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Subject: {Losgud}JDR"On the Houseboat A"(mF cons humor 1st)[1/2]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
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that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
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The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
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well.
=========================
The following is total fiction. Any resemblance etc. is a product of your
imagination. This work is meant as ADULT entertainment. If the laws
where you sit say you're too young to read this, go away and turn
yourself in to the thought police. Even thinking about sex is dirty and
nasty and will warp your mind forever. Go watch a movie or play a
game that ends with a body count in the high four figures. Death and
destruction are good clean fun.
Copyright (c)1997 losgud. Personal use just fine. Archiving okay.
Absolutely NO for-profit use permitted. Reposting without notice is
frowned upon. Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal. Copyright
violations will fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where the
punishment is to discourage repeat offenders. We cut your fucking hands
off!
=========================
m/F con hum 1st
NOTE: Once again, hit the halfway point if you want to go straight to
the party. This is not a sex story, this is a story that has sex.
Remember: fiction is not fact, nor need it pretend to be. If your first
time was this good, I don't want to hear about it! Enjoy!
================
ON THE HOUSEBOAT
losgud
losgud@hotmail.com
Section A:
Every July for as far back as I could remember my parents and a
group of their friends had set aside an extended weekend to drive to a
huge man-made lake down at the other side of the state, where they
had the long-standing reservations of a large cottage and a houseboat.
I'd been included once when I was seven and had had a blast even
though there hadn't been any other kids to play with. These vacations,
I came to understand, weren't meant to include the children. Mrs.
Milner came _highly recommended_ by one of their sets of friends, so
my parents never made that error in judgment again. Mrs. Milner
became like my third grandmother. I saw her just once a year when
she came to stay in July. She was great fun to be with, cooked all my
favorite foods, and though she had her few hard-and-fast rules and was
not one to be crossed I basically had free rein the four or five days my
folks were gone.
A bit of problem arose the summer I turned fifteen. Mrs. Milner had
passed away the winter before. My parents began making noises about
engaging Madame Crutcher. _NO WAY!!_ was my immediate response.
She was the bane of my childhood. She made even the most evil baby-
sitters I'd known angels by comparison. The woman would just as soon
knock you against the wall as look at you. _Madame Crutcher_ was how
she insisted on being addressed, by me _and_ my parents. She was
two-hundred years old but kept her hair raven with bootblack, pulled
back so severely I thought it should peel off her scalp. She was as
strong as a bull, and twice as mean. I'd always secretly called her Old
Crow Breath.
The first third of my summer vacation was ruined by the tension and
anticipation. Days then weeks crept by without a suitable replacement
being found. I begged them to leave me by myself, have a neighbor
check in on me, check me into Juvenile Hall, _anything_.
"Just not Old Crow Breath!" I begged.
"Old What What?" they asked in unison. I'd never breathed her secret
name in public before.
"Old Crow Breath, because that's exactly what she is. A big scary
nasty black bird that eats dead things by the side of the road."
They both roared. If anything, they liked her even less than I did.
Imagine the feeling of being an adult, and still being intimidated by her.
"I swear, if she sets foot in this house, I will not be here when you get
back." I was deadly serious. And they knew it. "If nothing else, take
me with you. Ask the others. I'm not really a kid anymore. I'll stay
out of the way. I'll do exactly what I'm told. Go out for steak and
lobster and leave me with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. I
won't complain about a thing. I'll sleep in the car! If I get thirsty, I'll
boil up a little lake water. It'll be okay, everything'll be fine. No one
will even know I'm there." I was desperate. They knew this as well.
The first night they had the first big bash aboard the houseboat. I
nearly instantly endeared myself to all the other grown ups. I became
the resident Omega male so all the guys could feel great. For the
women I was a cross between the perfectly well-mannered boy they
wished they had, and the cute little houseboy they wished they could
have. I was fetching beers left and right, and with a quick little
coaching from Mrs. Ewing mixing up suitably stiff versions of any
cocktail anyone cared to order. When it finally came time for something
to eat to really be ready, I was already well at the tasks. So no drunk
had to burn the boat down trying to light the charcoal. I made sure
the meat was properly cooked when they'd all resigned themselves to
the usual fare of crunchy black on the outside and squishy red inside.
