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Give Me That Old Time Religion 3: Rapture Indeed
by Fowler Gray (fowlergray@yahoo.com)

***

Set in the late Sixties "Give Me That Old Time 
Religion," or OTR for short, tells the story of how 
joining the Agapemone Bethel, where sex is a sacrament, 
changes young Jake Gledhill's life. (Fm, 1st)

***

Author Notes: To quench any flames before they start 
raging, this is a work of fiction. The author does not 
espouse the pseudo-theology contained in this story nor 
is he an adherent to its practices.

All of the usual legal disclaimers regarding the laws 
of your jurisdiction apply to reading and/or 
downloading this story, which pursuant to the Berne 
Convention, is copyrighted with all rights reserved by 
its author, Fowler Gray, unless explicitly indicated. 
Reproduction except for personal use and reposting 
without the author's written permission is prohibited. 
This story may not be reproduced on any commercial 
site.

Please pay attention to the story codes because they 
may change with each Plainsong.

A few readers have commented (complained) some chapters 
of OTR move too slow and don't have enough sex. If 
you're looking for a quick and dirty stroke story (not 
that there's anything wrong with those), OTR probably 
isn't for you.

As opposed to a short story, OTR is a novella where the 
characters will change and evolve. Some chapters will 
be slower and have less outright sex than others. 

Some of the women who have read OTR have written to 
tell me they have been put off by its religious tenets 
and seeming misogynism. Again I can only say OTR is a 
story about transformation and growth.

While I hope all of you will stick around for the ride, 
I'll understand if some of you don't.

Finally, remember Celeste's Blow Job Principle which 
states "If a person expects to get a second blow job, 
the recipient should make the giver glad to have 
performed the first." Think of this story, or any story 
on this site, as the written equivalent of the author 
giving you head (a handy, gender-neutral phrase 
encompassing both cunnilingus and fellatio) and be sure 
to say thank you.  

Thank yous for and comments on Gimme That Old Time 
Religion can be sent to this email address: 
fowlergray@yahoo.com 

***

Give Me That Old Time Religion, 
An Oratorio In Several Plainsongs By Fowler Gray

The Third Plainsong: Rapture Indeed

My fulsome apology to my Dad wasn't a grudging one.

Those "vacation" photos changed a lot in my life, not 
the least my understanding of the life my parents led. 
Not only had I been wrong, I'd been foolish, viewing 
their adult relationship through my young eyes and 
thinking I knew all there was to know about how people 
should behave and live their lives.

Dad took my apology in stride, simply telling me he was 
glad I knew the truth. Neither of us mentioned the 
photos; to this day I don't know if Dad knew Mom had 
shown them to me or not.  After my apology my father 
began to plan my first "big date," which is how I found 
myself with Debbie Davis in the cargo section of a 1958 
Kelly Green Rambler Super Cross Country station wagon, 
complete with rust spots, worn upholstery, and sprung 
springs. 

Dad had given a lot of thought to which of the girls I 
should date first.

"Both of 'em wanted to pop your cherry. Hell, I thought 
they were gunna to get into a fight over who got first 
crack at you.  I had to step in to settle it. Since 
they're both good lays, I decided Debbie gets the honor 
because she has her own car."

Back then for a boy my age, having your own car was a 
rare and great luxury, not the necessity it is today. 
Only three of my classmates had their own cars, beaters 
held together more by rust, Bondo and duct tape than by 
metal. The rest of us went back and forth to school by 
bus or bike. For some late night activities such as 
sports, we had a parent, our own or a friend's, pick us 
up after school and take us home. But our basic mode of 
transportation involved foot power, either walking or 
pedaling.

Occasionally, one of us would be able to borrow the 
family car allowing us to tool along the back roads, 
feeling like little Apollos in a fiery chariot, 
swigging bottles of beer smuggled out of the heavy 
waxed cardboard cases of Goebels, Hamms and Schlitz 
that littered every back porch in the county; chewing 
cuds of Fruit Stripe or Blackjack gum to hide the 
telltale fumes, as though our folks had never partaken 
of this timeless ritual themselves when they were our 
age.  

But it was one thing to ride along with your buddies, 
or hitch a ride with someone's parents. It was another 
for a girl to pick you up for a date. It was the man's 
job to provide the transportation, even when he didn't 
have any. 

"I don't know Dad, it's pretty embarrassing to have 
Debbie pick me up. Can't I use our car, just this 
once?"

"Not a chance stud.  The last thing I want is for the 
family car to reek of teenage sex for the rest of the 
month. Don't worry about being embarrassed; a good 
piece of pussy is worth a little humiliation."

So my fate was sealed; with the acquiescence of both my 
parents I was going to lose my virginity, not to the 
girl of my dreams, but to someone I'd never even seen, 
one of my father's past conquests. Sort of gave a whole 
new meaning to "wearing my father's hand-me-downs."

There's no question the whole thing was weird. I'd be 
lying if I said it didn't make me queasy. Besides the 
strangeness of going out with someone your own father 
is fucking and all of the head games that brings on, 
including the inevitable comparisons of sexual prowess, 
there was the fact my mother knew all about it and 
approved.  Perverse, but no more perverse than what I'd 
already been told or seen if my own eyes. 

Besides the Oedipal overtones, I worried about how this 
would affect my budding relationship with Elle.  It 
hadn't gotten that far yet, we were still limited to 
talking before and after bethel but I had hopes the 
barbe would sanction chaperoned dating after I finished 
my instruction. 

