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From: otzchiim@aol.com (Otzchiim)
Subject: [Otzchiim] Interesting Weekend (M/F, cons, first)
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A note may be called for here. I don't know how many people
have been following my weekly posting of stories since August 10th,
but don't look for one next week. This has, so far, been a backlog
of things written for the men's magazines and not sold, and I really
don't turn out one a week. Actually, since the postings started, it's
been one new story, one reconstruction of one I can't find, one
mentally outlined, and two that have to have the rest written down.
In one of those last two cases I have to find the notepad I took to
the blues concert and then do some research on oranges to make sure my
facts are right.
I have decided to cut down the presentation to one every two
weeks, to drag out the inventory and maybe marginally reduce the
oversupply of stories on a.s.s.-- though the supply of ones I like is
still not all that great. It's probably too late for me to develop a
taste for rape and incest, however.
So "Some Problems are Easier than Others" will show up on December
7th or thereabouts. I may even revise and repost some earlier efforts
in response to comments. We shall see.
I have never included the semi-standard warnings and notices, but
since I am already writing: Nobody under eighteen years of age should
read this. Wait a while. When I was your age, we couldn't even
find anything as clean as this -- it was all bondage material. (All
we could get hold of, anyway.)
If you want to copy this to your own site, tell me about it in
advance. I'll probably say yes unless you are charging to read it, in
which case we will discuss terms of payment. (Got to get some use out
of those business law courses).
The poetry postings will continue at the same rate. I have a year
left of those.
Anyone familiar with Washington today will not that this refers to
the old Greyhound station. I don't like the neighborhood of the new
one.
***********************
INTERESTING WEEKEND
from Otzchiim@aol.com
George Chitwood had the habit, if you can call it that, of eating
dinner on Friday nights after work at the D.C. bus station, on Fridays
when he wasn't going out with anyone, and picking out a movie to go to
alone. A fair number of movies these days are ones that his dates
might not like but he did, so this way he got to see them.
He was walking by the Greyhound station on a particular Friday in
the middle of June, after work, when he heard a timid voice saying,
"Mister, could you spare a dollar? I just got in and I'm hungry." He
stopped and looked over. She was sixteen or seventeen, with
shoulder-length black hair and a heart-shaped face. She looked like a
runaway.
"No," he said. "Not that way. But if you're willing to sit and
talk with me, I'll buy you a meal, either at one of the fast-food
places right around here or at a Chinese place a couple blocks east.
And if you need it, I can offer a couch for tonight, but I don't like
to give away money."
"Fast-food's what I been eating, so I guess I'll go for the
Chinese," she said. "I could do with the vegetables." She hesitated.
"But I think I'll pass on the couch." They walked from 11th
Street over to 9th and up the steps to a restaurant. Once they had
settled in and ordered, he said to her: "So what's your name,
whereabouts are you from, and what are you doing here?"
"Name's Mary Nelson, I lived all my life in a little nothing place
near Cleveland, `cept for a couple trips, and... Well, my family's
gotten to be too much for me to take, and nothing goes on in the town,
and I just wanted to get out on my own in the city. I really wanted
to make a break with all my past."
Mary told him that she was seventeen, about what he had guessed.
She had finished high school about two weeks before (though the actual
graduation ceremony was still to come). College, the usual full-time
sort at least, wasn't in the picture for her, but it wasn't for a lot
of girls. She figured to get a job down here and skip the graduation
foofaraw, just starting out on her own.
George thought about all this. He was twenty-two then, five years
older than she was, but he knew well enough what it would have been
like for her. He thought he probably could have made it on his own at
her age, though he hadn't really tried until a bit later. It wasn't
clear whether she could make it, but some people never do. Women
especially often go straight from parents to a husband and never
really know a life of their own. Only time would tell how things
would go for Mary, or even if she would really try.
George told her some about himself and his government job, about
his interests and what he did in his spare time. They talked for
maybe an hour and a half from the time they came in, talking while
they ate. He could see toward the end that she was struggling with a
decision. When George paid the bill and they were ready to leave, she
said, "Uh, George, I think I will take that offer of a couch, if it's
still open, after all."
He told her that the couch was still available, and he put her
backpack on his shoulders. Since the night was nice, and since the
apartment he had in those days was only a little over a mile from
there, they walked over.
