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From: M1KEHUNT@aol.com
Subject: June's First - as told to MIKE HUNT / faq

Bad news, dirty story fans.

The Smut Writers Guild (SWG) is holding a job action, and I can't
write for you this week. If I did they could pull my card, and then
where would I be? Seems they're protesting the exploitation of immigrant
women, or something.

Shit, I've never exploited immigrant women. I've never even fucked
one that I know of. Well, maybe that Latina broad in Chicago, but
she had legs that went up to her neck and an ass that looked like
two pumpkins in October. How are you going to pass THAT up? Anyway,
I don't know if she was an immigrant or not. I never got her name,
in fact. Remind me to tell you the story sometime.

I'm enclosing one I wrote a while ago. It's called "June's First".
It's been in my drawer, cause it came up a little shorter than usual.
I thought I'd pump it up later, so to speak.

But these are special circumstances. And I don't think the Guild
can get me for just posting. I'm not actually writing it, after all.
I don't know why I have to suffer because of some stupid immigrant
women. What can I do about it, anyway? Maybe I'll go see the Selena
movie. Maybe that will help.

To read it you should be over the age of 18. Including immigrants.
I'm an equal-opportunity but not for the kiddies (EEO-BNFTK) purveyor.

The story's still a little short. To fill the posting, I'm including
an interview I had a couple weeks ago. It didn't go too well, but
I thought you might find it interesting. At least it fills some
space better than this boring intro. It follows the story.

HEY GUILD. I'M JUST REPOSTING.

Fucking idiots.



June's First - by JUNE HUNT as told to MIKE HUNT


Everybody wants to get in on the act.

I mean, you write a couple of dirty stories, and the next thing you
know, you're famous. Well, semi-famous. OK, you get e-mail notes
from a few dozen people who appreciate your effort. Of course, some
schmucks get on the list and never write again.  They probably don't
call their Mother, either. You know who you are.

It's a lot of effort, these little stories. Each one has to be
meticulously researched. I have to go back into my memory banks and
reconstruct the scenes, remember old girlfriends, recall unimaginably
sexy memories. During every single one I get horny. I always play with
myself and that leads to other things. You understand. At least once.
Usually twice, and sometimes more. That all takes time.

Then I have to go back a couple of days later and proofread. I always
get another hard-on, and have to jerk off again. I'm telling you,
this pornography stuff isn't as easy as it's cracked up to be. But
I do it anyway, because I'm an artist, trying to bring a little
pleasure into the world.

My wife, June, thinks I'm crazy. Or at least she used to think so.
After the first few stories, I asked her to help me with the proofreading
part. I would print the stories out and bring them to her, and watch
her as she read them. Now I know on my own personal Peter Meter that
each story has to have a rating of 9.3 or better before I'll let it
out the door. But I never had any way of knowing how they rated with
the ladies. Now I do.

After the first couple, June decided she would do her proofreading
in bed. And now I can always tell how the story is going by how long
it takes her to get her hand inside her pajamas and to start playing
with herself. If she's there within the first three pages, I figure the
story's a winner. If she has an orgasm by page 7, I feel victorious.

It was last week, I think, when she suggested that she help me write
a story. Now, if you have spent any time in MIKE HUNT's archives,
you know that my stories are true (well mostly), and are told in first
person, as they happened to me. That's why this is the third time
I'm trying to write this. The first two times I tried to write in
the third person as they happened to her. I failed. Hey, I'm just
learning this writing stuff! This time I'll pretend I'm her, and
write in the first person, as I'm used to doing.

You and I, dear reader, will share the secret. When it's me talking,
it's really her. I've always wanted to be a woman for a day anyway.
Maybe this is the ticket.

To convince me to tell her story, June promised to blow me under
the table as I wrote. We often trade little sexual favors for other
things. You know, "I'll let you fuck me in the ass if you'll unload
the dishwasher, hon." Things like that. You probably have those same
kinds of deals in your house.

Anyway, she's under the table, and is playing with my dick. I'm sure
she'll be able to communicate the essence of the story to me between
licks and sucks. My job is to get it down on paper. Well at least
on the hard drive. Art is not easy, believe me.


I was just a kid when I had my first real sexual experience. I mean
an experience with another person, as opposed to just rubbing myself
as I lay in bed in the morning. (This is June talking, remember? I'm
just the writer.) It happened quite by accident, but I suppose those
things often do at that age.

