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From: Spangles Muldoon <spanglesmuldoon@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Psychedelic Affair
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Date: Wed, 08 Nov 2006 03:10:03 -0500
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Copyright (C) 1999, Spangles Muldoon.  ALL Rights Reserved

   This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit or on another
website without the written permission of the author.  The author may be
contacted by writing mrdouble@mrdouble.com or mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.

   Original posting date: Tuesday PM, September 07, 1999

   A Resident Author story from MrDouble's archive, Filename: affair.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com



   The Psychedelic Affair - Part One

   By Spangles Muldoon

   Spanglesmuldoon@yahoo.com

   This story is based on some incidents that really happened.  The usual
disclaimers apply.  If you live somewhere that reading this kind of thing
is illegal, I highly recommend that you move.  If you are too young to be
reading this, then by all means, don't.  If you choose to ignore this and
read it anyway, just remember, I told you not to.  You should be out making
your own memories instead of inside someplace reading about mine.







   You might have called us a garage band, except that none of us had a
garage and we weren't much of a band.  We were just a group of very bored
junior high guys with no talent and big aspirations that we each knew would
never come true.  We were all in a similar situation to one degree or
another.  We were all stuck in a nothing, dead end town, we were all
relatively poor, we all lived on the poor side of town, and we were all
misfits.

   Small town people, especially people our age, were very clique-ish. 
There were the society people, the jocks, the ropers, the dopers, the
intellectuals, the band dweebs, and so on.  Our little gang was a clique of
our own, because we weren't accepted by any other clique, and really didn't
want to be.

   We started practicing in Kevin and Johnny's basement one afternoon, and
sort of expanded things from there.  Johnny was the only one in the group
with any real talent.  He was both a band dweeb and an intellectual.  He
played drums with the band, and was really pretty good.  He could read
music pretty well, and was something of an electrical genius.

   Kevin was Johnny's older brother.  To this day, Kevin is something of an
enigma.  Kevin didn't fit in anywhere, not even with the rest of the
misfits.  Kevin was very nearsighted, almost to the point of being legally
blind.  He had very thick glasses that he seldom wore, electing instead to
go for the "cool" and wear Ray-Ban Wayfarer's day and night.  Naturally,
that didn't help his already bad vision at all.  Those Ray-Bans were one of
Kevin's two trademarks.  He was also never seen without his black leather
jacket.  The rest of Kevin's wardrobe was always interesting.  I guess the
best way to imagine it would be to think of it as if Stevie Wonder selected
his own wardrobe and dressed himself.  Nothing ever matched.  Kevin was an
expert on absolutely everything.  All you had to do was ask him.  He was an
expert pool player, expert artist, expert bass guitar player, and expert
anything else you might want to mention.  At least he thought so.  The
reality, of course, was different.

   I played keyboards.  I had no musical training whatsoever, and played
entirely by ear.  I had an old upright piano at home that I bought
fourth-hand from a church.  It was much too heavy to move, so I also had a
portable Hammond organ and a Moog synthesizer.  both of which I had bought
from a pawnshop.  I wasn't great on them, but at least I was almost
passable.

   Bill Pothorst was our lead guitar player.  He was another self-taught
musician.  He had lots of style and flash, but no real talent.  To top off
our merry little band, we had Allan Robertson.  He played trombone and
clarinet.  Okay....  I know.  Those are not typical rock band instruments,
but we were not a typical rock band.  Besides, Allan had access to a van,
and the only way that we had access to Allan's van was to have him in the
band.  We all traded off on vocals and backup singing.  Our sound was,
well, decidedly different.  Between Allan and Johnny, they had tweaked our
amplifiers up to a point that was deafening.  If we weren't good, at least
we could make up for it by being loud.  We called ourselves The Psychedelic
Affair.

   We really weren't good, and we certainly weren't good enough to play
anywhere in public.  It was mainly just something to do for us, something
to fight off some of the boredom.  Something to dream about.  It was Kevin
who changed things.  He was shooting off his mouth (as usual) to some
people at the local Teen Club, a place set up downtown to keep kids off the
street, and he volunteered us to play for a dance.  It was a non-paid gig,
which, coincidentally, was substantially more than we were worth.

   To make matters worse, he conveniently 'forgot' to tell us about it, and
we didn't find out until Allan saw one of the signs announcing it posted
downtown.  We could have killed Kevin.  Not only were we not good, we
didn't even have a repertoire.  We could play parts of about a dozen songs,
none of them all the way through, and only some of them recognizable to
anyone but us.  We certainly didn't know enough songs to cover three,
forty-five minute sets, which was what Kevin had set us up for.

