("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text


















--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

Amber Blues
by Portland Boobcat (portlandboobcat@yahoo.com)

***

A sensual underaged indescretion triggers a lifelong 
fetish for breasts. (Fm, ped, rom)

***

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is a work of fiction - 
mostly. I don't want to explain how much of it was 
remembered, and how much was invented...

***

Shortly after I turned eight years old, something 
happened to me. This event changed who I was. I've 
never been the same since. It was in the late summer of 
1979, when I lived in Canada - and it involved my older 
sister, who was seventeen. I have never tried to write 
this down before, and I've never spoken of it - not 
once in my lifetime - even though I turned 41 years old 
on September 13th, 2011.

I came home from school that day and started watching 
television, which was my habit at the time. My mother 
seemed to be doing OK. That was always a concern, how 
she was doing - because if she's ever doing poorly it 
means that violence is right around the corner. That's 
because my mother is a schizophrenic.

She can be the perfect mom at times - attentive, warm, 
caring and nurturing. But then, she goes through 
"Spells", I guess you'd call them - when she changes, 
and becomes excitable, abusive and violent. She screams 
loudly, breaks things, and often attacks her husband - 
and sometimes even her children. After it runs its 
course she goes back to normal with no memory of her 
cruel behavior, and obviously - no remorse. It can be 
very confusing to an eight-year-old child of such a 
woman.

My sister came home from her school about a half-hour 
after I did, and started doing her homework as usual. 
Then my father came home and started drinking heavily, 
which was HIS habit. I really hoped that this night 
would be a quiet one. I wanted it to be - but it didn't 
turn out that way.

My mother and father began arguing about one thing or 
another while talking in the kitchen, and soon it 
became a fight. During that fight, my mom started to 
change. I saw that familiar expression on her face, and 
became scared. I went back to watching television. 
Things deteriorated, and soon my sister was called into 
the kitchen and dragged into their melee. I was trying 
to ignore all the excitement and just watch the Muppet 
Show, when I heard the smack. I thought my sister had 
just been hit, and a moment later found that I was 
right.

But immediately after the smack, there were a few 
seconds of silence, and then my father started yelling 
at my mother. While my mother retaliated against his 
words with shouts of her own, and got them going at 
each other just like before, my sister appeared from 
around the corner. She was rubbing the side of her 
face, which was turning pink from the strike, while the 
tears ran from her eyes. She grabbed my hand, whispered 
in my ear over the noise, "Come on, little bro - we're 
getting the hell out of here," and helped me grab up 
our shoes and coats.

My parents were still screaming at each other, and we 
started to hear dishes breaking against the walls when 
we slipped out the front door as quietly as we could. 
Within ten minutes, we were at the pay phone in front 
of a local convenience store, and my sister called her 
boyfriend. No one in our family even knew she had a 
boyfriend at the time.

Shortly after finishing that phone call, a green Chevy 
Nova rolled into the parking lot, and my sister opened 
the door and moved the passenger seat forward so I 
could jump in the back. She got into the passenger 
seat, and we were off.

I was in a state of shock. I didn't know that my sister 
had such a resource as this - a boyfriend with a car. 
She could go anywhere. I had to wonder why she EVER 
went back home again.

She introduced me to Doug - her boyfriend, told me to 
behave myself, and that we were going somewhere that 
she likes to hang out at. She said that she'd normally 
never take me to this place, but anything was better 
than being at home right now.

Where we ended up going was the shoreline of a local 
river, right under a pier. I knew at first sight that 
this was a place where the wild kids congregated. There 
were teen-agers and young adults everywhere. There was 
a bonfire on the beach near the pier that lit up the 
place. Everywhere, kids were engaged in activities from 
mild to extreme, and almost all of them had beers in 
their hands. There was more than one radio playing loud 
rock-and-roll throughout the crowd. Kids were smoking, 
singing, gambling, dancing and even fighting. It was a 
place of activity, action, and breaking all the rules - 
a large group of like-minded kids in a private place 
far away from adult eyes where they could all blow off 
some steam. I was awe-struck.