They went up the white marble steps of his apartment building and
then up in the elevator. Once they were in his apartment, he set down
the backpack on the floor and he said to her: "Here's the couch you
can sleep on. The television doesn't work very well, but the radio
does, and I have a lot of different kinds of books. I want to
reassure you that there are no strings attached, that you can sleep in
peace when you get down to it. I'm not going to demand any physical
payment for this, although," he added, smiling, "I wouldn't be honest
if I didn't say that any interest in that direction would be mutual."
He glanced at her nicely rounded body, trying not to linger too
long at the hips or breasts before coming up to her large eyes, trying
not to scare her off.
She looked up at him a little timidly and said, "The interest is
there. I think maybe I'll pass on the couch in a different way this
time. I know we only met a couple hours back, but... Like I said, I
want to make a real break with my past." And she came toward him.
Now this made him hesitate, at least mentally. He had only half
been joking about the interest, but she was coming on pretty strong.
He had to assume, though, that she knew what she was doing.
They kissed softly at first, then she settled against him and
there was a long and hungry kiss with their tongues wrestling and his
hands pulling up on her behind as they stood there. He took off her
denim jacket and hung it up, then led her over to his bed. They lay
down on top of the blanket and George went back to kissing her deeply.
After a bit, he unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, then another
one, until he could get his hand under and move it to her warm soft
breast. He felt her heart beating faster. He cupped the breast and
caressed it gently, and in time he pulled back the blouse to expose
both her mounds and began to use his lips and tongue on them. Her
breasts were small, but the nerve-endings on the nipples were very
sensitive, to judge by her reactions.
She pulled him to her then, impossibly close, until he drew away
to take off his shirt and to put her blouse aside. She took off her
shoes then and reached for him again with a half-eager,
half-embarrassed look in her eyes. They lay then and pressed and
kissed with his chest hair rubbing slightly against her nipples. He
reached down to unbutton the top of her skirt and draw the zipper
down. He lifted the cloth back, leaving her wearing only panties. He
drew his left hand up and down her legs, especially her soft inner
thighs, and then he took off his loafers and slacks and -- since he
could see where they were going -- briefs.
George returned to her, grinding their lower bodies together. She
stroked her hand along the length of his erection, less tentatively
with a little time.
When he crept a hand under her elastic and reached down, he found her
very wet. She gasped when he touched her down there and spread her
legs wide open, then closed them again when his hand went further
down. He ran his fingers over the labia and up to the clitoris with
his tongue back in her mouth again.
He peeled off her panties as she lifted her hips. His now
unconfined hand ran over the outside of that wonderfully wet region
and brought her quickly to a climax. George pressed their now-naked
bodies together and shifted position to bring his member up to her
labia. She gave a little cry at the contact. He penetrated a tiny
fraction of a inch, and began slowly, barely, to work his way in and
out. It was not very long before George discovered how much of a
break with the past she intended and what else remained unbroken.
Halfway into her and a bare fraction of an inch from ending her
virginity was a hard time to decide whether to go on, but that was
where he was.
"Go ahead," she whispered, and he did.
She gave a soft cry as the membrane parted; there was little or no
blood. George felt the edges of the torn tissue around him as he
drove into her sweet depths.
Once the barrier was gone, her passion grew quickly. Her young
legs wrapped around him with a surprising strength. He gradually
lengthened his stroke, opening her up a bit at a time and savoring her
reactions. Every fraction of an inch more penetration seemed to
increase her pleasure, and to increase his because she seemed to grow
ever tighter. They went slowly until the end when they both moved
furiously and exploded together. Then they both lay wrapped in
exhaustion and satisfaction until they woke during the night and got
under the covers.
They sat in the kitchen the next morning and ate cornflakes and
milk for breakfast. George mentioned to her that he was about due for
a trip to the laundromat across the street, and she could throw in
anything she had that needed washing. She didn't have much to wash --
actually, she didn't have much in the pack, he saw when she unpacked
it -- but she included the blouse she had worn last night, and she put
on one of his shirts for the time being. She looked a little absurd
in it, but kind of cute at the same time.
They were delayed in crossing the street by two fire engines
roaring off. One drawback of that place was that it was two doors
from the firehouse, which made for short awakenings at night at times.
As they sat in the laundromat, George asked Mary just what sort of
work she had planned to do in Washington. Since she wasn't eighteen
yet, she couldn't get a civil service job, and as he told her, that
took months of waiting anyhow. She had had a vague idea of finding a
job as a sales clerk or a factory worker, and was surprised when he
told her that a place as big as Washington (which was smaller than she
thought, also) did not have many factories.