I had been growing breasts for about a year. Up until I was 13, I
had an inferiority complex the size of Wyoming as I saw other girls
in my class begin to bud. I was flat. Nearly concave, actually. Now
that can really hurt a girl's ego, because she knows that to grow
up to be a woman, you are supposed to get tits. And when you finally
start to get them, your father teases you, and then they get big and
you don't know what to do with them, and then all the boys want to
grab you. And when your 'friend' comes to visit you bleed all over
your underpants in school. It's very confusing, believe me.

I was already a B cup, and I was showing no signs of stopping. My
tits looked a little funny on my body, which had not yet added the
smoothness or the curves which would come later. So I was more or
less "tits on a string" if you know what I mean. Still, it was nice
to have breasts. Especially when I remembered that Becky Thompson
was 17 and still didn't have enough to fill a training bra.

My friend Riley was over at the house.

**** "Riley?" I asked June under the table. "How do you spell that?"

**** "R-I-L-E-Y," she answered. "The family was the "O'Reilly's.
Can you imagine? Riley O'Reilly. Some parents are cruel."

**** "Yeah," I agreed. Poor fella. What a name to stick a kid with!
He'd take a lot of shit at school, that's for sure. Big kids
probably beat him up every Tuesday and Friday.

**** "Can we get back to the story?" she asked.

**** "Sure. Sorry."

It was a Saturday afternoon, and my folks were gone for the day,
and I had the house to myself. I thought Riley and I might go swimming
or something, or just hang out. Instead we got into a conversation
about the differences between boys and girls and stuff like that.
One of the things we talked about was why girls like to dance and
most boys don't.

At some point I turned on some music and said "Come on, let's try
a few new steps." Riley reluctantly agreed, and we searched for a station
that was playing some dance music. I found one. We danced fast dances for
maybe 15 minutes and worked up quite a sweat. Then a slow number came
on, and Riley said dreamily "This is the kind of dancing I like to do."

Our arms sort of melted together, and we moved in closer, until there
was body contact all along the front of our young, firm bodies. We
were both damp from our earlier, more vigorous exercise, and our bodies
clung together from the wetness.

"I'll show you something I like, if you don't mind," Riley said.

I said "I don't mind at all."

The next thing I knew, I felt lips nuzzling against the slope of
my neck, kissing, licking, tenderly biting my skin. "Wow!" I had never
felt anything like it. My neck was all tingly and I felt these sensations
running up and down my body. You know, the kind of sensations I usually
only got when I wore my "too tight" shorts, or when I had the shower
massage pointed directly at my vagina, accidentally on purpose.

I didn't want to stop, but Riley said, "Now you do it to me."

"Of course," I thought. "How selfish of me." I bent my head and started
returning the favor. It felt just as good to give as to receive, and
my own tingling sensation increased. I could feel my tits pressing
against Riley's chest, and I became aware of my nipples growing, poking
through the thin material of my T-shirt. I didn't care. I was feeling
something new and strange and different as we stood there, swaying
to the music, nuzzling each other.

Without warning, I felt hands begin to walk up my sides, and before
I could protest, I felt one of my breasts being fondled. A thumb flicked
back and forth across the nipple; the T-shirt material did nothing
to mask the gently hardening tip. Then another hand came up to cup
my other breast, and I leaned back and softly moaned. The hands
squeezed, and I made no protest.

It felt too good. Too natural. The music, the sweat, the sex. I was
so young and inexperienced I didn't know where this would lead. I
didn't care. This was an experiment too good to pass up.

One of Riley's hands released my tit and began to slide slowly across
my belly. It found the button on my shorts and tugged. The button
gave way, followed quickly by the zipper below. Then I felt a foreign
hand slide into my shorts, and shove its way roughly between my legs.
Fingers were dancing on my panties, searching for the target which
lay beneath. Riley stepped away, then moved back in and gave me a
passionate kiss on the lips.

It lasted several seconds, and our tongues were dancing. In spite
of our inexperience, we were doing quite well for a couple of kids.
Now it was my turn to touch and feel. I slid my hand off of
Riley's hip and around to the front. Up. Up. Until I made contact
with her breast....

HER breast?

**** "What!!??!!" I said to June under the table. "What the fuck
is that? You mean Riley is a GIRL?"

**** "Of course she is. I told you this was my first sexual experience.
Riley was my best girlfriend. We did everything together. Including,
now, sex."

**** "Well this is, uh, crazy. How the hell am I supposed
to write a story if I don't even know what sex the characters are?"
I said, angrily. I was pissed.

