From: an285729@anon.penet.fi
Reply-To: an285729@anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Birthday Gift (f/m) [1/3]
Date: Sat, 5 Aug 1995 09:54:52 UTC
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Message-ID: <100327Z05081995@anon.penet.fi>

   The Birthday Gift

   or

   A Very Bright Girl

   I'd known even before I moved in that Betty's step-dad was a good man. I
didn't find out just how good he really was until my eighteenth birthday.
That was the night he gave me my best birthday present ever, even though he
didn't know at first just what his gift really was.

   I met Betty through the youth group at church.  She was the sweetest of
all the group members.  She was always nice and never had a bad word about
anyone.  Even though she was two years younger than me, there was a lot we
had in common, not the least of which was our bodies.  We were both "big
girls" with fuller bosoms and hips than most of the girls, and we both
hated the way guys would fall all over themselves staring and drooling like
pigs and how girls would snub us because, Betty said, they were jealous. 
We quickly became close friends.

   I saw a lot of Betty, her little brother, Jimmy and her mom and
step-dad. They were like this family off TV or something.  Betty talked
about her step-dad like he was a god.  According to her, he was the perfect
father.  I guess she was right.  He let her do almost whatever she wanted
and always gave her enough money.  Except when he was taking care of her
sick mom, he was at her beck and call.  He was always driving us around to
different places whenever Betty asked him.

   He seemed like the perfect dad to me, too, especially when compared to
the guys my mom hooked up with.  The one she was with now didn't even work.
He just sat around the house and drank all day.  I didn't like him from the
first time I met him.

   One night I got woken up by all the grunting and moaning coming from my
mom's bedroom.  The walls of the little apartment we lived in were
paper-thin, so it was something I was used to.  Mom went out that night and
I expected it, but this time she was really loud.  So was he.  There was a
lot of shouting and cursing and I couldn't get back to sleep, so I tip-toed
into the living room to get the book I'd left there.

   I should have know that the noise would stop the moment I got into the
other room.  I grabbed the book and tried to get back to my room as quickly
and as quietly as I could.  I wasn't fast enough, though.  Just before I
reach the door to my room, a short, skinny man came out of my mom's room --
totally naked.

   He stood in front of me in the narrow hallway.  He reminded me of a
plucked chicken.  Even though I was wearing a long flannel nightgown, he
leered at my breasts.  I stared at his cock, the first one I'd ever seen,
sticking out of the thick hair that covered his belly.  In the second we
stood facing each other, it started to puff up.

   He said, "Mm, it's the daughter.  Like what you see?  I sure like what
I'm seeing."

   I quickly looked down at the floor.  "H'lo," I mumbled and tried to slip
past him to get to my room.  As I turned sideways, facing the wall to
squeeze by, he turned and leaned toward me.  I felt his member brush up
against my rear and poke in between my buttocks.  I let out a little gasp
and my hips shuddered, more from disgust than anything else, and he said,
"Oh, you like that, do you?  Maybe some day, sugar.  Maybe soon."

   I rushed into my room and slammed the door.  Ugly, horrid little man! 
He didn't scare me too very much because he really wasn't very big and
didn't seem too strong, but he made me so angry!  How dare that repulsive
jerk poke that filthy thing at me!  And my own mother let him do that to
her.  The thought made me sick!

   My mom spent more and more time with that gross little chicken-man, and
eventually he moved in.  I spent less and less time at home.  I'd either be
at the church or staying over at a friend's house.  I'd stay over at
Betty's a lot.  Her parents were fun to be with.  They were always joking
with us, especially Betty's step-dad, Tom.  Sometimes her mom, Margaret,
would get a bit cranky, but Betty said that was because of her illness. 
The thing I liked the most was that they always had dinner at the same time
every night, and they all sat together at the dining room table with the TV
off.  They were the only people I knew that did that.

   Still, I had to go home sometime.  Usually when I got home the
chicken-man was either passed out on the sofa or already in bed with Mom,
so I didn't have to put up with his filthy mouth and lewd staring. 
Sometimes, tho, he was still awake and drunk.  Then I'd just go to my room
and lock the door, but if I had to go to the kitchen or to the bathroom,
he'd always make some kind of crude remark about my tits.  My mom thought
it was funny.