What would Elle think if she knew what I was doing? 
Would she be as approving of my actions as my mother 
was of my father's or would she think I was cheating on 
her the way I had thought my Dad was cheating on Mom?

For the next week I didn't get much sleep as 
anticipation partnered with apprehension churned though 
my thoughts.

Finally my "date" night arrived. Mercifully, my parents 
went out to dinner, leaving me alone in the house to 
wait for Debbie.  We were going to the movies; "Dracula 
Has Risen From The Dead" was playing at the Lycenium in 
North Jordan. Dad had told me Debbie was quite the fan 
of horror movies.

At seventeen boys are not adult, rational beings no 
matter how "grown up" we might think we are. We're 
governed by the three "I"s of our existence: impulse, 
ignorance and irresponsibility, microencephalonic 
masses of protoplasm, quivering every time a hormonal 
surge triggers another random synaptic flash. When I 
finally saw Debbie standing in the door of our home it 
unleashed a thunderstorm of synaptic flashes.

Dad was right, my date for the night wasn't bad 
looking; in fact she was downright cute; toothsome and 
quite eye-catching in all the ways that mattered.

Long bottle-blond hair was parted in the middle of 
Debbie's head then gathered into two braids, almost 
like a spaniel's ears. Her mouth was a pronounced 
Cupid's bow made even more noticeable by the garish red 
of her lipstick, deep dimples appearing at each corner 
as she smiled at me, revealing large flat white teeth 
as though a row of Peppermint Chiclets had been 
implanted in her upper gums.

Fleshy but not fat, certainly no sweat hog, Debbie was 
wearing a flowered knit pullover, raspberry, pink and 
plum on white with a pair of those "Mod" jeans that 
were so popular back then, straight legs with a two-
button hip-riding waist and stitched-on bellows 
pockets. 

Everything was a snug fit. I found myself wondering how 
she got into those pants which led me to think about 
what was going to happen when I got into those pants, a 
line of thought that in turn led to my pants becoming 
significantly more snug in the front.

Just as I had been checking her out, Debbie had been 
scoping me. The sight of the area around my fly 
distending not only made her giggle, it reminded me of 
my manners.

With what I hoped was a cool and suave air, I stuck out 
my hand and said, "You must be Debbie, I'm Jake. Enter 
freely and of your own will."

She moved forward but, instead of taking my hand with 
hers, she took my head between her hands, pulled my 
face to hers and, as my mouth opened in sheer amazement 
at her approach, gave me a deep French kiss.

Breaking of the kiss, she said in a fake Hungarian 
accent "Oh, ze children of ze night, vhat sveet music 
ve vill make." 

Stepping back she gave me her frank first appraisal. "I 
guess Lennie was right, I won't have to make you wear a 
bag over your head." Then, stepping forward, she ran 
the back of her nails over the outline of my chubby. 
"That's not a gun in your pocket so I know you're glad 
to see me." Then she kissed me again.

By now I was completely off balance. Dad hadn't told me 
much about Debbie other than that she was, in his words 
"a fun fuck." I don't know what I'd been expecting but 
it wasn't someone this forward.  In two minutes with 
Debbie, I'd gotten more action than I had in four 
months with Elle and we hadn't even left the house yet.

As though she was reading my mind, Debbie gave her 
tongue one last wiggle in my mouth then withdrew saying 
"Time to get into the circus wagon Jake; we've got to 
leave now if we're going to make the 7 o'clock show."

Her "circus wagon" was the aforementioned Rambler. As 
it bounced its way along our rutted dirt road, Debbie 
told me about herself. Her family was just a bit larger 
than mine; she had a sister Tami and a brother Greg, 
both younger than she was. 

Her parents wanted her to be a nurse but "the hell with 
that, I can't stand being around sick people," so she 
went to junior college to get her associate's degree in 
office management. "A little bookkeeping, some typing, 
some shorthand. Lennie says I'm really good at taking 
'dick'tation."

Working at the shop was just a temporary job, a way of 
getting enough scratch together to head out on the open 
road.  "I won't let any one or anything tie me down. 
Won't be working for a paycheck all my life either. The 
nine to five thing's OK for now, kind of a drag but I 
can stand it for a while. At least I'm not stuck in a 
kitchen being a good little homemaker like my Mom."

Loftier things were ahead for Debbie; she was going to 
be a painter or maybe a sculptor. She hadn't made up 
her mind yet. "I was always good at making things out 
of Playdough or clay. My high school art teacher said I 
had real talent. So did the Famous Artists School. They 
said my drawings showed 'a unique style worthy of 
further development," she told me proudly, "but I 
didn't have the money for the course." 

"I've got that problem licked now.  I ran into my old 
art teacher last week. Ray said he'd give me private 
art lessons if I'd agree to pose nude for him. He's not 
fooling me; he just wants a little nookie, which is OK 
by me. He was always nice to me in school, nicer than 
most of my teachers. I took his class in the first 
place because I had a little crush on him. There was 
always that rumor about him and the librarian Mrs. 
Teper doing it in the stacks on homecoming night. After 
we fuck maybe he'll tell me if he nailed her or not."

"That's one of the great things about women's lib," 
Debbie chattered on without waiting for a reply. "We're 
empowered now, not under a man's thumb.  I can do what 
I want to do, be who I want to be, sleep with who I 
want to sleep with, go where I want to go.  It's my 
decision, not some man calling the shots for me. 

