked by you," I said to him, vastly annoyed. "What occupies your time that you're free during the day like this?" I was honestly curious.
The hotel wasn't what you would call luxurious, but it did have a certain charm to it. An air about it. It couldn't have been cheap. And yet, there he was, in the middle of the day, with no job to go to, apparently, at least that day, anyway. But the day before, I had met him in the middle of the day, and he had spent at least as much time in the music room of the library as I had. Maybe he worked weekends.
"I'm a composer," he said, cutting into my thoughts. "Or, if you prefer, I'm just a plain old songwriter. I do the music for cabaret shows and book revues."
"That sounds interesting." Interesting, it was fascinating.
"It isn't, really. It's just a job to get money to eat with. The market is unbelievably regular, and I get them produced as fast as I write them. Most of the stuff is crap, but it fills a gap in places where there are nightclubs but no regular theaters."
"But that's marvelous," I gushed. "Think of all the musicians who write and have talent, but can't get their work heard. At least you have some kind of a showcase."
"A showcase, yes, but it isn't my work. It just provides me with the money and time to work on what I really want to work on. These things are just musical rehashes of every corny thing that's been done, well or badly in the past fifty million years. They're the kind of thing you see on cabaret or theater night at Grossinger's and places like that. Background noise for drinkers."
"You sound cynical." I looked at him questioningly.
"I am. I've gotten used to a standard of living, and now I can't give it up. Producing these things fast enough to get as much money as I need to keep all this," he waved his arm at the room, "cuts into the time I should be using to write serious stuff."
"Why don't you take the money you've saved and just devote all your time to your serious music for a while. When you run out of money, you can write another show for the nightclub market and go back to work on your serious stuff again when you're through." I thought I'd come up with the perfect solution.
"Can you really be that naive?" he asked. "How old are you?"
"Just past twenty-one," I replied.
"Come dear, and let me show you why what you suggest is impossible."
He led me to a door and opened it. What I had thought was just a closet turned out to be a very complete looking music room, with many different instruments and a vast library of what I thought were music books. I went in and looked at the titles, and found that they were music books.
"This room is specially soundproofed. I can write its use and cost off as a tax deduction, which helps, but, you see, I'd need all this equipment to work anyway. How would I pay for a large enough apartment and still eat. There has to be room enough for the instruments and me, and it's got to be completely and effectively soundproofed so I can work whenever I want to. Music is the only creative profession that still really depends on patrons. You've either got to have one or be your own, and I'm my own." He looked deep into my eyes. "How do you propose I support my 'family' on my savings of, the last time I checked, exactly ten dollars and eighty-five cents?"
He had me stumped there.
"All of this is fascinating to me, Dora," Randy said. "I'm my own favorite topic of discussion. But you said you've got things to do, and this isn't getting them done."
"Do you want to fuck me again? I'm starting to get horny all over now."
He didn't answer me. He simply closed the door and led me back to the bed. I lay down on my back; waiting for him to mount me and plunge his hot cock into me, but he rolled me over on my stomach, instead.
"I've already had your pussy. I want to screw your ass now." There was a harsh and demanding note to his voice and he wrenched my legs apart. He spit into his hand and wet my ass, and spit again, this time wetting his cock. He put the head of his prick onto the hole.
"Lift your ass a little," he directed, and I did as he told me, which forced him in just past the opening.
"Cross your legs at the ankles," he said, and again I followed his instructions, which moved his heavy, throbbing cock farther into me. It didn't hurt, but it did feel a little uncomfortable. He kept instructing me to cross my legs higher, until, when I couldn't cross them any more, he was all the way in. Then he told me to uncross my legs and squeeze out, as if I were going to the bathroom. I did what he told me, and gasped at the pain. It made no difference to him, and just as I was about to scream at the top of my lungs, he plunged into me, and out again, and kept up the rhythm so that I had no time to feel uncomfortable in any one place too long.
It was starting to be exciting, and I met every thrust of his cock with my ass, and the heat was starting to collect in my groin, back to front. He reached down and grabbed my ankle, and stopping for a moment, he revolved my body, still stuck on his prick, using my leg as a lever.