   When it happened, I thought it was the worst night of my life, but it
really turned out to be one of the best.  I was asleep in my room and I was
having a real weird dream.  I was lying on the sofa in Betty's living room
and Tom was over me, tickling my breasts and thighs with chicken feathers.
I was laughing and squirming underneath him, trying to get away, but not
real hard because it felt really good, especially when he rubbed a stiff
feather along the lips of my pussy.  My hips were rocking up and down and I
got real wet down there, which made the chicken feathers smell nasty.

   Then I felt something poking into me.  I awoke with a start and there
was the chicken-man kneeling between my legs!  He'd slid my nightgown up
above my breasts, pushed my panties aside and was trying to stick his
finger up into my pussy!  I pulled my leg up and, screaming, I kicked him
off the bed and across the room.  With a grunt he hit the full-length
mirror on the wall, cracking it, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

   Groaning, he crawled toward the door.  My mom appeared and without a
word pulled him up and dragged him out.  When they were gone, I quickly got
up and locked the door just as the yelling began.  It went on and on.  I
knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night, so I called Betty and
begged her to let me come over.  Of course I'd woken her and she groggily
asked what was wrong.  I said I couldn't say over the phone.  She said she
was pretty sure that if it was important her parents wouldn't mind too
much.

   When I got there, I told Betty what had happened and asked her not to
tell her parents.  She wasn't sure they'd be okay with that, but they were,
though I think Tom had an pretty good idea what had happened because he
kept on asking me if I was all right and did I want to go to a hospital and
if I needed anything to just say so and he'd make sure I got it.  "Except a
new CD player," he said, "you can't have that." That made me laugh, and I
was able to relax again.  I fell asleep in Betty's room.  I felt so safe
there.

   The next day I called home to make sure Mom was home.  We had to talk
about what had happened.  She answered the phone and before I could say two
words, she told me that she and

   chicken-man had decided that I was old enough to take care of myself and
it was best for all of us if I was out on my own.  I was just seventeen
years old and not even out of high school and she was kicking me out!  I
cried, but she said her mind was made up and she hung up the phone.

   I ran into Betty's room and just laid down and cried.  A little while
later, Betty came in and she said her family had talked it over and decided
that if I wanted to I could stay with them!  I was still real hurt by what
my mom had done, but Betty telling me that made me feel a lot better.

   So I moved in with Betty and her family.  Nobody made a real big deal
about it.  The only real hassle was when Tom took me to get my stuff and to
have Mom sign a paper so if I got hurt or sick, he could take me to the
hospital.  Tom kept on staring at chicken-man like he wanted to hit him. 
It would have been cool if he did, but he didn't.

   It may sound kind of strange, but from the first day I never felt like I
was a guest or I was imposing or anything.  I just felt like one of the
family.  Betty and I started acting more like sisters than friends. 
Sometimes we'd get mad at each other and fight, but we always agreed that
Jimmy was really annoyingmost of the time.  Margaret could be strict, but
she was always fair, even when she was feeling bad.  Besides, if Margaret
said no, you could always ask Tom.  He usually never overruled her, but at
least he'd always explain why.

   They certainly didn't change the way they lived because of me.  After
dinner, if nobody was expecting company, everybody usually put on pajamas
or nightgowns and sat around in the living room to watch TV.  At first, I
guess for my benefit, Tom used to put on a robe as well, but he stopped
doing that after a while.  There wasn't anything sexual about it, either.
It was just a family being comfortable with each other, and I was one of
the family.

   I learned a lot.  I guess it's not good to say so, but the stuff Tom and
Margaret taught me made a lot more sense than some of the stuff I learned
at church.  Tom didn't go to church, but he was real religious in his own
way.  Once we came home from church, talking about something or other, and
he said, "Don't do stuff just because somebody told you it's 'right'. 
Everybody's smart enough to know what's right and what's wrong.  Don't hurt
other people and don't hurt yourself -- in that order." That made sense to
me.