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not a man hater. Shit, I love 
men. I love men's bodies. Each man I'm with is 
different; I'm a traveler in a new land every time I 
fuck some fresh.  I adore the feel of them slipping 
inside me, coaxing me to my orgasm. But I won't let a 
man own me. I'm independent."

As Debbie was talking, we were pulling into the parking 
lot at Beal's IGA just across from the theatre. Before 
I could get out of the car to open her door, Debbie 
grabbed my arm, holding me inside the car.

"I don't want to get too heavy and I don't want you to 
either. This isn't a serious thing we've got going 
here. Just a little light fun and entertainment. 
There's no commitment here; I'm not looking for a 
boyfriend. I don't want you falling in love with me 
just because I popped your cherry. Lennie's told me all 
about you and Elle. I think that's sweet, not for me 
but still sweet.  Just enjoy tonight and go with the 
flow. It's only sex Jake, nothing more. OK?"

I smiled in what I hoped was a sophisticated way but 
was more than likely a sickly leer. "I'm cool with 
where you're coming from. We're just a couple of people 
getting their kicks where they can." 

She smiled back, a far more sensuous smile than mine. 
"I like that Jake, I like that a lot. I like you too. 
But we better get inside now. The movie should just 
about be starting."

The tickets for the show were $1.25 each, five hours 
worth of work since I only got to keep half of my 
dollar an hour minimum wage. By the time I added in 
candy, popcorn and soda, plus hamburgers and malts 
after the movie at Sugar Joe's more than a week's pay 
would be gone. On the other hand so would my virginity, 
a more than an even trade.

The movie was pretty good, scary in some places, sexy 
in others. The best part of the movie was all the 
attractive women in low-cut bodices and nightgowns 
waiting breathlessly for Dracula's bite then writhing 
in ecstasy as he sucked their blood. The best part of 
being at the movie was Debbie, even though she did 
nothing but tease me.

The theatre was almost full. By the time we got there, 
all the good seats had been taken including every one 
in "make-out row." So we found ourselves sitting about 
five rows back from the screen in the last two seats 
off the right hand aisle, right up against the wall.

Just as the picture started I plopped my arm over 
Debbie's shoulders to be in position to cop a feel or 
two during the movie only to have her lean away from 
me. "Behave yourself, Jake. There'll be plenty of time 
for this later.  We're here to watch the movie not put 
on a PDA."

But what was good for the gander wasn't good for the 
goose.  Debbie was merciless all though the movie, 
leaning over to blow in my ear and whisper things like 
"Are you going to bite me tonight Jake, make me squirm 
like she is? I've got better things for you to suck on 
than my neck."

At times Debbie would use her left hand, hidden from 
view by the seat back, to rub my crotch. "Are you going 
to stake me with that big thing of yours, hammer it 
into me until I scream," she'd ask me in a voice too 
soft to be heard by anyone else. Once, just once, she 
guided my hand to between her legs, "I'm so wet Jake, 
just thinking about tonight; what we're going to do to 
each other."

It seemed like an eternity until the house lights came 
up. Even after they did we were almost the last couple 
to exit the theatre, waiting for the throbbing hard-on 
I'd had throughout the movie to subside.

Finally we were outside. Taking Debbie's hand in mine, 
a maneuver she didn't object to, I began to walk with 
her down to Sugar Joe's, talking about the movie along 
the way.  Because we were so late leaving the show, we 
were at the back of the line for a booth.

"Jake, do we really want to waste time tonight waiting 
for a shoe leather burger from here when there are much 
better things we could be munching on," she asked 
ostentatiously licking her lips as she looked at my 
belt buckle. Five minutes later we were on the road, 
speeding toward McClure's Orchards.

In a rural community there's no shortage of places to 
go to make out or even go all the way. Admiral Groom's 
Park had a small watchtower, accessible through a 
trapdoor in the floor. If you knew how to get there, 
the back gate to Sullivan's Sod Farm was usually left 
unchained. There were always the assorted farm fields 
of corn, wheat and alfalfa that dotted the county.  But 
the best locations for sexual mischief were always the 
orchards. Easy to get to, you could drive a car well 
back off the road. The frequent spraying of the fruit 
trees meant you could roll down the car windows or even 
get out of the car without worrying about being 
besieged by biting insects. 

McClure's was the best of the orchard passion pits, 
isolated with no houses around; it was furthest away 
from town of any of them. The 20-minute ride out there 
discouraged joy riders looking for a chance to "shine" 
couples making out.

As Debbie's circus wagon made its way down a two-track 
trail, I began feel my gut churn and not just from the 
greasy popcorn.  It was four years before the Joy of 
Sex made its way to bookstores but there were some sex 
manuals available by mail, delivered in plain brown 
paper wrappers. 

These always had a pseudo-intellectual/psychological 
introduction by someone with a Ph.D. after his name, 
explaining how the book was "of paramount importance in 
reaching an understanding of the problems which 
confront the neurotic as well as the normal individual 
in today's society." 

They usually quoted one of the raunchier passages from 
the Canterbury Tales or a small section from Fanny 
Hill. These contrivances allowed them to argue in court 
the book wasn't obscene; it had literary merit or at 
least some redeeming social value. 