I managed the roasted corn and baked potatoes with alacrity. The
tossed salad was problematic because I was never a salad eater and had
no clue how to cut things up. Once again, Mrs. Ewing stepped over to
lend me a discreet hand. Her hands on my hands. Standing behind me
at the cutting board. The sweet hot tang of her alcohol breath on the
back of my neck. The nearly insistent nudgings of her breasts against
my shoulders. That was when I fully realized that my inclusion on the
trip had been a dreadful mistake, that I was in for a long weekend more
torturous than any I would have suffered at the hands Old Crow Breath.
I knew perfectly well that Mrs. Ewing was just a little unsteady with
drink, and that she was simply leaning in with full attention to showing
me how to cut perfect radish flowers. That wasn't the problem. The
problem wasn't behind, the problem was in front of me.
Mrs. Ewing was old enough to be my mother, though in fact she was
quite a few years younger. She was old enough to be my mother, but
her youngest child was half a dozen years older than me. Doing the
math confused me. The best I could figure was that she'd had her
oldest child when she was older than me but younger than her
youngest. None of that really mattered. All that mattered to me was
that I thought she was the most beautiful woman in all the world. And
that most of my primary erotic fantasies revolved around her. I mean,
it seemed as if my cock needed no reason to instantly spring erect,
declaring _yes sir, here I am sir, ready for action sir_. I could be
dozing off in Algebra class when _whoa, wake up, get those books in
your lap_. In private I would sometimes think of a few girls I knew
from class, but only in the most desultory manner. It's not as if any of
them ever even spoke to me. I was around Mrs. Ewing fairly often, and
she always stopped to address some smiling words my way. She had
such a pretty face and she really was about the sweetest person I'd
ever met. Once I hit puberty I could do little but stammer in front of
her. If she was facing me, I had to stare at her face to avoid the fact
that she had the most incredible _breasts_. She could be wearing chain
mail and still they'd just be the armor behind my wet dreams. Mostly,
of course, she took to tops that screamed _cleavage!_ Turned around,
well, her ass was the picture in the dictionary illustrating the meaning
of the word _luscious_.
It was sort of better that her husband wasn't on board, but in fact that
made it worse. The dumb prick had lighted off with his floozy
secretary a year before. The divorce had devastated Mrs. Ewing. I'd
always clung to the secret opinion that it was all for the best. She'd
obviously married the stupidest man in America.
The weekend would make me a wreck. I'd forgotten that Mrs. Ewing
would be there. There was no way I could walk around in my swimsuit
when she was around in hers. To make matters worse, I'd miscalculated
the sleeping arrangements. I knew that my parents always slept on the
boat, loving the rocking lull of the water, which left the third berth for
me. It wasn't until the opening party broke up and the three other
couples climbed into the motorboat--towed to the lake by one of them--
that I understood that the cabin held three single beds, that my bed
was actually Mrs. Ewing's, and that I was to sleep on the cushioned
bench in the galley. I of course had promised not to complain, and how
could I possibly explain that my complaint had nothing to do with the
discomfort of my bed? Generally a bed of nails couldn't keep me awake.
But the plushest feather mattress couldn't lull me to sleep when the
woman of my waking dreams lay nearly naked on a narrow bed barely
six feet away.
For a bunch of hungovered adults, they were all up early, even the
launch out from the pier. I gathered my bedding and left them to make
an inedible mess of breakfast as I crawled off to find an empty bunk.
In my sleepy stupor I jumped into the closest one, which was of course
Mrs. Ewing's. The warmth was gone, but god could I still smell her! I
drifted off to pleasant dreams, interrupted by shouts and the clatter of
cookware, people going in and out of the lavatory across the aisle. My
mother leaned in to whisper what I remembered from the previous
night's discussions: they were all planning to hop in the big motorboat
to the far end of the lake. Replenish the booze, have a late lunch, ski
and all sorts of stuff. I mumbled that was fine with me, turning back
to sleep. As I sunk down deep I swear I heard Mrs. Ewing mention in
passing, "Oh look! How sweet, all bundled up asleep. Isn't he the
original cutie."
