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Subject: {Bombadil}JDR"Angie Baby A"( fm pett fant caution )[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
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matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
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**************************************************************
All of Tom Bombadil's stories can be found at:
http://members.iglou.com/stbush/stories.html
**************************************************************
By Tom Bombadil (c) May 1997
Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended
by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is
illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are
under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you
might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this
text from your computer.
This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions
described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of
fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or
actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in
my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or
relatives.
You've been warned.
I give permission for anyone to share or archive this story.
Warning - there is no real sex in this story, just some intense
foreplay and innuendo.
I do not make any claims to the lyrics used. See notes at end.
*********************************************************
**********
Angie Baby
By Tom Bombadil
Section A
"Angie! Angie!! Turn that music down!" yelled Dan down the hall
towards his daughter's room. The volume dropped by a dozen
decibels, which made conversation in the front of the house
possible, but he knew the respite would only be temporary. When
Angie was in one of her moods, nothing could long keep her from
blasting out the music.
He and Janice, his wife, exchanged pained looks, knowing each
other's thoughts almost perfectly at that moment. Slowly, over the
course of years, they had come to realize that their daughter was
not fully sane, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.
Counsellors had talked and listened until they went practically
nuts themselves trying to crack through her shell. Psychiatrists
had hemmed and hawed and tried all their neat tricks and puzzles,
and failed to penetrate her outer mask. Doctors had poked and
prodded and scanned and ran test after test, finally deciding that
Angie was, in fact, in perfect health.
Everyone agreed, though, that she was just a little strange.
Everyone except Angie.
She had long since given up trying to have anyone else share what
she knew of reality, things she had discovered as a child, things
that others knew to be impossible. So she learned to wear a
girl-mask, and then a teen-mask, until the day Gary Planchett had
cornered her, alone, in an empty room at school.
Nobody believed her when she said he was trying to do more than just
kiss her, even though she told him no. He was a model student, a
member of the school council, and was a top performer in baseball
and soccer. He had a girlfriend already, one of the cheerleaders,
so he didn't need to force himself on her.
But he had, and she had stopped him.
Plastic surgery had repaired most of his face, but couldn't fix his
damaged eye.
Nobody believed her. Her bruises didn't matter to them.
She was taken out of school. Angie had no friends there anyway, so
she considered it no great hardship. By that time, she believed
that she knew everything they were going to teach her. When she
wrote tests, she got everything right. Always. The answers were
always available to her if she didn't know them already. Nobody
ever caught her cheating in a normal manner, and nobody ever
believed her when she told them how she cheated, so they called her
brilliant, gifted, a prodigy. They also said she was on the wrong
side of a certain fine line, speaking as though she wouldn't
understand the reference.
That was another barrier between her and the normal world,
especially between her and anyone in school who might have been
brave enough to try and make friends with her.
She retreated into songs, music, rock and roll, and the radio.
Music had always been there for her, and she had always loved
listening to the melodies and the stories. She began to live them.
They became her life.
Just more proof that she was crazy.
**********
You live your life in the songs you hear on the rock & roll
radio
And when a young girl doesn't have any friends, that's a
really nice place to go
Folks hopin' you'd turn out cool, but they had to take you
outa school
You're a little touched you know, Angie baby.
**********
Dan and Janice both heaved a sigh of relief when the music suddenly
stopped. Silence filled the house, sounding very strange after
three hours of songs played at a very high volume. Slowly, other
noises came to be heard - the ticking of the kitchen clock, the hum
of the refrigerator, the honking and roaring of distant traffic.
"Mom, Dad, I'm going out for a walk!" Angie shouted, as she made her
way towards the back door.
Dan nodded, then watched his little girl stroll through the yard,
out the gate, and down the lane.
"She looks like a normal fifteen year old," he thought to himself
as he stared out the window. "She sounds like a normal fifteen
year old too. Why can't she be a normal fifteen year old?"
His eyes caught sight of her again part way down the alley.
At five foot five, she wasn't terribly tall or terribly short. At
ninety-five pounds she was probably a little thin for her height,
but she was still blossoming. Her light brown hair was shiny and
clean, slightly curled, and was just a little more than shoulder
length. It was worn loose, as usual. Green eyes, already looking
large in her small, elfin face, were made to seem absolutely huge
and luminous with just a touch of makeup.