The week before my date, Dad had given me one of these 
books, "The Secrets of A Successful Marriage." After 
the usual introduction plus a single chapter on the 
value of listening to your mate and being helpful 
around the home, the remainder of the book was a "how-
to" sex manual, crude anatomical drawings on the left 
hand page, clinical instructions interspersed with 
lurid prose describing the results of following those 
instructions on the right.

I tried to memorize every page of that book, the same 
way a boy scout would memorize his survival manual 
before his first wilderness hike. Women were more than 
two breasts and a vagina. I should pay attention to her 
entire body. Some women's breasts were super-sensitive. 
I should stroke and caress them, not squeeze them like 
oranges. Whenever I touched a woman's vagina I had to 
make sure my finger was wet. I should work up to 
touching her clit. My mind was awhirl reviewing all the 
hints and instructions. 

The book told me when I went down on a woman I should 
make my lips into an "O" and suck her gently, watching 
her face all the while for her reaction; although how I 
was supposed watch her face at night in a car with no 
lights on, my face mashed between her legs the book 
didn't say.

Most of all don't jump her bones right away. It was 
important to take our time, work up to it; better for 
both of us that way.

My fear was all I had to guide me was my fantasies, 
which would be absolutely useless, and book learning 
from a pretty shitty book. In a few minutes I was going 
to have to do the deed with an experienced woman, not 
just an experienced woman but also one who had been 
repeatedly fucked by my own father. Inside I was 
shaking like a bowl of Jell-O in an earthquake with the 
minor temblors running their course across my skin.

I'll always bless Debbie for she did that night. She 
knew I was uncomfortable, uncertain about how to start, 
nervous about not measuring up or being thought a spazz 
and so she took control.

"Boy that was some movie wasn't it?  I thought I was 
going to jump out of my skin when they found that 
woman's body hanging in the church bell in place of the 
clapper. From then it just got more suspenseful. I'm 
still all tense from being so scared. Jake, do you 
think you could give me a little massage, maybe rub 
some of the knots out of me?"

As Debbie opened the tailgate of the station wagon to 
let us into the back, "No sense in crawling all over 
the seats," she said. I couldn't help noticing the 
cargo area was covered with a thick, puffy comforter 
and that there were several different sized pillows in 
one corner as well. Debbie had come prepared. As she 
got in she kicked off her shoes, letting her bare feet 
swing back and forth in the gentle night breeze, I 
followed suit taking off both my shoes and socks.

Leaving the tailgate open, Debbie lay down on her 
stomach, her head pointed the front of the car and 
cushioned on a pillow. She had spread her legs just 
enough to allow me to kneel between them. I could feel 
her thighs rubbing against mine as I began to rub her 
shoulders. Here at least my shaking hands would be an 
advantage, sort of human magic fingers without the need 
to keep putting in quarters.

After a few minutes Debbie lifted her head, asking me 
to massage her a little harder. "I'm not made of fine 
china, Jake. I won't break. If you hurt me I'll let you 
know." I began pressing more forcibly.

"That feels a little better Jake," she told me, "but 
it's still too soft. Maybe if we took my top off?"

She didn't have to ask twice. As I reached under her 
torso to tug her flowered pullover off, my hands 
brushed against her hanging tits.  "Shame on you Jake, 
copping a feel like that," she said coquettishly.  "If 
I didn't know better I'd think you wanted to do more 
than rub my back." 

Settling back down on the comforter, she gave a 
contented sigh as I returned to my task, the feel of 
her warm slick flesh against my fingers sending a 
tingle down my spine, one that quickly rushed to the 
far tip of my cock.

Emboldened by her response, I began to work my fingers 
underneath the back clasp of her bra.  It was tough 
going, the clasp slapping back against her every time 
my fingers returned to her bare skin.

"That does hurt, Jake. I think we need to unhook my 
bra, otherwise I'm going to have a big welt there in 
the morning. While we're at it let's just take the 
whole thing off, the straps were digging into my 
shoulders anyway."

Mouth dry, I returned to my task, basking in the little 
murmurs of enjoyment that reached my ears.

"My legs are really, really sore. You wouldn't mind 
rubbing them for me too would you? I'll have to get out 
of the car to take my jeans off though, they're too 
tight just to wriggle out of in here." 

As I sat transfixed on the edge of the tailgate, Debbie 
stood facing me, slowly removing her jeans. God, she 
looked beautiful as she revealed herself to me, Astarte 
under the stars, her enticing body dappled by moon glow 
and shadows.

"Jake, I feel awfully silly. Here I am in nothing but 
my panties while you've got everything on but your 
shoes and socks. It isn't fair. Maybe you should take 
some of your clothes off. Better yet, stand up and let 
me take them off for you."

Now our roles were reversed. I stood, arms over my 
head, as Debbie peeled off my shirt and undershirt then 
had me sit as she pulled my pants down over my legs, 
revealing a pair of white undershorts just slightly 
less soggy than Snyder's swamp.

All pretenses were abandoned as she placed my hands on 
her heavy full breasts. Hungry as a newborn babe, I 
leaned over taking first one then the other into my 
mouth, softly running my tongue over each magnificent 
globe. As I suckled, she reached up to untie the bows 
holding her hair. A quick shake of her head caused to 
her spaniel ears to transform into long flowing 
tresses, easily reaching the middle of her back.