   Still, we were stuck.  It was truly a no-win situation for us.  The
dance had already been advertised, and if we cancelled, we would look like
major assholes.  If we went through with it, well, we would look like major
dip shits.  We had a couple of weeks, so we decided to bust ass and try to
do it.  We rehearsed every free minute of every waking hour, including more
than a couple of marathon sessions.  By the week of the dance, we had a
solid hour of music down, some of it almost passable.  It was half what we
needed, but we planned on delaying between songs to stretch the time out,
and on doing some encores in hopes that nobody would notice.  That,
combined with some solo work and some talk between songs just might get us
through this.

   We got to the teen club at two in the afternoon, even though we weren't
supposed to start playing until nine that night.  Allen parked the van in
the alley and we unloaded and setup our equipment on the stage.  We checked
and double-checked everything, then we played our entire repertoire, trying
to stretch it out as long as possible.  This was out last chance to
rehearse.  We timed our performance, and managed to get just over an hour
out of it.  We would have to stretch it even more somehow.  We all left the
club, agreeing to meet back there at eight o'clock.  I was as nervous as a
long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

   When I got back to the club, I went to the back entrance as we had
agreed.  Allen was already there with the van.  I don't know how he managed
it, but he had an ice chest full of beer, and was sitting there drinking
one.  I chugged two in rapid succession, which calmed my nerves a little.
While we were waiting for the other guys to show up, Allen and I went in
the back door of the club to take a peek.  They were playing records while
waiting for us to start.  The place was already packed.  My nervousness
came back with a vengeance.  We went back the van, and found that the other
guys were there.

   I still wasn't feeling too good about this, but at this point, there was
nothing we could do but do it.  We delayed until five minutes after nine to
go in, because we all knew that every minute we could kill would be of help
to us.  We waited in the wings while the teen club manager introduced us.
That killed another minute or so.  We hit the stage while the audience was
still applauding, and kicked off our intro number.  We actually sounded
pretty good, well; maybe it was the beer I had drunk in the alley that made
us sound good.  Anyway, the first song went over pretty well, and before he
second one, Bill Pothorst introduced all the members of the band.  I spent
the time surveying the audience.  All in all, not a bad crowd.  Several
very cute girls there, even a few that I have never seen before, which was
unusual in a town of this size.  Most of them I recognized.

   The first set went pretty well.  I knew we were still heading for
trouble, though, because we were playing too many songs too fast, and
weren't taking enough time between them.  There was no way we could do two
more sets at the pace we were going.  During the break, we all went out to
the alley where the van was and drank a couple of beers each.  I mentioned
my concerns to them, but they didn't seem to be too worried about it.  They
went back inside because they wanted to mingle with the crowd some.  I
elected to stay outside and drink another beer.  I figured I would need it
before this night was over.  I was standing at the back of the van with
both van doors open, and was reaching in to grab the ice chest to get
another beer when I heard someone come up behind me.  I turned to see who
it was, thinking it was one of the guys who had come back out.  It wasn't.

   It was one of the girls I had noticed in the audience.  I had noticed
her for a few reasons, one because I didn't recognize her, two because I
had not seen her dance with anyone, three because I had noticed her
noticing me, and four, because she was really pretty.  She was a brunette,
about five foot five or so.  She was very curvy, but didn't have a large
build at all.  I figured her for about sixteen.  She was wearing a tie-died
tank top and a black mini skirt.  She spoke before I could.

   "Hi, Spangles!", she said, "My name is Cynthia.  I wanted to tell you
that I think you are very talented on the keyboards." "Thanks," I replied,
"You're not from around here, are you?  I don't remember seeing you around,
and I would have surely noticed someone as pretty as you." I have to admit
here that it was the beer talking there.  I was not the type to come on
that strong with a girl.  Hell, normally I wouldn't even talk to the ones I
knew, let alone do anything like that.  "No, I'm not from here.  I'm just
in town visiting my cousin Colleen." She replied.  "Do you really think I'm
pretty?" she asked.

   "Yes," I responded, "If I didn't think so, I wouldn't have said it." She
moved over closer to me, and got between the van and me.  We were shielded
from both sides by the van doors.  "You're kinda cute yourself," she said,
"cute and talented." Feeling pretty brave now (the beer again...), I placed
my arms around her and pulled her close to me.  There was no resistance to
that, so I leaned over and kissed her.  Her response was warm and
passionate, and I started getting hard immediately.  I didn't have much
time left before the next set was supposed to start, but I didn't want to
quit what was happening here.  I broke that kiss and she took the
initiative and kissed me the second time.  I was certainly encouraged, so I
took the opportunity to place a hand on her breast through her tank top. 
She didn't resist at all, and in fact started kissing me even harder.

