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Brandon
by Ze Orange Yeah (luvbunneh@aol.com)

***

I grew up in a small town where I knew everybody, 
including him. He was a slut, thus the one person I 
never slept with... serves me right. (MF, rom)

***

He was just a boy, nothing more, nothing less, just 
some boy I knew a long time ago. I met him again when I 
was 19 at a party, and there he was in all his faded 
glory. He was tall, probably 6' or 6'2" and had this 
long, sexy black hair and these huge hazel eyes that 
looked gold, lips that were as red as cherry cool-aid, 
the top one curved like a bow but thin and the bottom 
pootching just a tiny bit, and his skin was as white as 
computer paper. He had one of those soft, sexy, 
Southern accents even though he was born and raised 
near Monterey, Indiana, simply because those accents 
seemed to come with the territory. He looked at me like 
I was already his territory.

I was sitting there, alone, in the living room when he 
came in, handing me a bottle of Boone's Farm Mellon 
Balls wine, and sat down on the couch near me.

"I could make you happy, you know," he whispered. Cory 
was in the kitchen and I knew Brandon didn't want him 
to hear. "I could do things to you, you can only dream 
about... I could make you cry for pleasure."

I looked at him coldly, "In your dreams, white trash... 
you just wish you could have me," I hissed, but all the 
while my pussy was becoming hotter, slicking up and 
clutching at nothing, wishing it was him it was 
clutching at. I knew where this boy had been, and 
wanted nothing to do with him, but oh god, what would 
it be like?

His lips curved into a tight smile. "You'll come, I 
know you will. They all do," he said as he rose and 
wandered into the next room. 

"Stupid, stupid," I thought. I knew I wanted him. But I 
also knew that I didn't want all the complications that 
come with men like him. Arrogant, stupid creatures. I 
knew I was much better than him. I left not long after 
that.

***

One night not long after that I was at the beach, 
sitting on the hood of my car talking to my friend 
Nichole when Brandon propositioned me again.

"You know where I live, don't you? You've been there 
before," he said softly, his gorgeous eyes glinting in 
the dark. "I'll be there all night, and I'm leaving for 
there now. You can come anytime tonight and nobody will 
ever know but me and you unless you want them to," and 
he reached out and gently caressed my arm, on the soft 
flesh on the underside of my elbow. I shivered.

"Why would I come to your house?" I hissed.

"Because you want me," he turned away, climbing into 
his black Camero. "I'll be there if you want me," and 
he drove off, leaving me to think about what he'd said.

"What am I doing here?" I mumbled to myself as I drove 
up the long drive-way to his house. It was a little 
creepy with all the trees hanging low over the small, 
dirt road, the woods on both sides of me. But then I 
saw his house.

Brandon never had a huge house, probably never will. It 
was just a small, cozy white house in the middle of 
nowhere, perfect for the dozens of parties he would 
throw every month. Secluded... quiet... seductive... 
like him. 

I pulled up to the house, and it was dark, and I 
thought about turning around and leaving till I saw the 
red glow from a cigarette flash up in the dark from his 
porch, and then saw the glow of his pale, luminescent 
skin in the dark. I got out of my car and started up to 
the house feeling awkward and like an imposer, a 
stranger, an imposter. I was no sex kitten, no lover, 
no naughty playgirl to be here on Brandon Minix's 
doorstep! What was I doing here?

He must have seen my hesitation, my falter, because he 
called out gently, "I don't bite, y'know."

I sighed at that smooth, sexy voice and whispered, "I 
know," and walked softly, but with more confidence, 
towards him. 

He stood up as I neared him, and I saw the smooth lines 
of his body glimmer in the moonlight, almost glowing 
like there was a light inside him, shimmering right 
under his skin. He wore wide-leg sweat pants low on his 
hips, low enough that I could see the sharp lines of 
his cut groin, the muscles in his abdomen, the trail of 
black hair that disappeared under the line of his 
pants.

I licked the sweat off of my upper lip and said, almost 
guiltily, "I've never done this before, not like this."