I moved my mouth from her left nipple to the little 
hollow at the base of Debbie's throat, applying just 
the slightest pressure against her skin, exhaling soft 
wafts of air, all the while running my hands along her 
ribs and back. Then upward again until our lips met, 
our mouths covering each other, both breathing the same 
moist air, both moaning deep in our throats, feeling 
each other's desire yet wanting more.

Debbie took the initiative. Pushing against me, she 
leveraged us apart. "I'm going to suck you now Jake," 
she told me. "I want you to come in my mouth. Don't 
worry about lasting; don't worry about pleasing me; 
don't worry about anything but enjoying the blow job 
I'm about to give you."

Her hands encircled my hips and, as she sank to the 
ground, pulled my underwear down with her, revealing 
not a blue steeler erection but a soft, shrunken 
schlong.  If it wouldn't have added to my already 
overwhelming mortification, I'd have broken out in 
tears.

Again Debbie rose to the occasion, even if, for the 
time being, I couldn't. After sheparding me to the 
tailgate, she sat down beside me rubbing my shoulders 
almost exactly as my Mom did.

"Don't be upset Jake; this happens to everyone. You're 
just nervous about tonight but everything will be all 
right lover, just trust Momma Debbie," she said giving 
me a comforting smile.

Feeling the deep blush that stained my face, I nodded.  

"This happens to guys all the time. They don't like to 
admit it. They sure won't talk about it with their 
friends but you're not the first to lose his hard-on 
and you won't be the last."

Moving softly, her hands began to stroke my lower 
abdomen coming close to but not touching my dick. As 
our mouths merged and our tongues dueled, she pressed 
her bare flesh against mine. I could feel her breasts 
flatten against my chest, our nipples hard as pebbles.

As she licked her way down my torso, I began running my 
fingers through Debbie's hair. When her head drew level 
with my cock, I could feel myself becoming engorged, my 
drooping member straightening in anticipation of what 
was to come.

Like a cat marking territory, Debbie started to rub her 
cheeks against my thighs; quick furtive licks to my 
glans swabbing off the moisture gathering there. Then, 
using a hand on each of my thighs to steady herself, 
Debbie went down on me.

"Debbie went down on me;" what a crude undescriptive 
term for such a wondrous life affirming act.  Slowly 
and deliberately her lips enveloped my cock, gently 
sliding down its pulsing tube; the strange tactile 
sensation of the flat of her tongue along its underside 
drawing involuntary whimpers from my throat. Ascending 
back up my pole she opened her mouth slightly, using 
her hot thick saliva to mark her way.

When she reached the tip I began to thrust forward, 
only to have her shake her head in negation. 
Momentarily removing me from her mouth she instructed 
me that she would do all the moving. "Just stand still, 
if you can," she said, resuming her oral ministrations. 

Legs quivering, I bit my upper lip to prevent myself 
from shoving my dick deep into her throat. It felt so 
good, making me desire so much more. The woman was a 
she-devil; moving faster, moving slower, abandoning my 
dick to lave my balls then returning to tease my cock 
tip with the point of her tongue; always keeping me on 
teetering on the knife edge of orgasm.

Suddenly it was just too much. My balls began to 
contract, my dick to pulse uncontrollably; my time of 
crisis was on me.

An inarticulate warning caused Debbie to tighten the 
seal of her lips around the circumference of my cock as 
I spilled my seed into her waiting mouth, slumping 
against her as wave after wave of sperm fled my body.

Disconnected from the moment, I floated in a 
netherworld of slaked lust; apprehensions of inadequacy 
banished replaced by a sense of realized potential.  
All of my past fantasies had been a dress rehearsal for 
this night and other nights to come. 

Returning to the present I reached down and helped 
Debbie rise to her feet, my dick as limp as a dishrag, 
my face aglow with unexpressed gratitude. I knew better 
to say thanks as though my date was a shop girl and I 
was her customer. Still, I wanted to say something to 
indicate how I felt.

Before she could speak I told Debbie how wonderful it 
had been, careful to distinguish the act from the 
person. We were now lovers but I didn't want to raise 
any fears I was falling in love with her. Instead, 
resolved to let my actions indicate my gratefulness, I 
started off by simply holding her, arms wrapped around 
her back.

Tilting her face, my mouth hovered over hers until her 
lips parted. We kissed deeply, her mouth salty and 
slick, the remnants of popcorn and cum flavoring our 
oral embrace, our hands running across each other's 
bodies like the blind searching for a sign in Braille.

Slowly we made our way back into the wagon, careful not 
to break our mutual caress. Somewhere along the way 
Debbie had shed her panties, the dark thicket of fur 
between her legs contrasting with her blonde tresses.

Avoiding Debbie's direct approach to lovemaking, I 
begin a more oblique and unhurried campaign of 
discovery, reveling in my exploration of her body. I 
knew my first time making love would be clumsy and 
maladroit; more to be tolerated than enjoyed and that 
it didn't matter. Debbie's acceptance of my virgin 
efforts, as ham-handed as they might be, gave me the 
serenity to proceed without fear of ridicule.

Her breasts felt like warm yeasty bread dough against 
my hands, their gumdrop nipples rubbery in my mouth as 
I sucked, gently scraping the edge of my teeth against 
their nubby surface. Her hands clung to my head as I 
licked the brackish sweat from between her breasts and 
the ribcage they rested on. 

Removing her hands, I turned them upward, running my 
open mouth over the flat of her wrists, feeling the 
blood in her veins flutter and pulse against my tongue. 
I kissed her arms, bit on her earlobes as my hands 
stroked the sides of her ribs, finally coming to rest 
on the outer edges of her thighs.