When you're a child, you admire the big kids. You want 
to be like them. You idolize them. This was the "in" 
gang, and there were so many of them. I wanted to be a 
part of all this action, but their numbers and their 
confidence intimidated me. So, I just sort of leaned 
against one of the supports for the pier, crossed my 
arms over my chest, and watched all the excitement. I 
tried to play it "cool," but my wide eyes were probably 
a give-away.

After about an hour of just standing there watching 
them, my sister came up and asked me if I was alright. 
I told her I was fine, and she suggested that I toss a 
Frisbee around with some of the boys, or maybe her 
boyfriend could teach me to play poker. I told her that 
I was doing great as it was - and I would just sort of 
hang out right here. So just said, "OK, if that's what 
you like..." She then went to a near-by group of 
friends and started chatting, while glancing at me 
every now and then to keep an eye on me.

At some point, she looked over at another girl her own 
age that had just arrived. She excused herself from her 
group, and walked up to her. It was my impulse to run 
after her because she was the only person in this crowd 
that I knew, and was comfortable with. She was my 
security blanket - but I kept myself calm and continued 
trying to appear un-concerned to all the people who 
were just ignoring me anyway.

She met up with the girl, who she started speaking with 
while looking at me and pointing to me. The girl had 
been over to our house before a couple of times. I 
couldn't remember her name, but I could never forget 
her face because she was very pretty.

I have since deduced that my sister probably said 
something like this to her friend...

"My little brother's right over there. He's having a 
hell of a night. Our parents are at it again. I HAD to 
bring him here - he'd probably get hurt if he stayed at 
home, but he's not getting into the sprit of all this. 
Could you help him take his mind off it? You're a 
pretty girl - just kind of flirt with him a bit - maybe 
get him to dance with you. You could probably get him 
to open up and enjoy himself because he's recently 
"discovered" girls. I'm sure that if you did something 
like that he'd forget all about his troubles and relax, 
and I'd consider it a real favor, too..."

I'm only guessing what she said, because they were too 
far away for me to hear them. At any rate, after their 
whispered conversation, the other girl approached me.

"Hi." she began, "You're Carol's little brother, 
right?"

"Yeah - I'm Daryl." I responded.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meat you, Daryl. I'm Mandy," 
she said, while she offered me her hand.

As I shook it, I couldn't help noticing just how much 
more attractive she was up close. There were girls all 
over this place who were all done up to make themselves 
look good, maybe even stand out - but this girl was 
exceptional. She was smooth-skinned and high cheek-
boned, with a cute little up-turned nose, and a breezy, 
out-going temperament. Her permanent expression was a 
half-smile - like she shared a secret with you. She 
drew men to her, and I was putty in her paws.

We ended up moving to the edge of the group, and 
talking a bit. I can't remember exactly what we talked 
about. Nothing memorable, just chitchat I guess. She 
seemed to want something from me - it was like she 
wanted me to open up to her - but in this place, that 
would be hard. After a while, she decided that our 
conversation wasn't satisfying her. Undiscouraged, she 
tried another tactic.

She came up beside me, crouched down to my level, and 
put one hand on my shoulder - which made me turn to 
stone with both fear and excitement. With her other 
hand she pointed out a couple dancing near the fire.

"See that?" she asked, as she turned to me with that 
smile that made me melt inside, and brushed a few 
strands of hair from her forehead....

"Yeah," I replied.

"Would you like to dance with ME like that?" she asked 
in a mildly sensual voice.

"I can teach you..."

I turned from her beautiful face, illuminated by the 
flickering bonfire light - and back to the dancing 
couple. I studied them more closely. They were moving 
slowly - in time with the music. Her arms were around 
his shoulders, and her head was resting on his chest. 
His hands, however, were firmly holding her by the 
waist - right at those feminine curves that I had begun 
to notice on every single girl I ever looked at, 
starting about one month ago. It was an intimate way 
for a guy to be touching a girl. The image in my mind 
of Mandy and I doing that made my heart beat even 
faster.