"I know. You're a woman who has things on her terms, on 
her terf... but that's okay, that's why I like you," he 
came closer, and I realized it wasn't a cigarette he 
was smoking but a joint, "But I'll give you as long as 
you need, darlin'. You'll get comfortable with me, 
you'll need me, you'll even want me. I'll make sure you 
do." 

He said this with quiet assurance, not arrogance, which 
disarmed me. Men who say things like that normally are 
full of themselves but somehow, no matter how gorgeous 
Brandon got, he was still that pudgy, nerdy boy who had 
played D&D in high school and got razzed constantly. I 
had almost forgotten that boy until now, and I could 
see him there. 

I turned and opened his screen door, and stepped 
inside. I was fairly amused, because he'd obviously 
cleaned up the house for me, and the usual disaster 
area was now quite pleasant, with his cat lounging on 
the back of the couch, and incense sticks burning from 
his potted plants. Oh, he was sucking up hard.

"Which way is your bedroom," I queried, laughing 
lightly at the waver in my voice, the way the hair rose 
on my arms when I thought about that dark happy trail 
sliding down his belly.

"Down the hallway, second door on the right," he 
laughed gently, "do you want me to show you?"

"No, take your time," I said huskily as I sauntered 
down his hallway, hips swaying seductively and knowing 
he was watching... waiting. 

His bedroom was most girls' worst nightmare, because it 
was exactly what you would expect from a white-trash 
gentleman like Brandon. The bedspread was purple satin, 
the kind that had been through the washing machine one 
too many times and was balled and fuzzy, soft, worn, 
cotton sheets in a Native American pattern on the bed, 
which he'd obviously made in anticipation for my visit. 
There were prints of Native American maidens in 
seductive poses on the walls mixed with the prints of 
dragon's and sorcerer's and sensual, erotic women who 
looked like they'd stepped out of the pages of Heavy 
Metal magazine in their chain mail garb and 
broadswords. I just laughed softly.

He'd lit candles all over his dresser and nightstand, 
and I stepped over to them, blowing out about half of 
them. Bright light is never a turn on, no matter how 
gorgeous the lover. I wondered if I should undress, or 
wait for him, and while I sat on the edge of his bed 
pondering this idea I heard the screen door slap shut, 
and his soft, barefoot tread across the living room, 
and down the hallway.

And there he was, silhouetted in the doorway with the 
candlelight flickering on his skin, making shadows play 
on his hair, in his eyes. He was the Devil then, Satan 
himself come to tempt me into sin... and then he 
smiled. Brandon's lips curved gently, the corners 
rising into dimples, his eyes becoming soft and warm, 
warmer than I'd ever seen them in my years of knowing 
him. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door 
behind him.

Instead of coming to me as I'd expected, he went over 
to the record player in the corner of the room and 
turned it on, records piled up on the top of it, ready 
to drop down and be played. The sweet, delicious 
strains of Led Zeppelin's "Houses of the Holy" album 
sang their yummy way through the air as he ambled over 
to me slowly, so slowly.

He stepped in front of me, and I resigned myself to 
being pushed down onto the comforter and being fondled 
and pressed, when he knelt down in front of me instead. 
He placed his hands on my hips gently and he pulled me 
to the edge of the bed as he leaned close, so close, 
and I could smell the musky, dark, warm, spicy scent of 
him, and his lips were just a fraction of an inch away 
from mine and he whispered, "Do you know how long I've 
waited for you? How long I've wanted you?"

I laughed at him, actually laughed at him, that bitter, 
harsh, hard laugh. He had softened me when he'd knelt 
in front of me instead of pressing me for my body, when 
he'd been soft instead of hard, when he'd put on my 
favorite record ever. But lies? Lies get men nowhere 
with me. There is nothing I hate worse than lies, 
especially in bed. Nothing.

"You! I can't believe you... you get me here, I came 
here because I wanted to know what you were like, and 
you tell me shit like that. Well no way, buddy, there 
is no way in hell I'm goin' for this," and I stood up 
to leave, angry and hurt. Lies to hurt me, anger to fan 
the hurt, and thoughts of men who've hurt me before to 
help the anger.