**** June took my dick back in her hand and licked it, teasing me by
holding the mushroom head between her teeth. "It's not a good idea to
speak in anger to a woman who has your dick in her mouth." She had me
there. And she had me there, if you know what I mean. I calmed down.

**** "Yeah, well, girl-girl. I can get into that. It would just help
if I knew where the damn story was going, you know?" I said. I was
still a little testy.

**** "I want it to be a surprise," she answered. "It won't be a surprise
if you know how it ends."

**** "It doesn't have to be a surprise. Sometimes you can know the
ending ahead of time. Like the one I wrote about my first blow job.
Remember?" As if to tell me she remembered, June got up on her knees
and pushed her head more firmly into my lap. That quieted me. She sucked
my cock down deeply into her mouth. So deeply, in fact, that she banged
her head on the bottom of the table as she moved forward to get more of
my shaft between her lips. "Sorry," I said. "But don't stop. It feels great."

**** She moved her mouth back off my dick, increasing the pressure
with her hand as she spoke. "OK, OK. But can we get back to my story,
please?"

**** "Sure," I answered. I think I had my characters straight,
now. June (in the story) is grabbing Riley's tit. Riley is fingering
June's cunt. June (right now) is blowing me under the table as I
write this. Got it.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I said. (I mean June said. I'm just
writing for June, here, remember?)

"Probably not," Riley agreed. "But don't stop. I've never felt anything
like this before."

I continued to squeeze her breast as I felt her struggling to get
down inside my panties. But my shorts were so tight she couldn't get
her hand in there, at least not in any way that left her any freedom
to feel me comfortably.

"Wait," I suggested. I pushed at the shorts, and they fell to my
knees. They lingered there for a moment, then continued their gravity
powered flight to my ankles. I stepped out of them. Her hand immediately
went for my bush. The feeling was overwhelming, and my knees buckled.
I don't know if it was the sex, or the surprise, or what, but I felt
my legs getting weak, and I stumbled over to the bed. It was a fortuitous
decision.

As I collapsed, Riley slid off her shorts and panties, and positioned
herself directly in front of my cunt. She was mesmerized as she stroked
the lips of my pussy, and then very tentatively inserted a finger
into me. I knew what it was to be wet, I had gotten that way when
lying in bed experimenting with myself. But now my pussy was soaked,
and it seemed to be getting even wetter. I wondered if this was normal.

I pushed Riley over backwards, until she assumed the lying down position.
I performed a near carbon copy of her movements, staring at her cunt
as I played with it. She, too, emitted the smell of sex from between
her legs as the wetness slopped down from her cunt. I moved in for
a closer look.

Nobody had ever told me to put my mouth on another person's sex,
but when I was that close to hers, the smell, or the sight, or maybe
just instinct told me to do it. I kissed her firmly on the cunt, and
she shivered as though I had dropped a block of ice on her stomach.
I knew it was a good shiver, and I continued the kiss.

To get a better angle, I raised up on my knees, and then began making
a 180 degree turn with my torso. I was just trying to get somewhere
where I could put my head between her legs to give her a better kiss.

Suddenly I was surprised to find her positioning her mouth directly
under me, reaching up and pulling my butt toward her. I moved my knees
apart, and lowered myself onto her. She was better at this than I
was, I could tell, because within seconds I nearly lost consciousness
as the waves of pleasure engulfed me.

"Oh do me. Do me," I ordered.

"Gmmft. Plivvm. Gravnntfz." she said, her mouth lips firmly attached
to my nether lips as we held our 69 position. She licked and stroked
me with her soft tongue. I felt it twiddling with my baby clitoris,
driving me crazy. After several minutes she raised her head and said,
"I want to try something. Turn around here."

She pulled me into position and spread my legs. I was on my back,
with my legs pointing at her, my cunt totally exposed to her view.
Then she turned around and became my mirror image. She snaked her
legs between mine, and when moved toward me.

The effect was like two pairs of open scissors mating. She kept moving
until her cunt touched mine. And I could feel our juices lubricating
each other. We bounced off each other, slipping and sliding our cunt
lips against each other, and we both closed our eyes as we rubbed
our pussies together.

She came first. I know because she let out a yelp when it happened,
and I could feel the hotness of her cunt against mine. It almost felt
as though her contractions were trying to suck me into her vagina.
But that flush of heat and her moaning was enough to send me over
the edge, and I came, the throes of our mutual passion now coursing
through my body as well as hers.