I turned to her, and for the first time realized just 
how close she was to me. (She may have moved her face a 
few inches closer to mine while I was examining the 
dancing couple) Her eyes were looking directly into 
mine with her usual unbearably cute half-smile. She was 
waiting for my reply, with that unique, almost extra-
ordinary patience she possessed. She looked like she 
would be happy to wait forever for my reply. I noticed 
the scent of her perfume upon her neck.

I just nodded.

Her amazing smile grew even wider, and then she took me 
by the hand to lead me off to a dim corner - away from 
the crowd.

I can't recall all of her verbal instructions from that 
time. I only remember that I must have stepped on her 
toes about six hundred times during that first hour 
while trying to follow her directions, and lead her at 
the same time. Dancing is hard enough if you're 
learning how to do it for the first time... but 
learning how to dance with all those distractions 
nearby is even harder. And with a beautiful older woman 
who made you lusty and nervous! And on SAND? That's 
REALLY difficult. I didn't give up, though. I just made 
my way through it, even though I felt embarrassed and 
clumsy.

She never complained about it, though - or scolded, or 
became angry, or even winced. But she did return to her 
beer about every 5 minutes for another sip. I don't 
think it was because she was thirsty. It was probably 
because she wanted to give her poor toes a minute to 
rest after being crushed by my un-coordinated fumbling.

After that hellishly embarrassing first hour, I started 
to get the hang of it. I noticed that I wasn't stepping 
on her toes any more. I was actually feeling like I was 
getting pretty good at this! And as for her, well - she 
was giving me the same encouraging looks and words as 
before, but she was getting a little more tipsy, and 
probably tired.

I would have asked her if she wanted to sit down, but 
she started holding me tighter. She began to sigh 
without moving her head - which was turned to the side, 
and resting against mine. She also started doing more 
than just holding her hand against my back, or my 
shoulder. She started kind of rubbing. It was a soft, 
intentional pressure she was using. I'd never felt 
anything like it before. Was this always the way it was 
when dancing with a girl?

About that time, I do remember considering my recent 
urge to run my hands up and down her curves. It was 
making me tingly just to be holding her there - but the 
desire to explore her - to run my hands up and down her 
waist - from her thighs to her rib cage - over and over 
again - was so hard to control. I didn't know if it was 
acceptable to do that when dancing with a girl, or if 
I'd trigger her wrath - which I don't think I would 
have been able to bear.

At some point, her weight kind of shifted to one side, 
and it took her a moment to regain her balance. During 
that moment, while she was teetering, I didn't know if 
she'd fall over or not.

That was enough! I was having the time of my life, but 
I sure didn't want to endanger her in any way just so I 
could feel her body against mine. I suggested that we 
rest for a while. She agreed, and then just stood there 
- not moving. I smiled politely, like it was no big 
deal - then took her by the hand and sort of steered 
her, while holding her steady with one arm around her 
waist, to one of the pier's supports. We sat in the 
sand, with our backs against it.

We started talking again, and this time she was being 
more direct. I think it was the alcohol talking, at 
least to some degree. She asked me about why my sister 
brought me here tonight. All the attention she had been 
showing me was having the effect she wanted. I felt 
more open to her. I yearned to be closer to her, and 
after dancing with her that seemed possible. And so - I 
told her about my home life.

I told her about the alcoholism, the beatings, the 
stabbings, the cops, the suicide attempts, the foster 
homes, and the rest of it. I was just staring out at 
the water while I was talking, and I soon realized that 
she hadn't responded to anything I'd said. I glanced at 
her to see if she'd passed out.

All night she had been trying to coax me - the shy 
little introvert - out of my shell. She wanted me to 
join in all the fun taking place around us. She wanted 
me to dance, sing, maybe have a beer, or play cards, or 
toss the Frisbee around. In the end, she'd succeeded - 
but it wasn't what she was expecting at all.

So, when I turned around to face her - I saw that she 
was staring at me, her eyes as wide as silver dollars. 
Her hand was shaking while she held it over her open 
mouth. She was absolutely horrified by what I'd said, 
and even more by the emotion-less way I said it.