He grabbed my wrist, "Please don't," he sighed it so 
softly that I turned to him, saw those huge eyes filled 
with hurt... hurt so much like mine. Hurt that had come 
from betrayal, from heartaches, from the pains that I 
knew as well as him. And I stayed.

As I sat down again, he looked at me, drank me in with 
those huge, soft, innocent eyes. Somehow, I knew that 
he didn't look at most women like this, that most girls 
were glanced at, glared at with disdain, or looked at 
with only a harsh need, there to scratch and itch and 
etch a reputation for himself. Somehow I knew that he 
didn't look at most women like this, and most women 
never got to see him like he was for me right then.

His eyes caressed my long, red hair, gazed deeply into 
my hazel-green eyes, flowed softly over my round, rosy 
cheeks, the freckles dotting them, to my nose, which he 
kissed, lightly, making me laugh. His eyes warmed my 
mouth, a pink cupids bow, then his lips warmed them, 
soft and gentle...first kissing my lower lip, then my 
upper, then parting my lips with his, gently breathing 
into my mouth. His tongue gently pushed against mine, 
softly, not pressingly as he pressed his hands against 
my lower back, holding me loosely but close. 

I opened my eyes to see him smiling at me, the same shy 
smile I'd seen so many years ago in study hall in 
junior high... those same shy, curious eyes, that same 
sweet smile, even if the baby fat had melted away 
leaving this lithe, sensual man in it's wake. I'd known 
him better then than I did now, but it was that pudgy, 
soft boy that I knew I was kissing now, that same sweet 
creature who had passed love notes to me and held my 
hand in the library before I'd even know a mans touch. 

He leaned closer, kissing the curve of my neck, 
nuzzling the place where my earlobe melted into soft 
throat, and sighed as his hands slid up my back under 
my t-shirt. As the track shifted from "Houses of the 
Holy" to "D'yer M'aker", he squeezed tight between my 
thighs, still kneeling in front of me, and pulled my 
shirt up over my head, leaving me feeling exposed and 
awkward again. 

I blushed, and tried to cover my breasts, but he looked 
straight into my face, and brushed his cheek against 
mine. He must have shaved right before I'd gotten there 
because his face was smooth and soft, soothing against 
mine.

"Why are you so shy?" he whispered, his hands slipping 
to the small of my back, driving me insane with their 
light touch. "Beautiful, that's what you are, and don't 
you dare get mad at me for saying that. You're 
beautiful, and there's nothing you can do to hide it," 
and he kissed my bare shoulder, my collarbone, the 
hollow in my neck, making me sigh softly, and wrap my 
arms around him, tangling my fingers in his hair.

His hands wandered slowly up my back to the straps of 
my brassier, unhooking it, and slowly pulling it away 
from my breasts, which were already pert and aroused. 
Instead of groping them like I expected, like most men 
would, he pulled me close to him and pressed my bosom 
against the hot skin of his chest, kissing me hotly, 
his tongue slipping between my lips like a slippery 
invader, and Brandon lay me back on the bed. He lay 
beside me, leaning over me rather than lying between my 
legs like some men would. Somehow, the way he did 
things appealed to me so much more, the delicacy, the 
warmth, the tenderness with which everything was 
carried out. 

While he kissed me, his hand wound itself around my 
throat, then he trailed his fingers over my breastbone, 
down between my breasts, under the soft, smooth crease 
where my breast gently lay, then down over my ribs and 
stomach, trailing my navel for only a moment, then 
caressed the soft, warm flesh of my tummy. His hand 
lingered there, pressing my flesh, smoothing it, as if 
testing it while my body quivered with delight. 

He would be one who would find all my soft spots, 
wouldn't he? Those long, poet's fingers trailed along 
my pants line while my breathing hastened, my body 
jerking when his fingers slipped just below the 
waistband of my blue-jeans, and he laughed softly.

