Sunday, August 01, 2004

 

Russian Porn Sex story

;'Laps'{Bunyip}(FF/mmmmm)[1!1] Laps by Bunyip

Have you ever fallen into a situation that was exactly what a fantasy
should be, but one which you could have never planned. A few weeks ago my
husband, John, went away on a business trip, and I know he gets friendly
with the sales girls on the trip and have even heard how he spent the whole
weekend in the arms of a girl half his age, who he had double booked into
his room.

It hurt a bit but then he's still my man, and he allows me a few fantasy
moments as well. Anyway my friend, Angela, had asked me to join her at a
family dinner in a swash restaurant in town, to get out of the house! We
had a lovely dinner and my friend, who had been very friendly when we were
in boarding school, kept sliding her stocking foot up between my thighs
under cover of the table cloth. I accepted her playing about but was
getting a bit wet with the feeling of such a soft texture up there a bit
like a soft skinned, but rock hard cock looking for a way in.

We both drank a bit and were at best tipsy, and probably more like
bubbly drunk by the time we sought our way home. We had stayed longer than
the family and as such missed a lift with them. Standing outside the
restaurant, we were waiting for a taxi when my neighbour's car pulled up
with five boys in it. Tom is a decent lad of about 20, and his brother
Mark is 15 I think. They introduced Mike, who was at least 22, Jack was
perhaps 18 and Ben is difficult to be sure with his beard he looks 25 or
more but is perhaps younger.

They all looked like strong and healthy types, most would be a good
catch for a girl half our age. Anyway Tom asked if we needed a lift home
and I stooped to look around the car. "It's a bit full!" I commented to
which Jack said "So's that bra but there's still some room to give you a
hand." I realised my boobs were hanging in their cups like a pair of
udders. Angela patted my bare bottom, I was wearing a thong, and I realised
I was probably showing even more to anybody behind us so I stood upright
again.

Angella stooped and looked inside, "OK but where do we sit?" she asked.

"You can sit on my lap," Ben suggested "and Rhonda can get in front with
Mark. He can sit on her lap if she likes." Mark protested but Angela said
"OK, as long as you take it steady, driving that is!"

The back door opened and Angela slid in onto Ben's lap, the door closed
and she leaned against the door with her legs across Ben and Jack's legs. I
went around the other side and ther door was open. I went to sit beside
Mark on the single bucket seat but it wasn't big enough. The center
console wasn't going to work either so I sat on his lap.

Tom took off steady as requested and he drove sensibly the whole way
home. Mark however had developd a lump in his lap that was quickly finding
it's way up my inside leg. I put my hand down between my legs and felt his
hard cock pushing up at his jeans. The poor bugger must have been in pain,
until I rearranged his cock to slide down his pants leg. "Thankyou" he
whispered in my ear as I smilled at his relief. I bagan stroking it
through the denim material and it grew to an impressive size. Tom looked
over one part and saw me smiling, then looked down at where my hand was,
and probably thought I was stroking my own thigh.

Angela let go a few giggles in the back and I know how she plays up with
the men, let alone young boys. Tom asked if we should get some drinks and
find a park somewhere and I laughed. "Sonny, when you're living in your
own home you don't need lonely parks anymore. Besides I have a good bottle
of scotch at home already.

So we pulled into the yard next door, that's where Tom and Mark live, as
my neighbours with their parents Beth and Tom senior. Tom senior is well
hung. I know that because I spied on them one evening. I heard a moaning
while I was putting the garbage out and took a look in through their
window. Tom had a 10 inch cock if ever there was one, and Beth took it all
inside her and wrapped her legs around him. I couldn't help but watch from
outside their window as he poked her again and again. Finally he went
totally stiff and held the pose until he was drained. When he pulled out
it as thick and wet , and hung half way down his thigh. She lay there
heaving and breathing deeply, drawng her legs up with this great big grin
on her face.

I went inside and took upstairs, ripped his pants off and pulled his
cock out taking it into my mouth until he was hard as hell. My left hand
had already massaged my cunny so I stroked his wet cock with my cunny
soaked left hand as I pulled my knickers to one side with my right hand,
and climbed immediately onto him. His cock sunk in faster than a hot knife
into soft butter. He got one hell of a fucking that night and I'll bet he
still wonders what got into me!