When I faced him, he threw my legs back, and pumped into my asshole with frightening force, and at the same time used his hands to play with my pussy. He fucked my ass, and shoved one hand up my cunt as far as it would x go, and squeezed my clit with the other. I wasn't as sensitive back there as I was in front, so I couldn't feel it when he was getting ready to come. The only indication of it that I had was that he played with my cunt more furiously at a faster and faster pace, causing me to come in crashing spasms several times before he emptied his load into me.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Like I've been split in two. But good," I replied.
"That's not what I meant. Do you still feel like you've got a beast gnawing at your entrails?"
"No." I grinned at him, "now I feel like one integrated beast."
"You'd better shower before you get dressed again."
I showered and got dressed, and kissed him one last time before I left.
"Will I see you again?" he asked.
"If you want to. Should I leave you my phone number?"
"Only if you really want to," he told me. "Are you sure it's all right?"
"As long as you don't use it before eleven, or after four, everything will be just fine."
I wrote down the number and went on about my business.
CHAPTER TEN
Randy and I saw an awful lot of each other for the next year and a half. There were no "incidents" to speak of, and we never fought. It was an interesting diversion, but the longer it went on the more boring it got.
Donald began to make love to me more frequently, and though it still wasn't enough, my needs either diminished or his techniques improved to the point where he wasn't leaving me quite so frustrated. The closer I got to Donald the farther away I grew from Randy, which was just as well. He started to have a vogue as a composer and conductor, and he had less time for me as time went on.
Donald moved towards the day of getting his Ph.D. and got some fabulous job offers that were more than just attractive financially. Each one of them would have made Donald just as happy, because for him, the work was as important and as interesting as the money.
One job though was more interesting than the rest, purely because it had a forty thousand dollar bonus attached to a four year contract and that enabled us to buy a house. Donald eventually learned to hate the group leader on his research project, but it was only for four years, and having a grand house, fully and beautifully furnished was not to be sneezed at. By the time Simone was four, her father was moving up quite a ways in the world. Donald hit a point in his research for the company, which I can't name, where he not only got to work on his own, without the harassment of Porter, his group leader, but the work itself became more interesting.
It was nearly fatal to our relationship, because he paid less attention to me than he had in the period right before the last few months of his Ph.D. I was starting to go crazy again, but the suburban neighborhood where we lived offered little or no opportunity to stray. The only men I saw were the delivery men, and I started toying with the idea of seducing them when I got involved with a phone repairman quite by accident. He was a Swede, and spoke with the peculiar cadence that you often hear burlesqued to a ludicrous point by tasteless comedians.
I was alone with him in the reception room trying to explain what was wrong with the phone, and he bent down to see if it was the cord connection that was causing it.
He bent from the waist, and the muscles of his behind stood out in beautiful relief, straining against the cloth of his levis. Almost unconsciously my hand rested on his ass, and liking the feel, and not quite realizing what I was doing, I let it rest there.
"Maybe the missus likes Steph's ass," he said, in that cadence which I dare not try to duplicate on paper. "Maybe the missus like, to see Steph's beautiful body. Steph's awfully proud of body you know."
There was a peculiar charm to him. His tight curly blond hair, and the bulging muscles, and the smile with the space between the front teeth were all nearly irresistible. If this was a come-on his approach was at least novel.
"Sure Steph," I told him, "the missus would just love to see Steph's beautiful body."
He had nothing on under his flannel shirt and jeans and he was stripped down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. He was gorgeous. The muscles bulged all by themselves, twisting and turning with every slight movement of his body. There was no need for him to flex and pose. This was a body that got that way from being used and used well. It wasn't from weight lifting. From swimming, from boxing, from dancing from skiing, from all these things, but it had developed naturally with the right proportions everywhere. He was superb.
"Maybe Steph like to see missus's body, hhmmm?" I asked.
"Sure, missus. Steph like that."
I got undressed.
Steph sure did like that. His long fat cock swelled, the head moving out of its foreskin, wet at the tip.
Without the nearly music hall accent, he .said:
"Boy, I sure do like those tits of yours."
"Hey!" I hollered. "Where'd the accent go?"
"It's on the floor with the rest of the clothes I wear when I'm working. They fall for it every time."
"You must get slapped a lot."
"Yeah, lady, I also get laid a lot."
I started to pound on his chest, but he grabbed my wrists and stopped me.
"So, you're going to be a spitfire," he said. "Don't do that, lady.
I'll just get into my clothes and we'll forget it." He looked at me as if he knew that I found that more horrible than the prospect of getting fucked by a total stranger.