Smiling was a thing she did often, usually because of something in
her private little world. Her perfect white teeth, which had never
needed braces, were almost all put on display by her generously wide
mouth. Lightly tanned skin, a faint, natural blush, and features
that were regular and even, combined to create a budding
sensuality.
Despite her youth and lack of full development, she was proud of her
body. Breasts the size of small apples, hips starting to spread, a
very narrow waist, long legs, and slender thighs and calves gave her
a look of youthful innocence with that hint of wantonness so many
older boys and men found attractive. She was becoming beautiful.
Another pair of eyes watched her as she walked down the alley.
There was no bemusement there, no love, no tenderness. Lust and
desire filled them, leaving no room for anything else. Bob, their
next door neighbour's son, was staring out of an upstairs window.
His thoughts were far from pure.
Bob was not a nice guy. He was a senior in high school, got very
good grades, was the star quarterback, and had himself a scholarship
to a prestigious college. He also collected notches on his belt.
Being a tall, good looking blond hunk, well muscled, and a suave,
debonair kind of smooth talker, he had a regular string of girls
that put out for him.
He used them, but they weren't enough. They were too easy. He
liked collecting notches. At seventeen, he was both worldly
experienced and hardened. There was an extreme lack of normal
morality or conscience inside his person.
He'd already been into the panties of every loose girl in school.
All the girls that weren't so easy, but liked to party, he'd had
too. Slipping a Mickey Finn to a girl he wanted was perfectly
acceptable, in his eyes. His favourite memories were of the sixteen
year old Fawsey twins. Both were out at a senior party for the
first time. Both went with dates. Both drank the special rum and
cokes he made. Both were virgins when he had them. He left them
lying in bed together when they started recovering. Both blamed
their dates when they regained their senses.
Any girl that was rumoured not to scream when cornered he'd also
had. Willingness was not a prerequisite for his conquests. One
girl, Stacy, had learned not to bother struggling whenever he
wanted her. All she did was cry, turn around, and drop her pants
and panties.
Neither was age a barrier to his desires. Anything growing breasts
was fair game for his lusts, young or old.
One fourteen year old girl that he seduced, then raped, was just
barely pubescent. By the time he finished playing with her mind,
she believed everything was her fault and her idea. She was his
willing sex toy, pretending to enjoy his vaginal, oral, and anal
attentions. He grew tired of her after two months and gave her to
a couple of his football buddies.
His thirty-four year old math teacher was his oldest victim. He
blackmailed her into having sex with him. He had her at least once
a week for an entire school year, and he insisted that it be without
any protection whatsoever. She gave birth the following August,
then moved away. They never saw or spoke to each other again.
Bob was definitely not a nice guy, and he was watching Angie with
that same gleam he had when starting his other conquests. He had
seen her naked many times, as he stood outside, in the dark,
watching through her bedroom window. He believed that she wasn't
concerned about being careful, since her window was ten feet above
ground level, but he was resourceful. He had watched as her flat
breasts swelled out to small handfuls, as her hips changed from
vertical to slightly curvy, and as her bottom grew from little girl
to rounded woman.
His favourite times were when she played sexy or romantic songs.
'Only You' was a song that she danced slow to. 'Girls Just Wanna
Have Fun' was one she danced to like a crazy person, her small
breasts swinging all over the place. Anything by Dr. Hook had her
lying on the bed, hands between her legs, bouncing up and down.
Watching her jerk off, seeing her teen breasts rolling around,
absorbing all the looks of passion and ecstasy that ran across her
face, always had him hard as a rock and jerking himself off right
then and there. He always imagined himself in the room, laying on
top of her, pumping his seed into her belly, impregnating her with
his child.
Those were always some of the best climaxes of his life. He even
used that fantasy sometimes when he was with one of his normal
girls.
He liked what he saw, and he had finally decided to take her. A
plan had formed. The idea in his head came from overhearing Lyn,
his mother, and Janice, her mother, having another of their talks
about Angie.
"She's definitely a bit touched. Still talks about all kinds of
wild things. Things that just never happened."
"One day she swore that Meatloaf came to her room and made love to
her. She played Paradise by the Dashboard Lights over and over and
over again until Dan took the record away from her."
"What else?"