I didn't think what I was saying was anything 
remarkable. I just told her about the stuff I have to 
deal with all the time. It wasn't out of the ordinary 
to me - it was mundane. It was the norm. I was staring 
off into space because that's when I do when I'm trying 
to remember details, and accurately describe something. 
But clearly, she didn't think of it that way.

In her drunk, unbalanced state of mind, it was probably 
an even more difficult story to listen to. Also, it 
made her feel an intense compassion for me. I know this 
because she started fighting to keep herself from 
crying.

"Darn it," I thought to myself. People always react in 
such strange ways when I tell them my story. I decided 
not to talk about it to anyone anymore. In Canada, in 
1979, if every neighbor on the block knew that your 
home was a troubled one - nobody ever spoke to you 
about it, and you were expected to keep it all to 
yourself. That's just how it was at that time, in that 
place. I decided that maybe they were right about that 
- and I would keep my big mouth shut from now on.

Mandy, however, wasn't like most people. She was a 
compassionate soul who would want to help if she 
thought there was trouble somewhere. In the middle of 
my musings, she spoke aloud to me...

"Good grief," she started - "You poor kid!" she said is 
her slightly slurred voice broke, and her face crumpled 
with a look of pain of it.

Without speaking, she reached out for me and grabbed me 
up - wrapping me in the biggest hug I'd ever received. 
I jumped when she first made that grab for me, but I 
wasn't recoiling because I didn't want her affection. 
It was just a normal response from someone who gets hit 
a lot.

Thankfully, I recovered as fast as I initially reacted, 
and allowed her to wrap her arms tightly around me. She 
pulled me to her and held on to me like her arms could 
protect me from all the things that I was ever hurt by. 

Instinctively, she had drawn my head to her breasts - 
right between them, close to her heart. I think that's 
the normal instinct for all women at times like these. 
I've seen it in movies and on TV shows, and I've even 
seen it in person once or twice. But when it first 
happened to me, I was surprised - for a few seconds. 
Then, I just accepted it - and I hugged her back. 

In that instant, I learned what compassion feels like. 
It's having a woman's boobs pressed into your face 
while she holds onto you, rocking gently back and 
forth, in an attempt to ease your pain and suffering. 
How you feel about it physically isn't her biggest 
concern - as long as she's comforting you. And the 
thing is, it DID comfort me - a lot. I had been 
noticing girls for a while, but now I was noticing 
WOMEN.

It happened with the same woman I had just been dancing 
with, and it was the most highly charged contact I've 
ever had with a woman. It was a little sexual, I guess 
- but it was so warm and tender. My heart opened to 
her, and I suddenly felt myself about to burst into 
tears - but I didn't want to ruin this, so I packed 
those feelings back inside where I always keep them. 
Instead, I just enjoyed the sensation of having someone 
who cared about me expressing her feelings with her 
breasts - even if it was just going to be for a little 
while.

There, in that remote place, surrounded by the noise 
and activities of drunken teen-agers all trying to 
impress one another - I found an avenue to peace. This 
was how I could get a little comfort in those calm 
moments between the storms. Somehow, I HAD to find 
other girls who would be willing to do this for me.

I also learned that compassion sounds like the sobs of 
another person crying for you - because they care. They 
want to make all your pain go away right now. Of 
course, they can't do that - and it breaks their 
hearts. That feeling triggers the desire to clutch your 
face to their breasts. When they act on that instinct, 
they pull your head right to that spot without 
thinking. And your emotional response to this affection 
is increased ten-fold when their boobs are heaving and 
shuddering against your face while they sob genuine 
tears of remorse for your plight.

She held me firmly to her chest for what seems like no 
time at all. I know that it was a very long time, but 
it doesn't feel like it when I look back on it now. It 
doesn't seem like she could have ever done it long 
enough.

A desire to masturbate surged up from within me. I had 
been tempted to act on my feelings like that earlier 
tonight - but I was CERTAIN that it would be totally 
unacceptable, so I just bore the ache to touch myself 
without acting.