"Now you just be nice, ma'am, and let me look at your tits. You got nice ones for a little lady."
He grabbed hold of my breasts and stroked them, following every curse from underneath to the nipple and back again. He played with the nipples, and they grew hard and erect, and the color deepened.
"Sure do have nice tits. Get on the sofa so I can see your slit." I did as he asked.
I opened my legs wide for him to see.
"One helluva nice pussy you got there, ma'am. All pink and purple and hairy all over. Nice and sloppy and wet, too." He dabbed at it with his tongue. "I sure do like a nice sloppy wet pussy. MMMM,"
"Oh, don't stop!"
"Just to catch my breath here and there ma'am. I sure do like a nice sloppy pussy to suck." He sucked on it, drawing the outer lips of my cunt into his warm wet mouth, and rolled them around on his tongue, stretching them and pulling them, inserting the tongue between them and driving it home.
"Open your legs wider, please ma'am, I want to play with your clit." I opened my legs wider. "You sure do have one helluva nice clit," he said relishing the sight, "How does it feel when I do this?" he asked, jamming his finger all the way up into the crevice and twirling it around and around the clit. "Nice little clit, it surely is," he said as he continued to twiddle it, and I was speechless with pleasure. He alternated now, between sucking my pussy out, with all the force of a wet vacuum cleaner, and playing with my clit, teasing and rolling it giving it a playful pinch now and then.
He gobbled at my cunt, and drawing my hand down, he put it on his cock, demonstrating to me with actions how he wanted it played with. I made circles around the moist head with my finger, running it between the foreskin and the glans.
"Hot dog," he yelped, "that sure is fine." And to this day I don't know whether he was talking about the way I was jerking him off, or the taste of my cunt.
He rose to his feet, and offered me his balls to suck while he jerked off watching me, and then the prick, which I couldn't quite fit into my mouth, but tried to manage anyhow. When he was lubricated, he lay on top of me, and plowed his prick all the way home. His rod got hotter and hotter inside me, and the fireworks that went off deep inside my belly were exploding throughout my whole body, little sparks shooting off into odd corners of my being. He sprayed his ocean of come into me, and rose up off me immediately. He sucked out my pussy, and jerked himself off, until we both came a second time.
"That sure was good, and I thank you, ma'am." And then he laughed. I thought he might start a war whoop any minute, but thankfully he didn't.
He got dressed, finished repairing the phone and left.
This experience with a vaudeville sexual athlete left me with a question in my mind as to tactics. Whom would I trust. Did I rely on regular delivery men? Or did I just leave the selection to chance, trying to judge which of the various one-timers would be receptive, willing, able and discreet besides? It was a tall order, but random selection finally won out. It would be easier to avoid getting a bad reputation that way. I didn't count on the closed fraternity of delivery men with regular routes in my neighborhood telling each other about me. It got so that any new item I bought from a department store would automatically guarantee me a reasonably good fuck when it was delivered. I got fucked on the average of four times a week, two or three each as long as the house was being decorated. It took me almost eight months to get drapes, because every decorator that came to the house would lay me and forget to measure. Donald was beginning to get curious.
"I'm damn sure, Dora," he would instruct, "that at least one of the stores of the city has at least one fabric and one drapery style to suit your fancy. It's not as if we can't afford something that you'd like. You don't have to wait until the sale you know, and besides, I'm sure there have been dozens of sales in the amount of time you've taken to look over samples."
I knew he was right, and so one day, without telling him beforehand, in desperation, I called the home decorating services of the largest department store in town. They sent a man out, and I melted as soon as I saw him. I was determined however, to get the windows measured at least before I got myself fucked.
He had dark eyes that snapped and sparkled and his smile was cruel and ironic. He had a pair of broad shoulders wide enough to hold track meets on, and his waist and hips were narrow to the point of being non-existent.
He hardly looked at me as he walked in, but simply asked where the windows in question were. He went straight to the task, with great efficiency, and no nonsense at all. He measured and figured, and I was getting very nervous.
He went from room to room, and continued measuring and figuring, and while he was happily occupied taking notes for required yardage so that he could figure costs when I finally chose the fabric, or fabrics, I went upstairs and slipped into a transparent negligee with nothing on underneath. He just continued measuring, and I continued to get more nervous. It was as if he couldn't have cared less.
When he was finished measuring, I led him into the living room, and sat him down on the couch.