   It also made sense to me what he said about homosexuality.  Tom and
Margaret had a lot of gay friends, but I didn't know that at first.  Once a
couple of guys named Ron and Kerry came over to see how Margaret was doing.
I didn't think much about it until Betty started talking about how much fun
she'd had at their 20th anniversary party.

   "Anniversary of what?", I asked.

   "Of their wedding," Betty replied.

   "They both got married on the same day?"

   Betty giggled.  "Of course, silly!  What do you think, that they'd get
married to each other on different days?"

   "They're married to each other?!  Eeuwh, that's gross!"

   Betty looked at me as if I was from Mars.  "Why is it gross?"

   "Because-- Well, because-- Well, it just is."

   She just frowned and said, "I don't think it's gross; I think it's
really sweet that two people care about each other so much that they'll
stay together for twenty years even though some people think it's 'gross'
that they care about each other." Then she got up and walked out of the
room.

   I was confused.  Homosexuality was wrong, wasn't it?

   Tom had overheard the conversation, and he saw the confusion in my face.
He said, "Remember what I said?  Just because someone tells you something's
wrong, it doesn't mean it's wrong."

   "But everybody says homosexuality is wrong," I said.

   "No, dear," he replied.  "Only the people who don't understand it.  They
love each other.  What's wrong with that?  Are they hurting each other? 
Are they hurting themselves?"

   "It's unnatural."

   "It's unnatural for someone to love someone else?  It's not 'unnatural'
for me to love Margaret or for Margaret to love me, is it?  Why should it
be okay for us but not them?"

   "I don't' know.  It's just gross is all."

   "Let me ask you a personal question," Tom said.  "Are you attracted to
girls or to guys?"

   I almost blushed.  "Guys, of course."

   "And it'd be 'gross'," Tom continued, "if you were attracted to girls,
right?"

   "I guess," I replied.

   "And there's nothing 'unnatural' about being attracted just to guys,
right?"

   "Uh-huh."

   "Kerry feels exactly the same way you do.  If it's not okay for him, why
should it be okay for you?  And what difference should it make to anyone
who you or he are attracted to?  Don't answer now.  Just think about it and
remember that it really doesn't matter who you love as long as you love,
right?"

   I thought about it, and I decided he was right.  Why should it make any
difference who anyone was with?  Ron and Kerry, once I got to know them,
were really nice guys, and were just as devoted to each other as Tom and
Margaret were.  I learned something else about gay people, too.  I was told
that they used to watch Betty and Jimmy a lot when the kids were little,
and if they ever tried to "enlist" Jimmy into the gay lifestyle (which I'd
been told homosexuals tried to do), it sure didn't work.  Not with those
magazines I found in his room.

   One afternoon Betty and I were cleaning the kitchen.  Betty asked me to
go see if there were any dirty dishes in Jimmy's room.  I went in there and
I found a glass under the bookcase that looked like it was a hotel for dust
bunnies.  So I rummaged around looking for more science experiments and
that's when I found them.  They were filled with pictures of big-breasted
naked women, most of them with their hands between their legs, or couples
having sex.

   I threw them back under the bed, took the dirty glass back into the
kitchen and didn't say anything about it until that night, when Betty and I
were in our room getting ready for bed.  She laughed.  "So they're in his
room again, eh?  It's so cute.  He takes them from under Tom and Mom's bed
and Tom takes them back, but somehow they always end up back in Jimmy's
room."

   My mouth dropped open.  "You know about them?  Tom knows about them? 
Those filthy things are Tom's?"

   Betty frowned, just like she did when we were talking about Ron and
Kerry.  "There's nothing 'filthy' about them.  They're all adult models who
get paid well enough to just sit naked or have sex.  And there's nothing in
them that's ugly or violent."

   "You've looked at them, too?"

   "Oh, sure.  They're kind of interesting.  I guess guys don't fantasize
as well as girls do when they masturbate."

   I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  I thought this was the perfect
family.  What kind of strange things were they into?  Betty looked at me
sternly.  "Are you trying to make me believe you've never masturbated? 
C'mon, everybody masturbates.  When you don't, you get frustrated and
short-tempered.  After a while, it'll get so bad that you'll fall for any
good-looking guy that comes along whether you really love him or not.  I
want to fall in love with my head and not my crotch.  So, hey, if you hear
me whimpering in bed some nights, you'll know what going on.  Seriously,
you've never?"