"How about Jerry Lee Lewis? She told us she went to the movies with
him, and they kissed and petted in the dark on the balcony. She
said he was circumcised."
"You've got a ... very strange girl." Lyn paused for a moment
before continuing. "What's her wildest one so far?"
"Oh, she claimed that the school's entire soccer team abducted her
from the middle of the park and took her to a secluded glade. They
then stripped and danced with her for hours, all in the nude. Then
they all kissed her on the lips and the nipples and the pussy, got
dressed, and took her home. Only when we pressured her did she
admit that it was her ghosts doing the deed, not the real team.
She's going to drive me batty with her wild fantasies one day."
"You poor dear. Here, let me get you some more tea."
Bob had his plan. He thought there would be no danger, since
nobody would believe anything she said anyway.
The next Friday, Dan and Janice left town for the night. Naturally,
Lyn, and therefore Bob, knew all about it. Angie, despite her
strangeness, had long since proven that she could safely be left on
her own.
Lyn also went out for the evening, on a date with a guy she was
involved with. Those dates usually lasted until the following
afternoon.
Bob had his opportunity, and his plan. He thought there would be
no danger, since nobody would believe anything she said anyway.
"Hi, Angie. How'ya doin'?"
He watched her face very carefully, seeing what he took to be
nervousness, awe, and a touch of fear in her eyes.
"Fine," she said.
"Can I come in? I forgot my keys at school and I'm waitin' for a
friend to bring 'em over. He said he'd be here 'bout ten or so."
Bob figured five hours alone with Angie ought to be plenty of time
to do anything he wanted, regardless of how she reacted.
"I guess. As long as you don't make a mess, and you take off your
shoes, and you say please, and you promise to do as you are told."
He smiled warmly and with apparent sincerity. "I promise."
Bob stood there for a few seconds, looking at her, waiting for her
to finish opening the door. Finally, he grew impatient.
"Well?" he said, looking at her with his eyebrows raised.
"Well?" she replied, with a sour look on her face.
After another short pause, he came to realize what she was waiting
for.
"Please, may I come in?"
She smiled brightly, pulling the door wide open for him.
When he walked inside, she stopped him with a hand on his chest
before he could take two steps.
"No, no, no, you naughty boy. What did I just tell you?"
It took several more seconds for him to remember what else she had
said. Only when his shoes were off did she let him proceed.
"Have a seat on the couch. Would you like a drink? Koolaid?
Orange juice? Ginger ale? Milk?"
"You got anything a little, uh, stronger, maybe?"
"Oh, you're one of *those*, are you? Someone who doesn't like the
world as it is, who needs the edges removed, the barriers
lowered. Here, I'll sneak some of my Dad's vodka. He'll never
miss it."
She got him his drink - vodka and orange - a double at least, by
his estimate, and he watched her face and body as she moved around
the bar. His cock got hard, imagining her without the t-shirt and
jeans she was wearing. He didn't recognize the music she had
playing, but then again, he didn't know or care much about music
anyway. The words seemed appropriate, at least to him - "... all in
all you're just another brick in the wall." Bob grinned in
anticipation, crossing his legs to hide the bulge that was forming.
"Aren't you gonna join me? After all, it ain't polite lettin'
your guest drink alone."
"No, I don't think so. Reality flows and changes enough for me
already. I don't need depressants or stimulants to make things
even weirder. You'll be drinking enough for both of us. Besides,
terrible things could happen if *I* were to lose control!" She
laughed, as though what she had said was uproariously funny.
Angie sat on the other end of the couch, sipping from a glass of
ice water, watching him. Bob was a little nonplussed by her words
and actions. They weren't those of any fifteen year old he'd put
the make on before. "I guess she is weird," he thought. "This
might be too damned easy."
"I heard that your folks are gone for the night. Is it for
somethin' special?"
"Sort of. Dad says it's for business, but I know better. They just
want to get away and be *alone* together. Mom doesn't like doing
*it* with me in the house. She thinks I'm spooky."
He thought hard for a few seconds. "Are you spooky? You seen them
doin' *it*? Or do you even know what *it* is?"
With a wicked and wanton grin, she replied. "Yes, and yes, and I
know all about the birds and the bees and making whoopie."
Bob grinned back. "So you know all about it. You've seen and
done it all. You're an experienced woman. I got just one
question - how many real guys you done it with?"