Nuzzling against the side of her neck I made my first 
tentative approach to her vagina, fingers threading 
their way through her bush to brush against her mons, 
teasing around the edges of her clit, filling with 
self-satisfaction when her breath caught in the back of 
her throat.

As her legs opened in welcome, I began to glide my lips 
down Debbie's torso, leaving a snail's trail of saliva 
behind me, an impatient desire growing the further 
south I descended.

As I reached Adam's altar the scent of Debbie's arousal 
filled my nose, not fishy or unpleasant but pungent 
none the less, spicy and earthy at the same time.  All 
lessons forgotten and with far more eagerness than 
expertise I buried my face deep into her cunt, 
determined to return the favor and eat Debbie until she 
came.

"Whoa, go easy, stud," Debbie told me raising her head 
from the pillow. "I'm sensitive down there. Don't act 
like you're a staving man at an all you can eat 
buffet."

Under the direction of my carnal muse I pulled back 
using the tip of my tongue to coax the sticky lips of 
her pussy apart. The comforter was already soaked with 
the juice flooding out of her; I wouldn't have to worry 
about wetting my fingers.  Lapping with long slow 
strokes, I savored the taste of her, a spicy sharp 
flavor of cinnamon and clove with just a hint of musk.

Following Debbie's instructions, I placed two fingers 
inside her.  The walls of her cunt were slick and 
moist, like clay edging the banks of a creek.  While I 
blew softly into her, my thumb rubbed circles around 
her clit, careful to massage the edges without pressing 
too hard.

At her command I put my tongue on her clit, vibrating 
back and forth like a hummingbird's wing, the aroma of 
her arousal reaching me even with my nose buried deep 
in her public hair. She let out a small gasp as I 
breathed into her, swooping my tongue around and over 
her, plunging it further into the dark circular opening 
at the center of her being.

Her body began to convulse, tiny waves of pleasure 
rolling though her.  Her breathing turning faster and 
shallower, matching itself to the lingual exertions of 
my tongue. Raising her hips up she grabbed my head, 
forcing it tighter against her cunt, her words drowned 
out by the noise of the blood surging in my head. 

I flicked and sucked and pistoned with my fingers, the 
rhythm hard and fast driving Debbie ever closer to the 
edge. She pushed wildly against me as the first buzz of 
her orgasm hit, bucking and twitching so hard our 
fleshy connection was severed. Then she fell back to 
the comforter, silent except for the sound of her 
breath whistling from her lungs.

As we lay nestled together my head pillowed on her 
breasts, a passage from the Song of Songs came into my 
mind. 

"Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon 
my garden that the spice thereof may flow out. Let my 
beloved come into his garden, to the beds of spice, the 
well of living waters and eat his pleasant fruits and 
feedeth among the lilies." 

"That was nice Jake, really nice," Debbie told me, her 
voice relaxed and languid in the aftermath of her 
orgasm. "Are you sure you've never done this before," 
she teased.  "You're a natural born cuntlapper."  As 
she spoke, her hand wandered down to embrace my dick, 
now proudly hard and upright.

"Give me time to catch my breath and we'll see if we 
can't put this hard-on of yours to good use," she 
promised, softly stroking up and down my rod. "That 
protein shake you gave me was tasty but now I need this 
stuffed deep inside me."

I made love to Debbie as masterfully as Clapton plays 
his guitar, making her claw the sky and scream out my 
name over and over as multiple orgasms wrung every 
ounce of desire from her quaking body, leaving her a 
limp but well satisfied woman.

OK, so it wasn't exactly like that. But it was close, 
well, close if you switch me with Debbie, leave out the 
whole screaming of the name thing (I didn't scream, 
just sort of moaned loudly and then only once), and 
reduce those multiple orgasms down to a singleton. In 
fairness though, I was limp and well satisfied when it 
was over.

Pleased by Debbie's exaggerated praise of my 
cunnilingual skills, I nibbled my way back to her 
pussy, suckling on her clit like a just dropped calf, 
savoring her tangy secretions as they gushed across my 
taste buds. When she was aroused, Debbie overflowed her 
banks like the Oletangy River at flood crest.

She wasn't the only one who was aroused. If I didn't 
get inside her soon, I'd be emulating Onan instead of 
Solomon.

Self-control slipping, I pushed her legs further apart, 
sliding my way up her body.  Melding my lips with hers, 
I felt my dick throbbing, her mound brushing against 
mine as my rod blindly sought entrance to her grotto. 

"Stop Jake," Debbie said, tearing her mouth away. "Not 
like this. Let me get on top."

Performing an inelegant pirouette we switched places. 
The roof of the wagon was too low to allow Debbie to 
sit completely up, forcing her into a squatting 
position over me.  "Hold on to my hips, Jake," she 
grunted, one hand reaching underneath her curled legs 
to grab my cock, the other balancing her descent.

Shivers running from my scalp to my sweaty feet, I felt 
her guide me, settling slowly until she was resting on 
top of me, my dick fully sheathed in her center.

This was rapture. The warm satiny feel of her cunt 
muscles contracting and relaxing against my dick. The 
way they milked my shaft as she rose and fell, little 
grunts of exertion escaping her lips in counterpoint to 
her movements. The feeling of those elongated breasts 
hanging like Zucca gourds against my palms, nipples 
solid as diamonds. The sweep of her hair against me 
sending little jolts of electricity through my skin 
with each feathery caress.