"Do you still write your pretty poetry?" he whispered 
against my lips. I nodded, and gasped as his finger 
flicked along my hipbones again, this time with more 
pressure. "I remember how you would write that dirty 
poetry and pass it to me in class or study hall just to 
see if it got me worked up... you were a naughty lil' 
thang," he almost moaned as he pressed the pressure 
point again, and felt my body press against his, my 
need becoming stronger than he could imagine.

He unbuttoned my jeans, and slowly pulled down the 
zipper, caressing my tummy with his thumb as he tugged 
it down, and he pushed the loosened fabric to the side 
some, pressing my exposed flesh right where it drove me 
insane, and I sucked his lower lip, pressing my hands 
to the sides of his face. He laughed when I gasped as 
his hand pressed down my denim-clad thigh, then up into 
the crevice between my legs, his fingers caressing my 
most secret places. 

He kissed lower, the tops of my breasts, down flicking 
my nipples with his tongue. He licked gently where my 
breasts lay gently against my ribs, nibbled on my upper 
arm, and kissed his way down my side, over my tummy, 
and to my hips. He laughed and traced the outline of 
the Dawn Faery on my hip.

"When did you get a tattoo?" he said gently, laughing 
that dark, sensual laugh that knew things I would never 
know, that promised things to my body and made it 
respond. 

"February after I turned eighteen..." and I gasped as 
he kissed the spot firmly, pressing his tongue to the 
very spot. 

He began to tug my jeans down, and I laughed and turned 
over onto my tummy, my arms hiding my breasts, his hand 
on my rear, and his breath quickened. I still knew what 
he liked... he'd always been a butt man, never a breast 
man. He tugged down my jeans, and pulled at the little 
boy undies I was wearing with his teeth, and dropped 
the jeans on the floor. He slid the panties lower and 
rose up over me, kissing me on the back of my neck... 
between my shoulder blades... down my back... and I 
moaned as he kissed and sucked at the small of my back. 

He cupped my bottom with his palm, and held onto my hip 
with his other hand. Slowly he slid his hand between my 
thighs from behind as I laughed huskily, and touched me 
through those panties. He slid them aside some, lightly 
touching me again, running his hand gently over my 
labia, teasing as I rose my hips, gasping... wanting 
more but knowing he would only make it better for me 
this way.

He rose up over me again, his arms under me, pressing 
and kneading my breasts, and I could feel his hard cock 
against my rump, his chest against my back, his teeth 
on my neck. I let my hips rise, fluctuating, gyrating, 
longing for him, and heard him moan in my ear as my 
body rubbed against his, my rump pressing and massaging 
his member. 

"Turn over," he groaned, pressing himself against me, 
and helping me. I obeyed him, knowing how badly he 
wanted me, knowing how much his body needed mine now. I 
slid my arms under his arms, my palms on his shoulder 
blades, and pushed him over onto his back and straddled 
him, laughing.

I nipped at his ears, sucked gently at his throat, and 
then sucked his tongue as I kissed him. I slid my hands 
over his chest, down his tight abdomen and found that 
sensual trail of soft, black hair that slithered down 
from his navel, and the record switched over to Bill 
Withers and I laughed. I slid down his body, letting my 
breasts and hips press against him as much as I could, 
nibbling on his nipples, licking his navel, and 
trailing my nails down his sides, hard enough not to 
tickle but soft enough to arouse. I trailed my breasts 
over his cock, hard under the fabric, and getting 
larger by the minute. Oh, I was gonna make sure he 
needed it. 

I slide my fingers under the band of his pants while I 
kneeled on the floor in front of him, and tugged 
gently, nibbling on his hip. I let my hands slide down 
his thighs after the pants, taking his underwear with 
him. I laughed, expecting boxers, but they were tidy-
whitey's. So he was a support fella... no problems 
here. This momma was gonna give him all the support 
he'd need. He moaned when I pulled the pants the rest 
of the way off and shoved them aside, and I slid a hand 
up his thigh and cupped his groin, gently massaging his 
tight, round balls in my palm and slowly, lightly 
sliding my other hand up his hard cock.