I remember that when she stopped, I was surprised to 
see the sun coming up over the mountains on the other 
side of the river. She had been doing this to me for a 
long time.

The skies slowly brightened with this amber-colored 
sunrise - a color that I forever after associated with 
change, because I was never the same after that night - 
after that hug.

We watched the sunrise together, sitting in the sand, 
holding each other's hands. Every now and then she 
stroked my cheek, or brushed the hair from my eyes, 
like a doting mother. I was so happy that I couldn't 
stand it, but I felt a new desire that I wasn't sure if 
I should act on. It was the desire to get up against 
her boobs again, or to run my hands over them - to 
reach for them. Like before, I was sure it wouldn't be 
acceptable, and would get me into trouble - so I just 
felt her warm hand in mine and kept watching the 
sunset.

That's the last thing I remember about that night. I 
don't recall how my sister and I got home, or when, or 
even my parent's reaction to our absence.

My sister never took me to that place again. In fact, 
in the months following this, she started disappearing 
long before things in our house started getting really 
bad - leaving me there to deal with it by myself. So 
much for her big show of taking me out of the house on 
that one, single night.

I also never saw Mandy again. I suspect that my sister 
Carol got it into her head that we had sex, or 
something like that. Or Mandy might have decided that I 
was a bore. Or, maybe after she sobered up she 
regretted what she's done and decided not to come over 
to our house so she could avoid having to face me.

Today, I'm a grown up. Those terrifying evenings with 
my parents seem like they may have happened to someone 
else. These events, the one's I've detailed here - are 
more real to me than my real life today. They left an 
all-consuming desire in me that makes me stand apart 
from almost everyone else.

And so, I walk the remote trails and back-alleys of 
life, looking for a sensation. It's that experience of 
having my face intentionally pressed into a woman's 
bosom that I yearn for constantly. I live, and work, 
and recreate among other guys - but I can't join in 
with their activities full-heartedly. I'm forever lost 
within myself - until I can fully satisfy this craving.

All the studs, the beer aficionados, the jocks, the 
mechanics, the great white hunters and the rest of them 
- no matter what they're up to - just aren't my kind of 
people. No sports, or hunting, or fishing for me. Just 
a burning desire for one, simple, intimate act that I 
can't even ask for because I know it'll sound weird if 
spoken aloud.

Can you imagine it?

"Excuse me, ma'am - but I couldn't help noticing that 
you have really big tits! Could I shove my head between 
them for a couple of hours?"

Obviously, I can never ask for it.

Ever.

The closest I can get to that feeling is on those late-
summer mornings, when I'm lucky enough to be awake so I 
can watch the sunrise over the mountains. That amber 
color brings back memories of this experience, and it 
makes those memories extra vivid. I can remember her 
perfume, and her breasts being crushed against me, and 
the wonderfully pleasing expressions on her face as 
they changed over the course of the evening. It causes 
a terrible LONGING in my heart that's so exquisite I 
can't describe it, and won't try.

But now, all these years later - I have only these 
slowly fading memories. I feel like I took a nap that 
night, and woke up in the present day with a wife and a 
kid - like something from out of the Rip Van Winkle 
story. My days vacillate between boring and annoying - 
and there's always that unsatisfied need to feel 
breasts against my face.

I think of it every time I wake up early enough to slip 
outside and watch the sun come up.

This is my life now...

A life of constant yearning...

A life of amber blues.

~The end.

And so, that's my story. I have others - but this is 
the big one. Now that you've read about it, I'll tell 
you why I've written about it...

I was surfing the Internet for music videos one night 
after everyone had gone to bed when I came across a 
link to the music video for the song "1979" by the 
group "Smashing Pumpkins." I immediately remembered 
that year as the year these events occurred, and 
clicked on the link. If you've seen the video, then you 
can imagine my reaction to watching it now that you've 
read what happened to me. When it came to the end, I 
was surprised that I hadn't jumped out of my chair at 
some point during the video. I was amazed, and decided 
at that instant to make this record of the events.

If you'd like to watch this video, here's the URL...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2snP7rGP6g

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Kristen's collection - Directory 55