I woke back up soon after. I had my plans for the day. I feasted on
the leftover breakfasts, then put on my cutoffs, grabbing a soda and a
book before heading for the back of the houseboat, where a little ladder
let up onto the roof. I'd go up there, scan around, then clamber back
down and beat off like crazy. Then go back up and relax awhile,
reading and sunning and sipping, keeping an eye on the water until it
was time for me to go back inside to beat off again.
I knew I'd need both hands free to hoist myself up. Before I got to
the top of the ladder I tossed my book up on the roof. _Slam_. Then I
stretched and set my can up there. _Thunk_. When I got to the top I
nearly fell of the ladder in surprise. The pair of legs were
foreshortened into stumps, ending in the twin globes of a delicious
looking rump. The tightly stretched band of bright orange fabric told
me it was Mrs. Ewing, but I really didn't need the hint. I stood there
on the ladder hypnotized. She was lying on her stomach, and from that
angle I could just see between her thighs all the way up to the thin
strip of material hiding the treasure of so many countless fantasies.
"Hi Jimmy, come on up and join me. Fantastic view!"
I was scowling and frowning and blushing, not that she was turned to
see. "Hi, Mrs. Ewing," I mumbled a grumble.
"I'm _sorry_."
I had no idea what she was talking about. "What?"
"You're a young man now, and your name is James. My mistake, and I'll
never repeat it." She curled onto her side to look at me. I could see
two things. I couldn't see her eyes, because she was wearing
sunglasses. And the way she was holding the cups of her top I knew
she'd undone the catch in the back. What truly amazed me was how
gracefully she'd corrected her faux pas, without adding any air of
condescension. And how did she know? I hadn't even told my parents
about that personal change. I climbed up
"Forgive me?" she asked in a teasing little voice.
"Oh sure, Mrs. Ewing."
"Now it's _your_ turn to say you're sorry!" she scolded. "We're both
adults, and my name is Marilyn! Got it?"
"Ye-e-es. I'm sorry, M-m-marilyn." _I was speaking the holy name!_
"That's better," she replied primly.
"Okay. Um, I didn't mean to intrude. I was just coming up here to
read a little. I didn't know you were up here." I backed up to the
ladder.
"Oh James!" she cried softly. "Sweetheart, no need to be so shy around
me. I don't bite. Well, not most of the time," she grinned. "Remember,
I invited you to join me. I'd _love_ your company. Why, you're my
absolute favorite young man in all the world. Besides, you're just the
man I need. Here," she nodded at the bottle, "be a love and do my
back before I turn into a pork rind."
Marilyn turned away leaving me to the decision. I took a deep breath,
then retrieved the lotion. I knelt beside her and started working it
across her back. Feeling stupidly silent, I stuttered into conversation,
"I thought, you see, everyone else, and, I didn't know."
She gave a little laugh. "Oh, racing off for more fun. I tell you James,
I had more than my share of fun last night. You mix a mean drink."
I was aghast! "Are you . . . sick? Is there anything I can do to help."
She tittered again. "Well, the first hour things were a little iffy, but
I'm fine now. Hale and hearty, but not quite raring for more. Just
keep on doing what you're doing. It feels _divine_. Go ahead and get
the backs of my legs and arms too if you will."
As if I wouldn't! Doing her arms kept me close to where I was on her
upper back. God, I could see the entire side of one of her breasts! As
I spread the lotion over the curve of her ribs I could actually feel the
first softness of their swelling. I had to hop over her to get to the
other arm. Then I worked down towards her hips. The bottom of her
suit was low cut. I knew not to dare sliding under the fabric,
contenting myself by running my fingers along the elastic edge. Then
Marilyn moved her hands to the back of the waistband and started
pushing them even lower. I was having a heart attack! She stopped
after just an inch, calling back, "Can you see the tan line yet? These
darn things are always riding up. Make sure you cover to it."