There was a lot of talk about so many yards for this window, and so many for that, and sample upon sample of fabric, satins and nubs, and open-weave casements, and on and on and on. There were pictures of window treatments and suggestions he wanted considered, and still he didn't seem to notice me.
I pulled the negligee slightly open at the breast, and still the talk went on and on and on. I decided on what to do with every room but the recreation room, and by then, I was completely exposed to the crotch, the triangle of hair showing provocatively, I thought. He continued talking. I was infuriated. He didn't sound queer, and he wore no wedding band, so unless I was deceived, there was absolutely no reason for this kind of thing to happen.
I finally decided what to do with the recreation room, and was just at the point of masturbating to get the idea across, when he said:
"As soon as you sign these contracts, and finalize everything, I'll take care of you. I don't want to go back to the store with nothing to show for my afternoon but a smelly prick. I need this sale, and if you'll pardon me for making so bold as to say so, Mrs. Cohen, you're somewhat notorious for fucking but not buying."
I could have pulled his hair out by the roots. I almost yanked the contracts out of his hands and signed my name to all of them without even asking which was what. He continued to explain in great detail, just to make sure that I would understand everything, and when he was satisfied that I did understand, he handed over the papers to me, but left his hand resting on my crotch.
While I signed the papers he diddled me with his fingers, and I nearly screwed up all the contracts because he was getting me so excited.
When all the contracts were signed, he unzipped his fly, and leaned over me on the sofa, and simply slid his half hidden prick into me. He fucked and plowed and really did a marvelous job, all without changing the expression on his face.
He came into me, and he was so bored it seemed, by everything but selling his goddamned curtains, that I was surprised he didn't yawn in my face.
He stood up, and then stripped down in earnest. His body was no surprise to me, because the shape of it was quite obvious through his well-cut, well-tailored clothes. What was a surprise to me though was the fact that he had only fucked me with a little itty-bitty comer of his prick. The rest of it was twice as impressive as anything as I'd ever seen before. Just the rest of it. With the head and everything, all together, it was a wonder that he carried it around with him all the time without getting a hernia from the weight. It wasn't so much the length or circumference, but the bulk, and when I say bulk, I'm not merely talking about size or weight. I can't explain it I guess, but the best way to try is that it took up space. I wasn't just there, it seemed to be a living breathing entity all by itself. He threw me down on the floor, and plowed that thing into me, half splitting me open along the lines of the stitches that I had gotten after I gave birth to Simone. I was thankful Simone was at nursery school.
He stroked my cunt, making it hungrier and hungrier,-and his smooth technique left my pussy eager for more with every stroke. The skin on the inside was pulling, and stretching and seemed to be coming off, ripping the delicate membranes, following the tremendous thing as it plowed into my uterus. By this time, I was on birth control pills, so that there was no danger of a ripped diaphragm. He could follow the stroke through, and force his prick up through my stomach and out through my throat, I wouldn't mind, and there was no danger.
Again and again he plowed into me, not saying a word, not changing his expression, arid I had several orgasms. It felt to me as if he had an orgasm too, with all the convulsion and contractions that force the deliciously cooling soothing liquid into crevices straightened and rubber raw and excruciatingly sensitive by the thrust and pull of a cock, but there was no fluid, no flow. He matched convulsion for convulsion, contraction for contraction, and our bodies heating to fever pitch, matching strokes to each other, we moved from peak to peak, together in perfect synchronization, but still there was no fluid.
Finally, he erupted like Vesuvius, and rammed his fuck-stick into me with all the force of a pile driver reaming the earth for oil, and when he was finished coming, he started in all over again. I was ecstatic. Again and again he fucked me, saving the ejaculation as the icing on the cake. I was erupting myself, and by the time he had come into me four times, I was ready for the rag-bin. I was as limp as a dish cloth. When he got off of me, I finally saw what they mean by walking like a woman who's just gotten laid. My legs didn't really want to support me. My whole center of gravity had shifted to another part of my body while I was lying on the floor.
He pulled his clothes on, and without bothering to wash his hands even, he put all the samples and sketches back into his case, and arranged a folder for the contracts I had signed, and put them into a special compartment all by themselves.
He started towards the door. Just as he was about to let himself out onto the street, he turned to me.
"Those contracts are completely valid, you know, and you'll be expected to honor them. There's no way you can get out of it."