   I blushed deeply.  "Uh, well, I, uh--".

   Betty giggled at my discomfort.  "It's nothing to be ashamed of, silly.
I told you, everybody does it.  They just don't talk about it.  Especially
guys.  Those magazines go back and forth, but Tom has never once even
mentioned it to Jimmy."

   Suddenly I got the image in my head of Tom lying naked on his bed, his
cock rising stiffly up from his groin.  I started feeling a tingling
between my legs and my blush deepened.

   "Anyway, I don't think much about it," Betty concluded, "it's just a
part of life.  D'you mind if we turned off the light?  I got a test in the
morning, and I've got to get some sleep."

   I switched off the lamp, and lay in my bed, trying to get the image of
Tom masturbating out of my head.  After a while, though, I heard Betty's
sheets start rustling and her breathing started getting heavier.  I knew
what she was doing, and the thought of her getting herself off made my
pussy itch something awful.

   The faster her breathing became, the clearer the image in my head was of
Tom.  I'd never thought about Tom in a sexual way before, but now I
couldn't get him out of my mind.  I thought about him making love to
Margaret.  I could see them together, Tom lying atop her, Margaret's leg
wrapped around his thrusting hips.  My own breathing became short, and my
hand wandered down across my belly.

   Then I thought about how sick Margaret was.  It occurred to me that she
probably wasn't well enough to make love.  That was probably why Tom had
those magazines.  It made me sad to think of Tom lying with Margaret next
to him but not being able to make love to her.

   I imagined him alone in his bed masturbating, his cock thrusting into
the empty air.  Then I saw myself lying down next to him and pulling him on
top of me.  I pressed the palm of my against my stomach, pretending that it
was his cock pushing down at me.  I moved my hand lower, running my fingers
through my pubic hair, then down along the lips of my pussy, as if his cock
was poking itself into me.  My fingers pushed into the slippery wetness,
rubbing up and down, brushing against my clitoris again and again.  I
imagined the fullness of him within me, and suddenly my breath caught in my
throat as waves of pleasure washed over me.

   As the waves subsided and my breathing came back to normal, I realized
that I had no idea how noisy I'd been.  I guess I'd gotten loud enough,
because I heard Betty whisper, "Mmm-hmn," under her breath.  I rolled over
and fell asleep almost instantly.

   The next six months was like I was in paradise.  I went to school and
was able to concentrate on my studies and when I got home I didn't have to
worry about if there'd be food in the house.  I always knew where my family
was.  Margaret was usually too sick to help around the house, but the rest
of us shared the cooking and cleaning and laundry and stuff.  It sounds
like a typical family, but it was the first time I'd had that kind of life
since my dad left.

   Most nights I'd dream about Tom.  I couldn't help it.  Usually, Tom
would put his pajamas on right after dinner.  They really weren't much more
than boxer shorts and a T-shirt.  I'm sure he didn't intend it, but it
really showed off his body.  I started wearing thinner and tighter
nightgowns.  Nothing obscene, just sheer enough to make it obvious that I
wasn't wearing a bra or panties.  Sometimes I'd try to tease him by bending
over so he'd have a clear view down the front of my top, or I'd stick my
butt up in his direction.  I never caught him staring at me, but I know I
had some effect because sometimes I saw a bit of a bulge in his shorts and
he'd switch the TV to ESPN.  By the time bedtime came around, I was aching
to turn the light off, get under the covers and fantasize about him making
love to me.  I wondered if he ever fantasized about me.

   It all came crashing down when Margaret died.  She finally got too sick
and had to go into the hospital, and she left us a few days after that.  It
was a sad time, especially for Tom.  He cried a lot.

   That was bad enough, but then the worst happened.  Betty and Jimmy
weren't Tom's kids.  With Margaret gone, they'd have to go back to their
father, who lived on the other side of the country.

   Tom tried to keep custody, but his lawyer said it probably wouldn't have
worked.

   Betty was sixteen and old enough to stay wherever she wanted to, but
Jimmy was thirteen and he'd have to go back, so Betty decided it was better
for Jimmy if she stayed with him.