She had planned to stay in a hotel until she found an apartment,
but he told her what hotel prices were like in DC, even at the cheaper
places. With luck and working at it, she might manage to find an
apartment two weeks from now, at the start of July, but not before
that. As it worked out, she didn't have to go that route.
George suggested to her that he could have a set of keys made for
her and she could stay with him for a while, at least until she could
set up on her own with a steady job. Or until she gave up and went
back home, but he didn't tell Mary that.
"Having you stay with me won't cost me anything but food, and
that's very little if we cook," he said to her. Besides, he thought,
the fringe benefits were hard to beat. He didn't tell her that
either.
When the laundry was done, and they were putting the clothes away,
he suggested to Mary that she might want to go to a charity thrift
shop a few blocks north of them to look for a suit to wear on job
interviews, and he could have the keys made for her at the Georgee
time. Also, they might spend the rest of this Saturday going through
the Smithsonian buildings or sitting on the grass near there. It was
free and an obvious thing for someone new to Washington to do. She
liked both ideas.
George took her to the thrift shop and then he walked down the
street to a hardware store to get the keys made. She lucked into a
nice-looking grey outfit for a couple of dollars. That the thrift
shop supported a home for unwed mothers caused George to reflect a
bit. When Mary moved toward him in his apartment last night he had
assumed that she was on the pill; what he encountered a bit later made
it seem much less likely. There were other possibilities, but... The
thought that he should talk to her about this came back to him a
couple times later, always at the wrong moment to do so.
They dropped off the suit at the apartment, then took the bus down
toward the Smithsonian, and he could see that she was thinking about
something. When they got off the bus, Mary suddenly asked, "Don't you
have a girlfriend or something you want to be with?"
George grinned a little lopsidedly and said: "Well, not really
now. I've been going with the Georgee woman off and on for a while
now and she gets mad at me at times and won't talk to me for a while.
This time it's been more than a month, all over a woman I was involved
with -- though not sleeping with or anything -- for a little while
about the time that Judith and I first met. Neither I nor that woman
thought it was worth mentioning, and Judith just found out now. I
like her, but I'm not sure I'll ever understand her. Did you have a
steady boyfriend back in your town?"
"Yes." Mary looked down at the ground as she walked. "I didn't
have one for a long time, but my parents kind of pushed me into it.
That's in a way one of the things that made me want to leave. I
didn't really like the boys I knew, didn't really want to go out much
on dates. I liked to talk about things, and they mostly just wanted
to race around in cars, and when I started going steady with a boy I
could talk to a little, he wanted to... Well, to do what we did last
night, but he would never take it easy."
George started to talk to her then about what he had been thinking
in the thrift shop, but they came up to a bunch of little kids, and
moreover their parents, and he put it off and forgot about it.
The two of them walked through the museums, talking about what
they saw and ten thousand other things, and they ate a little lunch
early in the afternoon. It was getting dark, close to seven in the
evening, when they walked back toward the bus line to go back to the
apartment.
The night people were starting to come out. A bent-over man whose
face was red where it was not black with dirt stood in their way and
demanded money, and screamed abuse at them when they walked to the
next bus stop to get around him and his smell. He shouted out what he
was going to do to Mary in particular.
Mary hung tight to George's arm as they walked. "I've never heard
of people like that!," she said.
"This city has a lot of them," he told her. "And it's getting
more of them all the time, it seems. I think it's because we get a
lot of tourists, who feel sort of guilty about having a good time here
and having extra money. So they are more likely than other people to
give it to anybody who asks. I don't think they stop to consider that
charity may not be a virtue unless somebody really benefits from it.
"You hear it said that the beggars beg and sleep in the park
because they are poor. I'll agree with that, I think, but some of
these are poor in themselves, not by lack of money."
"I'm scared to just stand on the bus stop and wait," Mary said.
"George, could we just walk back to your place? It didn't seem that
far."
"If you want. It's only a few blocks more than we walked last
night. We'll just turn at 14th and walk north."
After a half-dozen blocks, a slim black man with a thin mustache
came from a doorway and sidled toward them. "Got some reefer, lotta
good horse, some fuss-rate Colombian cocaine," he said to them.
George just shook his head and kept walking, while Mary looked shocked
when she caught on to what he meant. "Okay, she probly be back when
she through wif you," he called after them.
"That man thought I was a, a prostitute and you were my customer?"
Mary asked puzzledly.