I thought I'd reached Eden when I entered Debbie's 
mouth, now I knew I had only been on the outskirts of 
the Garden. 

Thrusting upward I buried myself deeper into her, 
grinding against her heat, pushing may crotch against 
her pelvic bone, all politeness and decorum burnt away 
in the raging fire of passion.  

My vision narrowed. Jungle drums began to beat in my 
head as my body rocked with hers in a motion as ancient 
as time, our smooth gliding rhythm disrupted by the 
urgency of our needs, replaced by something more 
primeval and primitive, a duel of thrust and 
counterthrust one step removed from combat.

Falling forward, she pinned my wrists with her hands, 
her groin tight against mine. Teeth gnawed at my lower 
lip, drawing blood, adding the taste of copper and iron 
to the night's melange of tastes. Her breath hot 
against my throat, she began to chant "almost there, 
almost there, almost there." I fought to keep cadence, 
plunging in and out as fast as I could, knowing that I 
had only a few moments left.

Pressure grew in my loins, heavy and insistent, 
demanding to be released, to spill out as nature 
intended instead of in my fist. Just as I thought I 
couldn't restrain my explosion any longer Debbie ceased 
to move, frozen in orgasm.  Moaning out her name, I 
began to convulse inside her, baptizing her womb with 
my spending, consummating my first time with a woman, 
gifting Debbie Davis my virginity. 

With each pulse of sperm that shot from my prick a 
feeling of lightheadedness grew in me until it seemed 
my body was floating in the clouds. As the intensity of 
my orgasm diminished my flesh grew heavier and I 
descended back to earth, my senses slowly returning to 
normal.  The barbe was right, what had just transpired 
in the back of Debbie's Rambler wagon was a sacrament 
from God.

"Oh god, Jake that was great," Debbie said, her sweaty 
body mashed against mine.  "My toes curled so hard I 
thought they'd break." Even though I knew Debbie was 
embellishing my performance, I couldn't help but break 
into a big smile.  I may not have been a master 
cocksman but at least I'd avoided any truly 
embarrassing missteps.

An audible pop marking the moment of our post-coital 
separation, Debbie rolled off to one side, resting her 
head on my shoulder. "So don't keep a poor girl in 
suspense, was it good for you too?" 

I felt more than saw Debbie's goofy grin as she asked 
me this question.  Trying to keep the moment light, I 
responded in my most serious tone, "Believe me Debbie, 
I can honestly say that was the best fuck I've ever 
had."

"You filthy beast," she screeched comically, "that's 
the only fuck you've ever had. You're going to pay for 
that comment." Shaping her hands into claws she 
attacked, tickling me unmercifully, her peals of 
laughter merging with mine as we finished our evening 
in joyous play, showing each other that what had just 
happened "was no big thing."

On the way home the scent of our rutting was so thick 
you could almost scoop in up in your hand. Dad was 
right in not loaning me the family car; it would have 
taken a dozen bottles of Airwick to clear out that 
smell.

I had more "dates" with Debbie, practical courses in 
sex education, the very thing my mother said I needed. 
Debbie enjoyed tutoring me in the art of making love to 
a woman, patiently giving me instructions to improve my 
amateurish techniques.  Each date was fun even if some 
where vaguely clinical, but not one of them ever 
equaled that first soul-stirring time we made love.

We didn't only fuck on our dates; we talked. Talking 
with Debbie was like buying one of those grab bags at 
the five and ten, you never really knew what you were 
going to get or how long it would last. Hummingbirds 
hovered longer around a single blossom than she did on 
a single topic. Sometimes it seemed as though she 
wasn't really talking to me but rather using me as a 
sounding board to get in touch with herself.

Far from the light and inconsequential chats we started 
out with, portions of our later talks often were 
contemplative and penetrating, honest conversations 
without guile or pretense; revealing those bits and 
piece of our true selves we kept hidden from view. I 
discovered a different Debbie Davis existed underneath 
the free spirit, sexually liberated woman persona she 
showed to the world.

"I'm not stupid," Debbie said one evening out of the 
blue.  We had just finished making love for the second 
time that Saturday night and were lying together on our 
backs on a blanket in the middle of one of Sullivan's 
sod fields, gathering enough energy to get dressed and 
go back into town. 

"Guys are using me, I know that. They've heard all the 
gossip and when they see my big tits, all they can 
think about is jumping my bones.  I'm not really a 
person to them, just a easy way to get off. They're not 
interested in me for me; they're interested in me for 
how I can make them feel. I don't mean you or Lennie. 
Shit, you two treat me the nicest of anyone in town. 
I'm talking about those other needy jerks."

Eyes focused on the stars, she continued her monologue 
in a matter of fact voice as though she was discussing 
the weather instead of making so personal a revelation.  

"Christ knows I'd like it to be different, to have 
someone think of me as more than the town pump but 
that's not going to happen here.  I've made my bed, 
hell a lot of beds and I'll sleep in them. And I won't 
fool myself about what it means.

"No matter what sweet nothings they whisper in my ear, 
how loudly they tell me they love me while we're 
humping, I know they don't mean it. I don't fool 
myself, once they come, hell they won't really think 
about me again until the next time they want to get 
their rocks off. But you know that's fine 'cause I'm 
using them too. Sometimes when they stick their dick in 
me, it's like I've been shot up with Novocain and I can 
forget how plain and ordinary and boring life in this 
small town is."