Now where was I? Oh Yes. Angela turned on Ben's lap and stepped out of
the car leaving Ben to rearrange his cock before he could stand, and you
can bet Angela knew all about it. Jack, got out rather quickly after that
and stood close to Angela as if claiming her. Mike got out of the car and
stood silently almost hidden in the shadows. Tom was out of the car and
Mark whispered in my ear "Wait a moment please I don't want them all to
know... you know..."

I smiled at him and said loudly "Oooh Mark, what's that hard thing in
your pocket." then I winked at him and offered a hand to help him out of
the car. The others chuckled but Mark smiled at me as he stepped out
pushing his cock to one side in his jeans.

"Who's coming?" I said as I scanned the group. "Who's for a nightcap?"
It was obvious that the boys were not home to stay as they still had their
mates with them. They all nodded and followed Angela and I into my
property and into my house. I poured a scotch for them all as Angela and I
compared notes on the boys and their potential. "Ben seems
knowledgable..." Angela whispered to me "He was fingering me most of the
way here!" I almost choked on my scotch before I gathered my wits and said
"OK, let's play a little game... Finish that drink and line up behind the
lounge with your hands on the back of it."

Angela said "Oh me too!"

"No!" I said "I need your assistance. Now who among you boys is ashamed
of their underwear?"

The boys looked at each other and all shook their heads "Not me!" Jack
said. Angela, who had played this game on a rainy evening at boarding
school with me and some other girls, walked behind jack, put her hands
around his waist and undid his pants before dropping them to the floor.

"Keep your hands on the lounge!" I ordered as one of the boys made to
move back to see what Angela had done to Jack. "What about you?" I
directed at him, "Are your undies clean?"

"I guess so." Mike said as Angela moved around and undid his pants, and
dropped them as well. "He smiled so I take it he has clean undies on" I
said pointing to Mark. As Angela dropped his pants I saw that his
underwear did indeed have a wet spot on the front, but I wasn't about to
announce that, and if things went well they'd all have wet spots before we
were through.

"Now we have two left, Tom who is smiling at me, and Ben who thinks he
has the cleanest undies, I wonder? Angela you may take his pants off." I
ordered to her. She dropped Ben's trousers and felt his erection in the
process.

"His may be clean but they won't be for very long Madam." Angela
reported.

"Oh dear!" I said realising that Ben did indeed have a lovely erection,
and a very wet spot that must have been wet from the car ride over here.
"What about you Tom? Do you other boys feel that it's fair for you all to
stand there in your undies while Tom has his pants on?" They shook their
heads not wishing to draw attention to themselves. Tom smiled as Angela
put her hands around his waist and before undoing his flies, slipped a hand
down the front of his pants and rubbed him into an erection. His eyes
closed and he stood quite tense and upright as he seemed to be fending off
an ejaculation. Angela undid his flies and dropped his pants as well.

At the boarding school we had ten girls lined up, all were first year
girls, all standing there in their pyjama tops and panties, and some of
these girls were obviously wet by this stage as well. The next thing we
did to them was to make them bend forward so their upper bodies werte
level, bending over a line of chairs we had set up so they faced away from
the other girls with their pretty little bums pointing at the gathered
crowd., Then we checked their bottoms to pick the prettiest panties,
prettiest bum, wettest crotch etc.

The boys would never go for that I realised. So in the mean time I
asked them all to take off their shoes and socks, and their shirts as well.
They did so without a hint of embarrasment, perhaps at the thought of what
they might receive later.

"Line up again boys, come on a little closer together so you all fit
along the lounge back. Arms in arm, you know, over your shoulders." I
ordered and surprise surprise they did as told. "Anybody who disobeys me
will get dressed again and wait in the car, agreed?" They looked at each
other and all agreed to comply with my will.

"Now Angela, I have a nasty job for you. I want you to take their
undies off. Face forward boys and don't look down" I again ordered.
Angela took great pleasure in dropping their jocks to the floor. Three
were already hard in anticipation, one was rising at the sensation of
having his pants taken off and the last was Tom whose cock had been up but
was now hanging thick and long but not erect. Angela, who was still behind
the boys, looked at me and smiled, then biting her bottom lip she grabbed
her own crotch with an open hand and with her knees apart made thrusting
motions as if to say she was getting her rocks off too.