A wistful look chased away her grin. "I've only ever done it with
the ghosts and spirits I conjure up. They aren't very satisfying,
because they only ever do what I can already do myself. And I have
all these dreams ..."
"You've ain't never done it for real then. You ever kissed a guy?
You ever even had a real climax?"
"Kissing. The act of pressing lips on lips. If tongues are
exchanged, Frenching is the proper term. Only once, a few years
ago, with a boy I didn't like, who forced me to French him. It was
disgusting. I've wondered ever since what it would have been like
if he had been nice."
"Hmmm. Y'know, kissin' someone nice is somethin' you gotta be
taught. Then you gotta practice. It's like playin' a piano.
Anyone can play with one finger, but you gotta have lots of trainin'
and practice to sound like Mozart." That was a line he'd used,
successfully, several times before.
"Taught. Practice. Piano. Mozart. I wonder if he ever tried
playing with his lips. Then again, he being a he, he probably
didn't have the right lips to play with!" She laughed again, almost
maniacally, at her own words. The young man didn't know what to
make of her conversation.
"Bob," Angie said, speaking in a soft, little-girl voice, "do you
know how to dance really good? Can you teach me?" Her look of
innocent pleading prompted a new surge in his manhood.
Events were not unfolding in any way, shape, or form like he had
envisioned them. The script was being followed, rather loosely, but
he felt like his and hers were written by completely different
people for completely different plays, and they were only
superficially appearing to mesh. His hormones and lust overrode
any reservations running through his brain.
"Yeah, I could, on one condition."
"What? What do you need for dancing?"
"I'll teach you to dance, if you'll also let me teach you to kiss.
Deal?" Bob had also used 'dancing' and 'the deal' as a seduction
ploy a few times. The reality of pressing body to body, with hands
free to roam at will, had turned on many of his dates beyond the
point of no return. He thought it a fortunate coincidence that she
wanted to learn how.
"Kiss. You want to dance and ... kiss. Okay. Deal, for now.
Wait here. I'll go find the right mood."
Ten minutes later, Bob was getting quite antsy and worried. That's
when the classic voice of Tom Jones started up. As Angie walked
into the living room some few minutes later, he stood to greet the
new her, lust and amazement fighting for dominance on his face.
Gone were the jeans and white socks. Gone was the t-shirt. Gone
was the bra she'd been wearing.
A black velvet minidress hung from spaghetti straps crossing her
flawless white shoulders. The upper half concealed enough of her
breasts to keep her legal, at least in most states. Her chest was
revealed right down to the bottom of her breastbone, and the sides
of her dress swept down the outside of her body, beginning their
rearward journey only when they reached the bottom of her ribs,
ending just above the beginning of her bottom, revealing the
dimples in the small of her back. The hem sat several inches above
mid-thigh. She twirled to show herself off.
His eyes kept travelling of their own accord, as they lacked any
guidance from his higher brain functions for a moment or two.
Black patent heels, sheer charcoal gray nylons, a silver
necklace, silver quarter-moon earrings, and one wrist full of
bangles completed her apparel. Her hair, which had been down, was
done up in a complex braid of some kind, leaving several wisps of
light brown hanging in a frame around her face, a face which he
couldn't quit staring at. She was beautiful - young, innocent,
and vulnerable, like one of those waifs seen in the fashion
magazines. Green eyes, large and luminescent, blinked a few times
as she watched his reaction.
Bob began drooling, in two places, as he envisioned his cock being
sucked on by those pale, innocent, lips. His imagination supplied
him with several different expressions for her, from wanton lust to
outright fear and revulsion. In all cases though, he was buried to
the hilt in her throat. He had to shake his head to clear it of the
images and toss back the rest of his drink before he could say
hello again.
********************************************************************
"Angie Baby" was a song written by Alan O'Day and sung by Helen
Reddy. It was fairly successful when released in the mid
seventies.
"Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" was written by Jim Steinman and
sung by Meatloaf and Ellen Foley, with play-by-play spoken by
Phil (Scooter) Rizzuto - Voice of the New York Yankees.
"Another Brick in the Wall" was written by Roger Waters and
performed by Pink Floyd.
All lyrics used without permission.
********************************************************************
**********
Angie Baby
By Tom Bombadil
Section A
-30-
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