   During the next kiss, I decided to step things up a little, and dropped
my hand from her breast to her crotch, and was doing my best to feel her up
through her skirt.  Again, no resistance.  I was hard as the proverbial
rock by now.  I guided her backwards a little and sat her down on the back
of the van.  I knew I had to get her skirt higher if I was going to get to
finger her any at all, and that seemed to be the best way to do it.  I
started kissing her again, and while I had her occupied with that, I
managed to get my hand under her skirt.  Surprisingly (to me, at least),
she actually opened her legs some to give me access.  I took advantage of
it immediately, of course, and was soon rubbing her through the thin
material of her panties.  She was kissing me harder than ever and moaning
softly.  I was so hard at this point that it was actually painful.

   When we broke that kiss, she looked at me and said "Do you want to do it
with me?" "What??" I said, not thinking that I had heard her right.  "Do
you want to do it with me?" she asked again.  "Yes." Was my reply.  How
could I have possible said anything else at that point.  She stood up and
started removing her panties.  "Do you have any protection?" she asked, "I
don't want to get pregnant." She laid her panties on the ice chest and sat
back down on the back of the van.  Protection?  My mind actually went blank
for a moment, and then I realized that I did indeed have some.  I had a
single condom that I had been carrying in my wallet for what seemed like
forever.  None of the girls I had been with up to that point had ever asked
about it, so I had mostly forgotten about it.  I dug it out quickly, opened
my pants, ripped open the package, and rolled it on over my painfully hard
dick.  She was watching carefully to make sure I did it.  Once it was on,
she opened her legs as wide as she could and flipped her skirt up.  I was
more than ready.

   I took a couple of steps forward with my dick leading the way.  She
reached down and guided me to her entrance.  She was extremely wet, and I
slid inside her easily.  It took me a couple of strokes to bottom out
inside her.  She moaned softly when I did.  She was very tight, but was
definitely not a virgin.  I began to thrust in her, and she matched me
stroke for stroke.  I knew I had to hurry before someone came out looking
for me.  I knew I would be hurrying anyway, because I really needed to
come. She felt tremendous, even with the rubber on.

   I began to quicken my pace, pumping into her harder and faster.  She
continued to match me.  The come was boiling in my balls, and knew I
wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.  Suddenly, the sensation changed.
It was hotter, wetter, and felt a thousand times better.  I began to screw
her even harder and faster.  I felt my first shot begin its journey through
my dick, and it exploded into her with the force of a fire hose.  I paused
for a moment with my dick bottomed out in her, then started pumping again.
Each stroke coaxed more come out of me, until there was none left inside me
and my knees were weak and shaking.  I was literally and figuratively
drained.

   I paused for a moment, keeping my dick inside her until it was too soft
to remain.  When it slid out, I noticed that the rubber was not there.  It
took me a moment to figure out what had happened, but I suspected that it
had come off while I was screwing her, and that is why the feeling changed.
I had shot my load inside her virtually unprotected.  The rubber had to be
still inside her.  There was no place else it could be.  I stepped back and
went through the motions of taking a rubber off, even though it was no
longer there.  I knew that eventually she would figure out what had
happened, but I didn't want to spend any time right now trying to explain
it.  I heard the back door of the club open, and though someone was coming
out.  Instead, I heard Johnny yelling at me to get back in there.  I
hollered back that I was on my way, and he closed the door.  "Cynthia," I
said, "I have to get back inside." "Right behind you." She said, getting
up. I closed and locked the van doors and we went back inside.  I went up
on stage, and she went back out to the audience.  I noticed that she didn't
appear back out there immediately.  I figured she had delayed a little bit
so it wouldn't look suspicious.

   The next set went pretty good, but by the end of it we were running out
of music to play.  I kept an eye on Cynthia the whole time, and noticed
that she was watching me a lot, too.  She never did dance with anyone, even
though she was asked several times.  It made me hard just looking at her
and knowing that she was full of my come, and that the rubber was still
someplace somewhere deep inside her.  I knew that I had forced it pretty
deep in her with my pounding.  I was wondering if there was any chance that
I had made her pregnant under those circumstances.  I had no idea.  I also
wondered how long it would be before she discovered the rubber and figured
out what had happened.

   I talked to her again the next band break, and she let on like nothing
had happened.  I made my way back out to the van where the guys were
drinking a beer, and of course, I caught some hell about the panties they
had found on the ice chest.  I took their ribbing, and of course, took the
panties, too.  I kept them for a souvenir.  We had just started out third
set, which, since we had no more songs to play, was a repeat of our first
set, when the police showed up.  They said there had been some noise
complaints, and shut us down.  The audience was not happy, but we were
thrilled.  I never saw Cynthia again, but I have often wondered about her.



   -- Continued in Part Two -













   *---(:> Double for Nothing!!  Tricks for Free!!!  <:)---*



   www.mrdouble.com



   Flowers On the Wall....


   *---(:> Mr Double <:)---* 

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