I didn't think to fib. I couldn't think of anything. I was mesmerized
by that line where her skin turned from amber to alabaster. And the
first half-inch hint of the declivity between her cheeks. I finally
managed to remind myself that I was supposed to be doing something,
though not the something that I wanted to be doing.
To do her legs I decided I'd better start down at her feet, to get as far
away from the sexiest part of her body and give myself some time to
calm down. From the knees on down I decided it made more sense not
to differentiate between front and back. I sat back on my heels, bent
her knee, and rested her shin and foot in the crevasse between my
thighs. I'd barely begun when Marilyn began rotating her ankle around
and around while curling her toes in and out. Even the leg I wasn't
working on was lifted a little, repeating the same motions. I was struck
dumb by the intense eroticism of the movements. I felt as if I was
watching her having sex. When she stretched her foot out it nearly
touched my crotch!
"O-oh James, you have talented hands. I don't want to keep you from
your book, but as long as your hands are all oily anywhere, would you
terribly mind giving me a little massage? Work my legs than come back
up to my back? I don't want to complain about my bed since you slept
on flotation cushions, but my muscles are a little stiff and sore from the
night."
Would I mind?! "Sure, Marilyn." What a conversational wizard I was! I
couldn't really reach all of her calf from where I was, so I moved to the
side. That made it easy to turn and work on the other lower leg. It
wasn't until I advanced to the thighs that I realized exactly what my
position was. I was working up her thighs, kneeling _between_ her
thighs. And she kept spreading her thighs!
"I understand you almost got stuck with the wicked witch of the west.
That woman is so-o evil. Somebody really should burn her at the stake!
I'm glad you didn't have to run away from home. Much nicer that you
could run away with us. Isn't this wonderful? Enough to make a
common woman such as myself feel like a queen. Here I lay on the roof
of my yacht in the gorgeous sun, with a handsome young man to attend
to my every desire." She gave a little laugh, "Yes indeed, heaven on
earth." The globes of her ass jiggled as she giggled.
I could scarcely concentrate on what Marilyn was saying. I knew that
underneath all the lovely padding the buttocks were a pair of large
muscles. but I didn't dare start rubbing there. I went up to the
elastic of the legs, my fingers just hinting at ducking under to the tan
line, but when it came time to work the sides of her thighs I didn't
know quite what to do. On the inside the edge of the suit went way up
_there!_ And there, the thin orange strip seemed puffier than before,
there seemed to be a slightly tangy aroma that wasn't cocoa butter,
things that I'd heard of in the vaguest of terms. All of reality was
blurring with the wildness of my imagination, and I couldn't truthfully
say what was going on. I made bold and brave, touching the tips of my
thumbs together and making calipers of my hands, grasping around her
thighs at the circle of elastic. I worked my way quickly down, but not
before I thought I felt a small twitching under the silky smooth skin of
her uppermost inner thigh.
I made sure to work her thighs all the way around. There wouldn't
really be any muscles on the front of her torso to massage, and I
couldn't chance her turning over for me to finish her legs. Luckily I
was wearing cutoffs instead of my suit, but with my original plans in
mind I'd thought it a bother to put on underwear. I could reach her
lower back from where I was, but any further my erection would be
bumping against her butt. I started to get up and move to one side
when Marilyn corrected me, "No, darling. You can't do a proper job at
that angle. Just straddle me. It's okay, we're all adults around here."
I actually wound up just sort of sitting on her ass. I couldn't believe
it! I went to work on her back with a passion. I even dared to rub
along the sides of her breasts, but in a purely professional fashion.
"Oh-h-h, god, James, I am so glad you are here for me right now.
Pardon me for being so greedy and selfish--I know you'd rather be
home spending time with your girlfriend--but this is absolutely
marvelous!"
My girlfriend? What girlfriend? "Oh, well, that's okay, this is great. I
mean, I don't really have a girlfriend or anything anyway."
"No?"