I smiled and nodded to her so that she quietly undressed behind the
boys. Then before they knew what she had done she walked to me and gave me
a hug and a big wet kiss so her arse was on show to the boys. Their cocks
swayed and bobbed about and Tom began to rise with them. I ran my hands
over Angela's back and hugged her body to me as we continued to kiss. Then
she began to undo my dress zipper that went up my back. As she stepped
back she pulled my dress over my shoulders and it dropped to the floor.

I cracked a pose for the guys even though I still wore my bra and
panties, and they all grinned. Angela turned around and they saw her full
frontal so to say, and they all seemed to really appreciate the view much
to Angela's relief. There were five erect boys, young men really, and two
dirty old women eager to have some fun with those lovely cocks.

"OK Men!" I said with a grin "I'll be doing a weapons inspection on
each of you assisted by my eh, assistant, Angela. Stay in line and keep
UP the good work!"

Angela and I lined up behind the guys, one of us at each end of their
line, and watching each other, we snuggled up behind the guys, rubbed our
pussies against their bums and we gave each one of them a few strokes.
Mark's cock was already wet and sticky from his copious precum over an
extended time of erection. I licked the back of his neck and whispered in
his ear. I can't remember what I said as it was mostly blowing in his ear,
and I doubt he cared what I said anyway. Angela and I had met in the
middle and I allowed her to do Jack. She had barely cuddled into him, and
barely grasped his cock when he shot his load onto the back of the lounge.
Angela pulled her hand away and stepped back, but I felt sorry for him and
took her place taking Jack's slippery cock in my hand and continued
stroking him as his cock went down. Even when it was fully limp I cupped
his whole cock in my tiny hand and rubbed his goo all over him, right up to
his belly. I humped his bum a few times and then tweaked his nipples
before telling him to go and sit down, his game was over. The others
chuckled but I told them to beware, they might be next.

Jack sat there and smiled at his experience while Angela turned her
attention to Mike. She stood in front of him and hugged him so his cock
was crushed between them. She ran her hands all over him squeezing his bum
and kissing him. Her hands massaged his back as her minge massaged his
cock. The guys asked if they had to continue holding each other in line
and Angela and I looked at each other and smiled. "Of course you do!" I
told them "That's how the game is played."

Angela pulled Mikes bum cheeks apart and fingered his puckered anus, but
he wasn't letting on to the others what she was doing. Pity he was so
excited, yet unable to speak up, as he shot his load onto Angela's belly as
he gritted his teeth and moaned out "Oh Jesus Oh no!." as he realised he
too was out of the game.

"Hmm only three left. Think we should take it easy on them?" Angela
said.

"We have been taking it easy on them. Now we sort out the men form the
boys!" I said ominously as Mark looked worried. I stood in front of him
and stooped, straight legged till my palms were flat on the floor, and I
wriggled my bottom not only at Mark but with the others looking on as well.
Angela caught on and stood so her long legs were either side of my chest
and she was facing the three boys. Seeing her with her legs apart was
exciting enough but when she began to massage my bum through my knickers,
squeezing and kneeding my bum cheeks, I could hear the moans.

Then as she slowly rolled my panties over my bum she started licking my
back, the small of my back, and then my bum cheeks. As the panties rolled
past my anus she stopped and squeezed my bum cheeks again pulling my cheeks
apart so Mark and the boys either side of him could see my open arse. Of
course they then realised the promise of seeing my cunt.

Angela wet her fingers by spitting on them and then tickled my anus
running her fingers around it in circles. Then she pushed my knickers
further down and allowed the three boys to take in a view of a very wet
female crotch, with it's lips parted and it's vagina already gaping open.
As if that didn't get them going enough, Angela started massaging my slot,
my lips felt so damn good, and my clitty was chilled by being exposed to
the air.

Angela then got me to stand and we kissed as she pushed the panties down
my hips, and past my thighs as she knelt with them. By the time they hit
the floor she was level with my pussy and she kissed my pubic mound as the
guys Ooh'd and Arh'd. Angela stood and took my bra off then hung it over
Mark's erect cock. He whinced as if he were about to spit cum but he just
held on.

Ben seemed to be holding on as well so I picked up my panties all rolled
up in a ball and waved them under the noses of each guy finishing with Ben.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. As he did I grasped his cock,
though not stroking it just yet. Ben kept breathing deeply smelling my wet
panties as I waved them under his nose. I released his trembling hard cock
and opened my panties out so the wet slippery crotch was facing up. Then I
wrapped the wet crotch around his cock and stroked him just three or four
times before he shot his lot into my panties. I just kept stroking him
until his ejaculation completed and his cock began deflating. "Oooh Yess!"
he said as he accepted and enjoyed his expulsion. I stroked him a while
then took my panties away leaving a red and sticky dick hanging from his
bushy mass.