**** "Speaking of which, dear wife, I'm almost ready to do. This
is fair warning," I said.

**** Now June swallows cum. Often, as a matter of fact. Really likes
the stuff, apparently. You've known girls who do that. Not many,
probably, but I found one and I grabbed her. You find your own.
But part of our deal is that I let her know when it's coming, so to
speak. I think it lets her prepare so my spunk doesn't go down the
wrong pipe, or something. Anyway, as I'm writing this paragraph
about my cum-swallowing wife, I'm getting ready to blow my load.

**** June's hands reach up for my belly, and her head pushes further
down on my dick. She is going to deep-throat me. Now this is unusual.
Generally, she can get most of my cock in her mouth, once in a while
not. And every once in a great while I can feel my dick head pushing
against the back of her throat. But I guess she's gotten turned on
enough in telling the story, or she's so grateful that I'm writing
her story, or...

**** Well shit, who cares why. I can feel her lips planted around
the base of my hard-on while the one-eyed worm slithers into her throat.
She gags, a little. If I wasn't turned on enough in the writing of
the story before, I certainly am now.

**** And here I go. GO. Ahhhh. AHHHHH. Ahhhhhhh. Ahhhh.

**** My orgasm follows its normal path, except that it's so much
stronger than usual. I'm pouring my love juice down her throat,
2 cc's at a time. I can feel the contractions pushing my spunk down
the long corridor of my dick, depositing it in the rear of June's
mouth. Gob after gob, squirt after squirt.

**** And now...

**** I'm coming down. Down. Shit, that was GREAT!

**** Oh, sorry. Got carried away. Almost forgot about you, dear reader.
Give me a second to get myself together, OK?


"So you like my story," June said to me, twisting her head under
the computer table to look at my face.

"Yeah, I guess. Pretty good one, I have to admit."

Now she pressed her advantage. "Would you like to do another
some time? Maybe I could tell you how I lost my virginity. Or about
the time I took on 5 fraternity guys in college..."

"You did WHAT?" I exclaimed. "You never told me about that."

"I know," she giggled. "I didn't know if you'd understand."

"Believe me, I understand," I said. I didn't understand at all.
But I couldn't wait to hear the story. "But for the moment, we're
sitting with you and Riley in bed, and you've both just had a nice
orgasm. What happens next?"

"Nothing happens next. We were done. She went home."

I wrinkled my nose.

"What's wrong with that?" June asked.

"Well it's just not an ending. A good story needs a good ending.
Otherwise it's just a dumb porn story, it's not art, you know?" I
explained. "The ending can be funny, or tender, or, well, whatever.
But you need an ending."

"Oh," she said. She thought a moment. I heard a voice from under
the table.

"I have an ending," she said.

"Let's have it," I said. I put my fingers back to the keyboard.

She climbed out from under the table and stood in front of me. Then
she turned and faced away and bent over. Her asshole was staring me
in the face. "This is my ending," she said, slapping herself on one
of her ass cheeks.

"Oh, fuck the ending," I said. 

"Good idea," she said.

And I did.



MIKE HUNT writes true stories, mostly from his own background.
Occasionally his wife will blow him under the table if he writes about
her, and if only to keep his marriage a happy one, he complies.

To get other stories from MIKE HUNT, send an e-mail to
Bannerboy1@aol.com. Flowers and flames to M1KE HUNT@aol.com.
Note, the 2nd character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I).
Copywrite 1997 M1KE HUNT.  Free distribution is allowed, but if
you're going to try to make money with this, Fuck Off.

If you wrote to the wrong address and ended up on the distribution list and
want to get off (pardon the expression), just send an e-mail to either
address.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


FAQ: MIKE HUNT

I was interviewed by a nice young lady who said she had an inquiry
to her newsgroup about MIKE HUNT. I was glad to talk to her. In fact,
I was a little flattered. It's the first time anyone has asked me
for an interview, and that's a big ego stroke for a budding author.

Her group is
alt.binaries.romanticeroticfiction.stories.newwriters.east.goodluckfindingit.d

(moderated). Since the thing went up there have only been 6 downloads,
but it's a small group and I have to start somewhere, right?