Honestly, I'd expected less, him being as thin as he 
was, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a nicely 
shaped, fat cock waiting for me, swollen and hard. He 
moaned when I stroked up the length of it, testing it 
with my palm and fingers, twisting my wrist just enough 
to make it feel really good. I nibbled on his thigh 
just a little while I did this, over and over, feeling 
the tension building in his balls, and then before he 
realized it slipped the head of his cock into my mouth, 
wrapping my tongue around it, sucking gently. 

He gasped and I felt his thighs spasm, and I slid his 
cock further into my mouth, still sucking, but a little 
harder now. He groaned and I took him further into my 
mouth, sliding him down into my throat, and taking all 
of him into my mouth.

He reached out for me, burying his hands in my hair, 
and pulled me up towards him, my thighs pressing either 
side of him. He kissed me, hard and deep, and pressed 
his thighs against the inside of mine. I pressed my 
breasts against him, savoring the taste of him in my 
mouth, the sweet saliva and the salty almost bitter 
flavor of his cock, and slid my body down his, feeling 
the torrid heat of his cock against the drenched folds 
of my pussy. 

"Oh god," he whispered as I slid my hot pussy against 
his cock, and we both caught our breath when I slipped 
the head of his cock to the mouth of my pussy. His eyes 
opened, wide, pupil's wide and dark, but his eyes were 
soft and loving, warm... and I kissed him softly, 
caressing his tongue with mine as he placed his hands 
on my hips and pressed me down onto him, spearing me 
with his cock.

He pressed into the soft, wet warmth of me and his arms 
rose around me, holding me close to his body, and he 
rose and fell with me, sliding his delicious cock deep 
into me and then pulling away until he was almost out 
of me, then pressing back in again, whispering my name 
in my ear, over and over. As he slipped his gorgeous 
way into me, I felt myself start to come, and I pressed 
my cheek against his, and the delicious waves of 
ecstasy began to flow over me, my thrusting becoming 
more urgent, more needy, and he pushed into me harder 
to fill me, to fulfill my needs. 

I rose away from him, riding him harder and harder, my 
cries becoming harsh and hard, gasps and moans, and he 
clutched my hips, pressing his thumbs into the tender 
flesh there, massaging right where he knew I adored it 
and driving me on towards my orgasm. Opening my eyes, I 
saw him, pale and luminescent in the candles and the 
moonlight, his eyes wide and adoring, but frightened, 
and I leaned in to kiss him, sucking his lower lip, 
tangling my fingers in his hair as I thrust myself down 
onto him, making him fill me up the very brim.

I felt him start to swell inside of me as my orgasm 
flowed over me, my pussy walls clutching onto him, 
tightening against his cock and squeezing it, and his 
cries joined mine, moaning my name, and I pressed my 
cheek against his as the orgasm washed over me, 
obliterating everything but him and the delicious, 
gorgeous, sinful wonder of our body's coming together, 
becoming one. He thrust into me harder, his need as 
strong as mine, and he cried out, his body tensing and 
I felt him come into me, hard, and I collapsed against 
him. 

I lay there, him still inside of me, smiling at him 
drowsily as our sweat dried on our bodies and our 
juices mingled on our thighs and the sheets. His hands 
trailed over my back and shoulders gently as we lay 
there, quietly, and I listened to his heart thumping 
and gradually slowing until it was a sedated rhythm 
like a love song. 

"I never knew it could be like that," he whispered, 
staring into my eyes with awe, and I smiled at him. 

"I need a shower..." I groaned as I sat up, and he 
showed me to the bathroom and started the shower for 
me. Once the water was hot and steaming he helped me 
in, and I tugged him in with me.

He kissed me under the showerhead as the water streamed 
over our bodies in rivulets, tracing the very places he 
had just explored. He slid his hands over my flesh as 
it turned pink under the hot water, and slowly soaped 
me down. He washed my hair, as I leaned against him 
drowsily, and I did the same for him. We lingered in 
the shower for at least 45 minutes, until the hot water 
began to fade, and we dried each other off sleepily. 