"No, well, no. I mean, there's no girls, I mean, girls, I mean, no girls,
like, girls don't seem to know I'm alive or anything. I mean, girls, um,
they don't talk to me or anything, I mean, girls are great, but I mean,
like, they don't even look at me." And with my grand social skills, no
wonder. Puberty had struck me as just another one of life's cruel
jokes. After several years of adjusting to my sexuality I'd come to the
understanding that despite the best intentions of my fantasy life, in
real life I was doomed to die a virgin.
"No girlfriend, hmm. Well, don't despair. I wouldn't worry about it too
much. You just need to work at overcoming your shyness. It's an
endearing quality, and it won't ever truly leave you, but you can't let
yourself become paralyzed by it. I bet all the girls are just panting
after you. You just don't know it yet. And once you do, _lucky
girls!_" Marilyn laughed.
I finished off her shoulders, trailing down her arms. "Oh James, _thank
you_, thank you oh so very much. That was totally delicious. Now if I
could beg of you one last favor, down in that midget fridge there's a
pitcher of iced tea," she prattled on as she rolled over underneath me.
My heart stopped! I tried to scuttle backwards out of view but there
was no time. There was no way for me to escape. There was nowhere
for me to hide. Marilyn was leaning up on her elbows, holding her top
with her hands. Her line of vision was directly at my crotch. Then she
looked up at my face. She removed her sunglasses with one hand,
resting entirely on that elbow as her other arm crossed over her chest
to keep the top secured. I was mortified! Pinned to my place with
petrification. Slowly her mouth came to life. "Oh my. Did I do that to
you?" I couldn't move much less answer. Much of the blood in my
body had rushed to my head, though none of it was in my brain. What
remained had the front of my pants visibly pulsating. "Well, I suppose
I should feel flattered, but then I know at your age even an ugly old
lady like myself can be arousing."
"You're not old!" I fairly shouted, stammering before I could stop
myself, "a-a-and I think y-y-you're the m-m-most beautiful w-w-woman
in the world."
Exactly then some huge flying bug buzzed around her head. She
instinctually shooed it away with her free hand, which left the orange
twist of cloth to tumble down to the bottom of her ribcage. Marilyn's
breasts were staring at me and I was staring right back, my mouth
dropped wide open.
She made a move as to cover herself up, but then stopped. She
stopped and just studied me. She stopped and time stopped. I could
see that Marilyn was thinking, thinking, thinking. I was thinking too.
I was thinking how without meaning to I'd just ruined the vacation. I
was thinking how I'd broken every vital promise I'd made to my
parents. My parents! I was thinking how I'd brought permanent
disgrace to my family name. I was thinking how they'd have to pack me
into a cage like the nasty animal I was and cart me back home the
minute they got back to the boat. I was thinking how they'd be so
embarrassed they'd have to take off to Europe for six months to forget.
I was thinking how they'd sign over my guardianship to Madame
Crutcher!
Marilyn started speaking in a thoughtful tone, as though to someone
else. I darted my glance behind, convinced that someone had boarded
the boat and was sneaking up the ladder. "I've been teasing you,
haven't I? I _have_ been teasing you. Have I been teasing you? I
know I have. I'm sorry, James. That wasn't very nice of me. Old
habits die hard. I was just having such a splendid time up here with
you. I guess I got a little carried away. Please accept my most sincere
apologies, James. I think I've learned a little lesson today."
I replied by just sort of blinking back at her. Marilyn wasn't mad at
me? It didn't sound like she was going to tell on me. _She_ was
apologizing to _me_? "I'm, I'm sorry too, Marilyn. Please accept my
apologies as well."
"Oh but James!" she replied most warmly, "you've done absolutely
nothing wrong. Don't you see? You have nothing to be sorry for.
You're hungry so your stomach grumbles--is that any moral flaw?"
"Well, yea, but in polite company . . . " I tossed off.
Continued.
=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome:
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under the "Author" name of
LUSHGOD@HOTNOMAIL.COM
================
ON THE HOUSEBOAT
losgud
Section A
-30-
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