   Tom was shattered.  His entire life was his family, and now it was gone.

   The first night after he sent Betty and Jimmy back to their dad, it was
just me and him alone in the house.  Tom sat silent in front of the TV,
drinking beer after beer.  I'd never seen him drink like that and before
long he passed out in the chair.  When he started to snore, I woke him up
and helped him out of the chair and into bed.

   I held him steady as we staggered down the hallway to his bedroom.  He
wrapped his arm around me for support, and his hand pressed against the
side of my breast.  It was all I could do to keep from moaning.  I sat him
on the edge of his bed and kneeled down in front of him, bending to take
his slippers off.  The way he was sitting, the opening in the front of his
shorts was wide open and I could see just the base of his fleshy cock
surrounded by his thick pubic hair.  I looked up and saw his eyes peering
glassily at my exposed breasts through the loose opening at the top of my
nightgown.

   "'Ur verr' pretty, know th't?", he slurred, putting his hand on my
shoulder to keep from falling over.

   "Nm-hmm," I said, my body shivering at his touch.  As I straightened up
to lift his legs, his hand slipped down along my breast and for a brief
moment it stopped to press against the stiff nipple before falling limp
into his lap.  He fell back onto the pillow and, even as I put his feet on
the bed and switched off the light, he was out.

   For a long while I just stayed there kneeling next to the bed, listening
to his shallow breathing.  There he was in the darkness lying on his back,
in the position I always imagined when I fantasized about him.  Here I was
in the darkness, burning with desire, aching to press myself against him.

   Without thinking, I reached out and pressed my hand against his hip,
thrilling at the heat of his body even through the thin fabric of his
pajamas.  I moved up under his pajama top to touch the warmth of the bare
skin just above his belly.  I gasped as I fondled him, his wiry hair
sending sparks through me as they dug into my palm.  Then I slid my hand
down his belly and under the worn elastic of his shorts.

   As my fingers slowly threaded through the thick hairs on his belly, his
body began to react to my caresses, his breathing quickening.  His hips
began to faintly spasm up and down and his fingers began to slightly
twitch. With my other hand, I pressed his palm to my breast.  I sighed as
he rhythmically clenched at my soft flesh.

   As my fingers crept toward the base of his penis, his movements became
more distinct.  His breath came faster, his hips were spasming deeper and
his hand squeezed tighter against my breast.  Finally I reach the soft
flesh of his limp cock and I ran a fingertip along it length.  As I did, I
felt it twitch.  His hips shuddered and his fingers pressed into my skin.

   I gasped as his cock began to pulse and grow under my touch.  I quickly
slipped my hand out from under the waistband of his shorts and boldly
pulled the rising shaft out through the opening in front.  My other hand
slipped down between my damp thighs and pressed against the slick lips of
my pussy.  As I wrapped my fingers around his thickening flesh, his hand
clutched tight on my breast and he moaned deeply.  I thrust my fingers into
my dripping pussy, grinding deep against my clit.

   Almost instantly the orgasm flashed through me.  I was consumed by the
flames of ecstasy, my body shuddering, my fingers pulling and tugging at
his semi-erect cock.  In response, his hips jerked stiffly upward and,
moaning softly, his cock convulsed and out from it's tip began to gush the
thick cream that was his seed.  It spurted over and over, coating my
fingers and fanning the flames of my own orgasm.

   As the burning within me subsided and my awareness returned, I felt his
cock shrinking in my grasp.  His breathing again become regular and his
hand fell away from my breast to lay limply at his side.  For the first
time since Margaret died, he seemed at peace.  I took a tissue from his
bedside table, wiped his cock and tenderly placed it back within his
shorts, covered him with the bedsheet and kissed him gently on the cheek.

   As I went to my bedroom, I dried my hand with the damp tissue.  I was
about to throw it into the wastebasket when I thought better of it.  As I
lay on my bed, I pressed the sperm-soaked tissue up between my pussy lips
and rubbed up and down within the folds.  As my outpourings merged with his
and my orgasm overtook me, I swore no one would ever take Tom's family away
ever again.

   I'd give Tom a new family.  I would give Tom a baby.  (continued)