Then he gave me one of his t-shirts to wear, and 
changed the sheets for us, and I fell asleep cradled 
against his body, feeling the rise and fall of his 
chest against my back. I woke in the morning to find 
him still curled around me, his arms around me. I got 
dressed quietly, and kissed him gently before I left... 
and in his sleep I think, those gorgeous, golden eyes 
flickered open for just a moment, and he smiled at me, 
mumbling softly something that sounded like, "Luv you, 
Lish..." and then he fell back asleep. 

I tiptoed through his house, taking only a moment in 
the bathroom to splash water on my face and brush my 
hair. Then I padded through his living room, taking 
only a moment to stroke his cat, Dr. Seuss, before I 
slipped out the front door, closing the screen quietly 
behind me.

***

As I was driving home down the deserted looking back 
roads and through the quiet, early morning farming 
towns, I thought about why I had left. Back there was a 
boy... no, a man, who I knew would love me, a man I was 
sure who would be faithful and loving, caring and 
gentle with me so long as I did the same for him. But I 
also knew what happened when I let the chains on my 
heart fall... my poor, battered heart that had taken 
too many knocks, had healed after too many beatings and 
been duct-taped together again, and finally chained to 
keep it from falling to bits. If I softened, even for 
someone like Brandon, I would only be asking for 
heartbreak and sorrow, and for me, that's just not 
acceptable. 

I still saw him around town, at the Osborn's Mini-mart 
and gas station, down at the beach, and sometimes at 
the Amoco, and I frequently run into him at party's. 
I'm always cool but polite, gentle but firm, and he 
still plays his little game of making a show in pursuit 
of me, like we always did, as if nothing happened and 
nothing changed. But I can see the hurt in his golden 
eyes, the pain I caused him, the bewildered, pudgy boy 
under his skin who was always asking, "Why? Why would 
you do that to me?" 

Once, he actually asked me. I was standing on the 
second story porch of a friend's apartment building and 
he came up behind me before I notice and could scamper 
away like I always did just to avoid his hurt eyes and 
any questions. He said it so softly, and he said, 
"Why'd you leave." He said it, he didn't ask.

"You cared too much, Brandon... and I hurt you enough 
as it was. Would it have been better if it had lasted 
longer and we'd both been hurt much worse?" I 
responded... I thought I was going to cry. "You think 
it didn't hurt me to leave you? You think I don't care 
at all?" and I looked at him, and those big hurt eyes, 
and a tear spilled down over his cheek. Oh, that hurt, 
that really hurt. That wasn't fair at all, because 
that's when I started to cry. 

He sat with me until I was done crying, and he held me. 
People from the party passed by, glancing at us with 
curiosity before shrugging and drudging drunkenly down 
the stairs, assuming that it was just another alcohol 
induced bought of tears that are common to party's with 
sensitive young people. Ah... the joys of youth. 

***

That night he came home with me... slept buried in my 
deep, soft bed, and we held each other. See, sometimes 
two people who've been hurt too much find something to 
hold onto, and sometimes that something becomes a life 
preserver, and sometimes it's nothing more than a 
fellow survivor, another veteran of the wars of love. 
Sometimes when you see someone who's been tossed from 
lover to lover, with an impish grin and a giggle, often 
with the forced bravado of the young and foolish, 
you're only seeing someone so beaten down and needy 
that they can't be hurt anymore... they shield 
themselves too tightly. But occasionally, they find 
another veteran of those same wars, another beaten down 
lover, and sometimes that person becomes exactly what 
they needed... a true lover.

Brandon and I, we're still together. The lease on my 
apartment ran out a few months after we first started 
officially seeing each other and I moved into his 
house. Dr. Seuss likes me better than Brandon now. It 
surprised a few people when they saw us together, 
especially when all they saw was the comfort and warmth 
between us, quite unlike the torrid, off and on affairs 
that most of the people our age engage in. 

We don't really fight, and our few arguments are 
completely silly and mostly just because one of us or 
both are cranky, and they're always resolved before we 
go to bed, usually with a shower or lovemaking. But 
then again, we're just two veterans of the same war... 
we're not the ones who wage war now; we're just the 
ones who sit around and talk about it.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 31