"Well, we are a little south of where they cluster, but many of
the women in this area after dark are prostitutes, and a lot of them
are drug addicts. In fact," he said, glancing over at her, "the pimps
like to get fresh meat by picking up runaways at the bus station."
She was quiet for a while.
They continued on until just a few blocks south of his apartment
building.
There they saw two men come out of an alley, grab and knock down a
middle-aged woman, and run down the street with her purse.
Run, as it happened, past Mary and George. Mary grabbed the purse
from the thief who had it, leaving him with a broken strap. The other
man ran a little behind the first and swerved toward Mary, and into
the fist George put into his stomach. The two men went on down the
street, the second one more staggering than running. The woman looked
sullenly at Mary as she got her purse back.
"That's another thing you have to watch out for around this city,"
George commented.
Back in the apartment, Mary looked around at the books and records
while he cooked a batch of macaroni and cheese and some green beans.
She was subdued and didn't eat much or talk much for a while.
"This city is going to take more getting used to than I thought,"
she said after dinner. "I wonder if I have done the right thing in
coming here. But -- George, would you hold me?"
And he did, as they sat on the couch.
After a while, she said to him, "There are things about this
weekend I could have done without, but there are other things that
I've really liked." She put her hand on the front of his pants and
grinned up at him.
He leaned forward to kiss her, and her mouth opened to welcome his
invasion. Her hand started to massage his penis through the cloth.
After a minute or so of this, Mary took him by the hand and led him to
the bed and then had him lie on his back. She took off his shirt
button by button and ran her hands over his chest-hair, bending down
to nibble at his nipples. She was a little disappointed by his
relative lack of response.
Then she took off his shoes and socks, then discarded her blouse
and reached for his belt. She pulled down his zipper and smiled when
she felt the bulge in his briefs. She tugged off his slacks and ran
her hands over his body and explored it thoroughly, enjoying herself
by seeing what reactions she could get.
She stood and dropped her skirt and panties, then got back onto
the bed, beautifully nude. She pulled off his briefs and applied her
tongue to the contents, at least the parts that interested her. She
kneeled over him on the bed, and finally took into her mouth more than
he would ever have thought would fit.
When she had done this for several minutes and he bulged almost
painfully, Mary got onto her toes, positioned herself carefully, and
sat down with a sharply indrawn breath. She tried to hold still with
his erection fully in her, but she found the pleasure from motion too
great to resist and soon slid along his piston, slowly and then more
quickly. She had a wild look of ecstacy she on her face as she
bounced up and down. After a while, they turned onto their sides and
he pushed one of her legs up to give a different angle. Still later
they separated so that he could enter her from behind and fondle her
breasts as she lay on her hands and knees. But it was with Mary under
him, as on the night before, that they achieved their last and
greatest orgasm, and slept the night in each other's arms.
In the morning, she said to him: "Do you know where there is a
Catholic church around here?"
"Yes," he said, "Three blocks south. We walked by it last night."
He was not surprised but a bit amused that the ex-virgin Mary was a
Roman Catholic.
"I'm not sure it matters, anyway," she thought aloud. "I couldn't
take communion until I went to confession, and I couldn't do that
unless I regretted what I've done, what we've done," she said, patting
the bed. "And I certainly don't."
This prompted him to bring up the possibility of her getting
pregnant, but a fire engine roared off then and he forgot about it.
They dressed and went to get the Sunday papers, and went through
them looking for jobs that she could apply for. Mary glanced at him
from time to time as they did this, plainly thinking about something
again.
At about four in the afternoon Mary suddenly dug into the bottom
of her backpack, brought out a box, and headed for the bathroom. This
cleared up George's doubts; what Mary brought out were tampons. This
meant that they didn't have sex that night, but three days in a row of
that enthusiasm and frenzy might have been a bit much for him anyway
-- at least it might take some getting used to.
She stayed with George for two more weeks. On Monday she found a
temporary job as a typist and that night George introduced her to a
woman he knew who was looking for someone to share an apartment with
in the beginning of July.
They went to the Independence Day fireworks on the Mall, and
followed it with a shorter but more intense private display in her new
bedroom. Concluding with a bomb bursting in hair...
Mary went through (one might say used up) several young men in the
next year or so and she never looked back on that town near Cleveland.
Her appetite for sex was considerable once she had started feeding it.
George heard second-hand that she got married about five years later,
so she must have found someone who could keep up with her.
The End
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