"Of course I will," I said sweetly, in the glow of after-sex. "There's absolutely no reason why I wouldn't."
Actually, when I sort of came to, I realized that I had ordered drapes for every single room in the house, when the original idea was to get drapes for one room at a time. I felt like running after him to tell him where to shove those contracts, but I knew that Donald would be pleased that I finally got it done at all, no matter how much it ended up costing him.
My pussy was raw for a week and a half after that, and so I had to confine my activities to sucking and getting sucked for awhile. It wasn't too bad though, considering. You meet the most interesting people who like to sixty-nine. I got in a little rimming, and to tell the truth, I must be the only woman in Philadelphia who does it, because the looks I get, and the exclamations of shock and delight are really something. When you stick your hot wet tongue up a guy's asshole, you're doing something that he dreams about, and reads about, but usually has never done to him, unless, as I found out when I got a little more sophisticated that I had been when Hy did it to me the first time, what seemed like centuries before, he's been to bed with a lot of very liberal fags. It doesn't seem to be the province of a woman. But if a man likes something that a girl isn't doing, all he has to do is demonstrate, usually by doing it to her first if he can, and she gets the idea soon enough. It always works with me. I'm willing to try anything once.
And that's how I learned one of my favorite tricks. When I was feeling a little bit better, and quite up to things again, I practically pounced on the next guy who delivered a piece of furniture to the house. It was a Damascus chair, and the man who brought it was a stocky, swarthy Greek, who probably faked the whole thing with his own two hands. He was beautiful in a savage way, and I couldn't wait to get him into bed-with me.
He tried to roll me over and fuck me in the ass, and though it'd been done to me before, and even though I didn't let him do it, I understand that it is practically the only method of contraception used by Greek .Orthodox men. I didn't let him do it simply because now that it was back to normal again, my pussy was twitching to have a nice piece of meat inside it again.
I told him that I couldn't do that, and he was very reasonable; all he did was shrug his shoulders and get on with it the usual way. There was no folderol about unusual positions, it was just beautiful, and very comfortable. He simply stuck his nice-sized cock into me and pumped. He kissed me quite a bit, and played with my tits, but that goes without saying. He was gentle, and considerate. What blew my mind was, that after about ten minutes of a really first-class fuck, he took my hand and placed it in very close proximity to his own asshole. Now, I had heard that with Greeks you can't tell, that they'd just as soon get fucked by a good-looking, well-hung man as fuck a nice tight pussy, but it surprised me when my particular Greek put my hand at his asshole. His prodded it a bit, and it seemed to me that he wanted me to put it in. I avoided the issue for a moment, and simply played with his balls, but then, I felt that space between his balls and his asshole where the shaft of his cock continued from the base of the scrotum, and on up into him, right past, I got a flash, his anus.
I licked my finger, and through the contractions he was starting to have, I forced my finger into his asshole which was rather tight to say the least. I pulled it out again, and lubricated the second finger with my index finger, and tried again. To my surprise the two fingers went in more easily than the one alone, and when I was all the way in, I worked them up and down and in and out. For every spasm and contraction of his cock that I felt inside me, there was a corresponding one inside him that I felt with my fingers! Not only was he fucking me, but he was getting jerked off, from the inside. It didn't take him long to bring me over the brink, past the point of no return, and I contracted like mad, and the waves of passion washed over me again and again like the tide at the seashore. Soon he reached his own peak, and he started to come. Not only did I feel him coming in me, but I felt every motion every spasm of his spurt of come with my finger as I matched his rhythm inside of me, with mine inside of him.
Of the whole period of time that I was sleeping with people who came to the door, there is one favorite ... He was a fourteen year old boy whose name was Joe. His name is probably, still Joe, but I haven't seen him in years, and so now to me he is away.
The first time I saw Joe was when the doorbell rang and I answered it. He was standing there, with jeans and a sweatshirt, and since the weather hadn't really changed, I worried that he might be cold, or catch one, I asked him inside, and got a good look at him. He was small, but not puny, and blond. Very blond. He had green eyes, and I'm a sucker for any male, man or boy, with green eyes. Actually, I'm a sucker for any male, period, end of sentence, but you've probably gotten that idea plainly enough without my telling you.
"Hi," I said, "you're new, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"What happened to the other boy?"
"Dunno," he said.
"What's your name?"
"Joe."
"Your not very talkative, ape you?"
"Uh-uh." He shook his head.