That left Mark and Tom, much to Mark's relief apparently. I stood naked
before my neighbour's kids and began to feel a little uneasy about playing
with "children" I had seen grow up. I decided to avoid directly having sex
with either of them and instead took Ben to the other lounge with his
friends. I sat him down between them and then I lay across the three pairs
of legs, face up with my head on the lounge armrest. "OK boys you can
tease me while Angela sorts out these two."

Mike immediately began feeling my body and particularly my breasts.
Jack ran his hands up and down my legs while Ben massaged my minge with his
left hand and my belly with his right hand. I put my hands behind my head
determined to give these three lads free access to my body. I stretched
out a little and relaxed. Pretty soon I was enjoying three pairs of hands
exploring my body, delving into every dimple and winkle. My bum was
comfortably nestled into Ben's lap and I already felt his cock snuggled
against my cheeks, and stiffening!

Jack's knees were beneath mine, and he was running his hands up and down
my legs. He wasn't game to touch my pussy yet but he stared at it as if he
had never seen one before. Mike was watching Angela intently and I
fathomed that perhaps he preferred her slightly lighter, slimmer body, but
for now he was happy playing with my somewhat more generous breasts. I
glanced over at Angela, to see her stroking the brothers side by side, in
time with oneanother. She had pulled them to be almost facing one
another, and to be stroking them so their cocks almost pointed to
oneanother. As she judged they were both getting close to ejaculating she
jerked both faster and firmer, then as they appeared to be read to shoot,
she released their cocks, and hugged them together so they ejaculated onto
each other. They looked shocked but too envolved to stop or even move
apart as Angela joined them in a group hug. I giggled and said "Well
that's the end of that game, who's for another drink." Nobody answered.

Ben had taken the lead and was gliding his thick fingers back and forth
through my swollen pussy. My clitty ached with it's expansion, and my hole
begged for an entrant, a finger, tongue or preferably a nice long thick
cock. I felt Ben's cock pressing against my bum cheeksand was tantalised
by the thought that it might find it's own way through my bum cheeks, up
between my inner thighs and into my sweet cunny hole. I lifted my right
leg and put my foot on the floow so that Ben's cock immediately rose up so
it's head was between my inner thoghs, bumpung against my pussy lips. Ben
pressed it into my slot and almost managed to get it inside me. I tensed
and hoped that he could. Mike smiled at me and with his left hand holding
my arm his right arm went under my head and lifted me to a sitting position
on Ben's lap, and even as I rose his cock slipped inside me, pushing my
soggy pussy lips apart, pressing into my vagina till it opened and let it
inside, then sliding up inside me with such a fantastic feeling that I said
"OH yes, Fuck me!" and I have never before said quite the same thing, neber
so coarsely at least.

His cock seemingly dragged along my love tunnel, rubbing my hole with
great pleasures, gliding along the front wall of my vagina in a sweet
tender feeling that only a woman understands, filling me to capacity yet no
more. I had just the right length and thickness of cock inside me now as
as I let my other leg down I felt just a tad too much stretching my
insides, but again the slight pain was indeed a pleasure and it soon went
away as I accomodated his wonderful cock inside me.

My hands slipped between my lags and I ran my forefingers around his
cock to pull my pussy lips out of my hole after his cock had dragged them
up inside me, and now I felt totally comfortable squatting on his rock hard
cock. His hands were around my waist holding me in case I had too much of
him, or perhaps to stop me falling off, I'm not sure. What I do remember
is the look on Angela's face as she watched that big cock slide inside me.
Mark and Tom also watched on enthusiastically and Jack got up to see what
they could see. Mike had an erection which he stroked as he shared the
lounge with us but in a moment of lust Angela was astride his lags and
lowering her pert arse toward his lap. He guided his weapon into her groin
area and she was soon seated on his lap beside me. The three "loose ends"
stood with various stages of erection as they watched Ben and Mike fucking
us two girls, or perhaps more correctly us two girls fucking Ben and Mike.