I mean, at first I couldn't even get eli to return my e-mail.  I figured
he was in the back, jerking off to some torture story or something.  Turns
out his server was fucked up. At least he didn't try to tell me his dog
ate his homework! He's been wonderful ever since. And as long as I'm
kissing ass, I should thank Celeste for taking pity on a newcomer and
helping me get started.  Even reviewed a couple of my stories in Celestial
Reviews! I have them framed in glass, even the one where I got bitched out
for writing "public hair" instead of "pubic hair."  Even tho' Celeste
fucked up and didn't include my title in the rundown at the top of the
issue.  Hey, if you want to come over and see the reviews, let me know, OK?
I'll clean that gunk off the glass.

I think the newsgroup moderator Shirley called me hoping to get some
free publicity for her newsgroup and get a lot of people to visit
it. I have a lot of sway with my readers, and she knows it. But I'm
posting it here so you can actually find it. I guess I'm fucking her
a little, but it wouldn't be the first time, you know?


INTRODUCTION: Welcome to
alt.binaries.romanticeroticfiction.stories.newwriters.east.goodluckfindingit.d

(moderated). I'm Shirley Scofield, moderator of the group, and I'm
lucky enough to be face to face with MIKE HUNT, an exciting new writer
in the romantic/erotic fiction field. We were going to conduct this
interview electronically, and edit it down to a FAQ posting, but when
MIKE and I found we lived in Ojai and San Luis Obispo, respectively,
we thought we would get together and tape record our conversation
and post the transcribed version of the interview.

SS: Is MIKE HUNT your real name? 
MH: It's the name I really use. It's left over from my days as a 13 year
    old when we would stand at the pay phone in the K-Mart and call the
    customer service desk and ask the girl to page my friend Mike. "Mike,
    who?" she would ask. "Hunt," we would say, barely able to control
    ourselves. Without fail, she would walk to the microphone and broadcast
    throughout the store "I have a call for MIKE HUNT." We would roll on
    the floor. I'm still a 13 year old at heart.

SS: I know. I've read one or two of your stories.
MH: Thank you.

SS: I found them pretty disgusting.
MH: I'm glad you found them at all. I'm still working with
    a Commodore 64 and a 300 baud MicroCoupler.

SS: The stories are somewhat hard-core...
MH: Yes, but I'm working every day on making them more graphic.

SS: Let me try a different tack. All of the girls in your stories
    seem to be pretty. Are there no average girls in MIKE HUNT's life?
MH: Oh sure. I think my memory of them just improves with age. The
    exact opposite of what happens to you cunts in real life. HA HA HA.

SS: Please watch your language.
MH: Fuck you. That's spelled with an F.

SS: Speaking of pretty women, what part of a woman's anatomy do you
    find most attractive?
MH: I would have to say, ah, her face.
SS: Really? I'm quite surprised. Knowing you, I would have expected
    your response to be something coarse like "tits" or something.
MH: Oh no, definitely the face.
SS: Why?
MH: It shows the cum better when you blow your load on it. You know,
    your jizz can get lost in the big area of her chest if you're
    tit-fucking her, and if you cum in her pussy or her ass you can't
    see it at all...

SS: I get the picture, let's change the subject... 
MH: But when you cum in her face, it can slide down the bridge of
    her nose, or get all stuck in her hair, or maybe even shoot right
    into her eye, you know? I like to drool it in their mouths, too...

SS: Enough! This is for light erotic fiction readers. It's supposed
    to be romantic and titillating.
MH: It takes all kinds.

SS: Are there any subjects you won't do?
MH: Oh sure. Torture and sadism. I just don't get it, you know?
    Well maybe for Mrs. Gilroy. She was my high school English teacher
    who flunked me and cost me my diploma. I'd stick a hot spike in
    her eye, easy. I don't do rape. And I don't write anything having
    to do with chopsticks or croquet balls.

SS: Why?
MH: Some things you just have to keep private.

SS: How about pedophilia?
MH: Oh no.

SS: Why not?
MH: It's part of my plea bargain.

SS: I see. Let's get back to your writing. Where do you get your ideas?
MH: Anywhere and everywhere. For instance, if you just moved your
    knees apart a little bit, I'd look right up your dress and
    see your snatch, you know? Bingo! Story idea! Or if you leaned
    over here and grabbed my cock through my trousers, Bingo! Story
    idea! Or if you stood up and took your tits out of your blouse...

SS: I think that's enough for this interview. Thank you, I think.
MH: Or if you bent over and let me fuck you in the ass, you know, Bingo!
    Story idea! Or if I just unzipped my pants, like
    this, (unidentified sound) and pulled out my (tape ends).


Like I said. The interview didn't go too well.

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