"Do you want some cookies and milk?"
"I don't have the time."
"Aren't you cold with just that sweatshirt?"
"No, Miss. I do a lot of running around."
"Okay, that seems fair enough. How much do I owe you?"
"Seventy cents," he replied solemnly, "Forty-five for the dailies, and twenty five for the Sunday."
I counted out the change and handed all of it right over to him.
"Are you allowed to take something extra as a tip? Your service has been very good this week. I'm not used to getting the paper early enough in the afternoon to enjoy it before I make dinner."
"Thank you miss, but I can't. I'll see you Saturday with the funnies. Bye now."
He left, I presumed to. deliver his other papers.
We had little conversations like that twice every week, once on Thursday when he collected, and once on Saturday when he personally delivered the first section of the paper into my hand. It went on like that all through the spring, and in the beginning of summer, I noticed that he would tarry a little longer than usual. I guessed that with vacation and all, he had more time to waste with each customer. But he was staring hard at me, and I noticed that he fidgeted a great deal while he was standing there. One Saturday morning, when Simone was outdoors playing with her cronies, he actually got a hard-on. He wasn't wearing underpants, and the left leg of his Bermuda shorts was sticking out a lot more than the right one. I told him to come in for a minute while I got some change, and I closed the door. He followed me past the foyer, which I hadn't asked him to do , but I didn't really mind. He watched me as I went upstairs, and out of the comer of my eye I saw that he was playing with himself. Already hard, and large for his age, he got harder, and grew larger. On the way downstairs, I accidentally on purpose let my housecoat fall open, showing him whatever he could see through the transparent nightgown. He blushed. I handed him the money, and he was about to start for the door, reluctantly, when I reached out and put my hand up the leg of his shorts.
"That's quite a dot of meat you have for a boy your age, Joe. How old are you, exactly?"
"Uh-fourteen," he stammered.
"Have you ever fucked a girl?" I asked, still holding his cock.
He shook his head in reply.
"Would you like to?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
I took his hand, and put it up my nightdress.
"You know what that is don't you?"
He nodded.
"Why don't you put your finger in and feel what its like?"
He didn't need to be coaxed. He put his finger into my hole, and he trembled with excitement.
"You want to do something with that?" I asked him. "Do you know what you'd like to do?" I continued when he nodded.
He shook his head. I let go of his cock and led him upstairs to the bedroom. I took off my clothes, such as they were, and indicated to him that he should do the same. He did.
I let him play with my pussy for awhile, and it was nice to watch him as he did. His body was clean of hair except for the groin, and golden tan. He was a real delight. I wanted him badly, and I had never had a fourteen-year-old, even when I was fourteen myself. I sat him down on the edge of the bed, and walked over to him, and clasped his head to my pussy. He put out his tongue and licked at my twat sort of shyly, tentatively and it was nice to have this inexperienced lad do things to me, awkwardly, perhaps, not the professional kind of attention I was used to getting from men, but then, the look of joy from discovering new things was worth all the professional snatch-sucking jobs this side of Madagascar.
I got onto the bed, and drew him on top of me, and guided him in. There was a look of pleasure on his face and of concentration. The feeling was one of "Am I doing it right,?" and so I encouraged him by cooing "You're doing just fine," to him every once in awhile. It was his first time in, so I didn't worry too much about myself, and just concentrated on making him come. When he started to come, he grinned widely.
"Hey! It's coming! It's coming!" he shouted gleefully, "What do you think of that?!"
"A helluva lot sweetheart. And we'll do it again, a lot, if you want."
He floated out of the house in a miasma of male musk, from having been excited, and from still being excited, and of woman smells that I had left on him. What the poor boy's mother would think, I could only speculate, but if she was hip, she would realize in an instant that her little boy was no longer quite so little, and that someone, some depraved old lady, namely me, was taking advantage of the fact. We had done well together.
And we did well together often after that. He would come to the door, either on a Thursday or a Saturday, and if the time was right, we would have a nice long go at each other. He would wait expectantly for me to ask him in beyond the door, and if I did, he would wreathe his face in smiles, from the minute he walked in, until the minute he left, If, on the other hand, I didn't ask him in, his disappointment was painful to watch.
It was fun while it lasted, but one day there was a new paper boy. In his way, he was just as cute as Joe, but it wouldn't have been the same. Ah, well, onward, ever onward.