Ben slid down and away from the back of the lounge so his lap was more
flat and he pierced me a little deeper but now his knees were bent a little
more his legs were a firmer platform, and with my hands supporting my
weight onto his knees, I began to ride his cock like a jockey. Jack said
"Jesus look at those tits go to town!" as he was dazzled by my largish
breasts swinging with my action. Angela and Mike had moved forward in a
direct copy of our action and now the two of us girls were riding the wild
cocks side by side. Angela and I are somewhat competitive and it soon
became an unspoken competition to see which of us got off or got out boys
off first. I had been horny as hell and was already into an orgasm with my
legs gripping Ben's knees together and my cunt biting down on his cock so
he shot his load too soon for Angela, and Mike, to have any chance of
catching up. Still it wasn't long before she was screaming out and
grinding her pussy onto Mike's lap, and Mike tensed, his whole body going
stiff as he shot his lot. Angela got off his lap immediately she felt him
stiffen and most of his load shot up onto his belly and chest, some even
hitting his face. Angela giggled at that and the rest of us joined in when
we saw what looked like a really gross runny nose.

The other three had erections, or partial risings at least, and Angela
has always had a fantasy of multiple partners, serially or together, but
for now she just wanted another cock inside her and so she took Jack, who
had not had much luck this far, and leaned over the back of the other
lounge indicating for him to take her from behind.

After a jittery, amateurish beginning he managed to get himself inside
her, and then smiled from ear to ear as we all watched him fucking her
wildly. She gripped the lounge and held herself to it as she lifted her
head to look back at me. I could see she was enjoying herself but her
facial expression seemed to be somehow wrong then she grimmaced and moaned
out loudly as her head dropped and she pouted her rump at Jack who was now
also unloading himself. "Pull out" one of the others cried out but Jack
stiffened and stood his mark as his cock shot spurt after spurt. When he
finally did pull out Angela stood upright and shuddered. She came over to
me and whispered in my ear. "That little bugger just fucked me in the
arse!" I looked at her in astonishment as she added "but it felt so damn
good, I want him to do it again!" I laughed and then smiled at her.

Tom was stroking his cock into a long hard monster just like his
father's dandy dick, and Mark seemed to be almost as well endowed, maybe in
a few years he would be the same size, or bigger! I shuddered with the
exciting thought of having it inside me. It felt naughty, sort of like I
was about to fuck with his father, or at least with his fathers great big
cock.

I walked over to Tom and pushed him back until he was sitting on the
edge of the table. Then I lifted my cunt to him as I straddled his legs
and he lifted me onto his cock, so it was between my thighs, and against my
arse as his hands held my rump and I wrapped my legs around him. He lifted
me securely and I felt safe in his arms as he lowered me onto his cock, and
it pierced me, splitting my lips apart as they had not been split for a
very long time. He slid inside me filling me up, filling my hole to the
bery back end of my love tube, pushing my uterus up inside me. I smiled
and hugged him as I felt his stiffness, his girth, and the heat from his
lovely cock. God he was big.

I quickly began kissing him as if saying "Yes, thank you, thank the lord
for what I am about to receive!" and he started fucking me as I have never
been fucked before. Slowly and with short strokes that felt like they were
stabbing away at my stomach, yet they felt so damn good. My breasts
pressed against his hairy young chest and my nipples dragged between his
curly chest hair, tickling them so that I purposely rubbed my chest against
his.

With my legs wrapped tightly around him and my arms around his neck I
rubbed my cunt hungrily up and down his beautiful cock until I come and
felt him go real slippery all over so I knew I had oozed something onto him
as I come. That happened every now and again but not often. Soon he was
coming up inside me and I felt charge after charge of hot goo shoot inside
me. It was wonderful and yet I began to feel guilty that I had been
screwing with my neighbours kid. How could I talk to her again without
giving away my secret? What if he told her first?

By now my cunt was oozing with his come and he was falling out of me,
but before I let him out I squeezed my pussy tightly around his cock and
kissed him. I kissed him long and wet with our tongues meeting and mouths
watering into each other like two animals. He was damn good!

I got up off of Tom and found that Angela had screwed with Mark and that
she had just finished as well. Jesus the smell in that room was of pure
sex, perhaps with a little alcohol as well.