Rolling over she looked at me keenly, her red lipstick 
made a deep black by the shadows playing over her face. 

"This place sucks ass.  As big a shithole as it is they 
should put a toilet seat over it. I've got to get out 
of here Jake. I can be more than I am now but only if I 
can blow this pop stand. 

"I've got a reputation and no one here's going to look 
beyond it. There's no room for me to grow here and I've 
got plenty of growing to do. Right now I'm just the 
butterfly trapped inside the cocoon but when I spread 
my wings, look out world."

That night, staring at an unlit ceiling instead of the 
stars, Debbie's words rolled in my head like thunder. 
I'd never thought much about living in a small town 
before, figuring my life would be an echo of my 
father's. I'd get some kind of job in one of the 
businesses around the county, marry Elle, buy a small 
house and raise a few kids.

It's not like I had any real marketable skills.  I 
sucked at math, and was only so-so in science.  Sure, I 
was good at debate and forensics but where would that 
get me? Mr. Shoemaker, who owned our village newspaper, 
The Harbinger, said I had a flair for journalism but 
then again, his was a family-run business so there was 
no job for me there. The thing I was best at was 
reading. I could devour three or four books a night but 
who would pay me to read?

College was out of the question.  We had no money and 
my grades were nowhere near good enough to get a 
scholarship. I needed to resign myself to being another 
one of those people who were born, lived and died in 
the same town.

Still, Debbie started me wondering that night.  I 
thought about some of the families I grew up with, 
people I knew, and how I'd watched them whither on the 
vine. 

Charlie Mackie, a three-sport star in high school, the 
best athlete ever to play on a Flying Dutchman team, 
sure to be a pro one day. Tore up his knee the first 
day of spring practice at college. Charlie's the school 
janitor now, drives a school bus now instead of a 
Cadillac. 

Betsy Walker, won more than 20 beauty pageants around 
the state, aimed to be a professional model.  Dean 
Musgrave knocked her up the night of the senior prom. 
Now she does nails at the beauty parlor. 

Jimmy French, president of the 4-H club, science whiz. 
His second year in vet school big brother Al ran into a 
tree on Tin Bath Road, running from the cops at night, 
lights out because he had a case of beer in his car.  
Jimmy took over the farm, vet school abandoned.

How many times had I seen hope curdle into resentment 
as someone discovered their dreams of glory would never 
be realized, their potential would never be fulfilled? 
And when those visions failed to solidify, was there a 
collective turning to the one type of fantasy that 
could be achieved?

Maybe all the frequent liaisons weren't just about 
enjoying casual sex.  Maybe they were a means of escape 
from the drabness of life, a respite from the terrible 
knowledge our options were limited, not by a lack of 
talent but by fate. All of this community fucking that 
was going on, these displays of lust, the rampant 
carnality disconnected from any real relationship were 
happening not because people were oversexed but to hide 
our inner fear and pain.

Or were they, as the bethel taught, truly a way to God?

Lying there with far more questions than answers, I 
tossed and turned through most of the night.

The night after our final date Debbie scarred my soul. 

Standing on the front porch after we had returned from 
McClure's, I gave Debbie a copy Kahlil Gibran's The 
Prophet. It hadn't been easy to obtain. I had to 
special order it through the village library and I'd 
been afraid it wouldn't arrive in time. On the flyleaf 
I'd inscribed a passage from the book:

"And in the sweetness of friendship let there be 
laughter, and the sharing of pleasures. For in the dew 
of little things the heart finds its morning and is 
refreshed."  Beneath the quote I had written, "Thank 
you for the morning. In appreciation and friendship 
always, Jake."

Debbie was artificially animated while unwrapping the 
book, making suitable noises of unspecific gratitude 
while doing so. When she opened its cover and read the 
dedication she fell silent and unmoving, leading me to 
believe I'd really blown it. 

There we stood, frozen in place like a frame of film 
that had jumped its sprockets. I can't say how long we 
were still; time seemed to have stopped as we each 
digested the gift's meaning.

Suddenly the film restarted, Debbie throwing her arms 
around me, hugging me so tight I was afraid she'd 
bruise a rib, her face buried in the junction of my 
neck and shoulder. A kiss followed. Not the deep, 
sensual kiss that so enlivened our lovemaking, but a 
soft chaste kiss, her lips made salty by a few tears 
rolling down her cheeks.

Breaking off our embrace, she averted her eyes from 
mine. Speaking slowly she reminded me of what she had 
said on our first night; that she didn't want me to 
fall in love with her just because we'd fucked.  

In a wistful tone I had never heard her use before she 
said "And I still don't, I don't. But Jake we can still 
be friends and as a friend you could love me just a 
little, not a lot but a little and not because we 
fucked but because of who I am. It'd be nice to have a 
friend who'd love me a little for just me and not my 
pussy."  

A sad smile on her face, she kissed me goodbye and 
drove away in her green Rambler wagon, leaving me 
standing on the porch, a sense of loss coloring my 
psyche. 

My mother told me when innocence leaves, wisdom begins 
to take its place. The Bible told me the price of 
wisdom was above rubies. But as the taillights on the 
circus wagon dimmed in the distance one question kept 
running through my mind.

Was gaining my wisdom at the expense of others too high 
a price to pay?

***

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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 46