The boys dressed and left and Angela and I retired to a shower to wash
up together. To wash each other as you might have guessed. The house was
all shut up and the boys were not only gone but the neighbourhood as all in
bed as far as either of us could see. We had already pulled the curtains
and blinds when the boys and us girls arrived home, so we wandered around
naked drinking whiskey, and then a bottle of wine between the two of us.
Angela had already agreed to stay the night and I pulled out the floor
mattress I always had made up, so the two of us could watch some TV while
we finished the wine.

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Saturday, July 31, 2004

 

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Thursday, July 29, 2004

 

Russian Porn Sex story

Sex with Boys and Girls 1

by Feather Touch



Looking back I suppose it was way Tom Cruise, risky business, but the
pictures came out great, and a Corvette passing at three feet is no
different than the distance most people stand from an approaching subway.
It gave the right blur, in any event, and the prints enhanced our normal
collegeguy friendship, and so we ended up in Kansas City together.
Nothing had happened before then. Once I'd come unexpectedly on him in the
shower, and he might have been jerking off; gave me a little something of a
look, I suppose, and the moment passed. Stan, at the time of our
adventure, was a red head with a perfection of Slavic molding that would
have assured a career as a model, had I not seen the very substantial
reward of the gender gods. He was fun. Our first great adventure was
strapping four M80s to the bottom of a glass jug full of gasoline, and, in
the safest way and place imaginable, suspending it from a railroad bridge
over a junk filled stream, and with a cigarette attached to the fuse. It
is true that the device exploded precisely as a police car passed us and
the cop hit the brakes. Stan did a good job of faking astonishment, and
the car proceeded. We were likely saved by the picayune display, very un
dramatic, though how the officer might have attached us to an event
happening over fifty yards away leaves some wiggle room. Anyhow, he was,
next to my roommate, my best friend on campus, and how many of you had a
best friend on campus, who was a, way nice, and b, had a Corvette, even if
it was blue and white?

I was at a loss for words and didn't think it was a result of
overextending myself on the school paper. Stan and I lived on separate
halls, and so I'd seen him once for three seconds, at the outside. Now he
looking way youngteen was standing in front of the mirror in his white
briefs, ostensibly looking in his shaving kit, but catching my eye in the
process and lingering over whatever he was doing. I'd been with a man as a
nine year old, so was technically not a virgin, but this was still extreme
in the new issues appendix to the covenant, and I didn't know what to say.
Maybe just "hi" would do, and maybe he was just wondering if he should wait
and take his shower after I was done, though that could hardly have
mattered less. I though of standard approaches: "Gee, it would be cool to
have a Playboy to read," but I only read Playboy and didn't react to the
pictures which seemed pseudo synthetic, plus airbrushing. Snapping him
with a towel leading to gotchas and wrestling I was in my briefs, too
might have been an approach, but we weren't much in the thumping department
and it would have been out of character. Removing said towel from my waist
where I'd nonchalantly positioned it for a very chalant reason would be
going far faster and further than college guys of our era would have been
likely to go, and could end up in a long hitch back to Iowa. But all these
were tangents, because my tongue was tied by an extreme ultimate in taboo.
I wanted to ask him questions. He was a classic, physically perfect, and,
yes, he obviously excited ME physically, but there should be so much more
to it, so much more than a few minutes panting together in the shower. But
not only questions, not limiting it to that weirdness, that creepy
perversion, that degenerate aspect, that queer facet, but questions about
thing that might have happened along the way, when he was in high school,
or even in junior high or grade school. Very at a loss for words.



Still am. The enigma is a python, the African constrictor that bites
anything and holds on while it wraps lunch, not the friendly South American
boa which only bites to eat. The enigma is this: what else were we to talk
about? Looking back, I mean, and telling of that weekend, what's left if
we did haltingly discover that for once we did want to talk about what guys
don't talk about and I had to leave all that out? Then why leave it out?
Because of the challenge inherent in violating the formula. One and a
third million words, and not enough thematic variation to span a CD,
edgeon. Willowy child in the hands of an athletic young adult, and if the
child's a girl the adult is likely to be her tall brother or cute dad. Now
two nineteen year olds glancing at each other in a plateglass motel
mirror. I've never told a story like that. Without a little help and
usually several little helpers. Stan must have been a redheaded dart as a
ten year old, and leggy and nearly twice the age, he still had more than
half of it. I was a raving beauty, myself; hairless and now that my hair
had grown out a couple of inches, thanks to the twelve hundred miles
separating me from my mother's buzzcut, Oster machina el demonio, I got
carded at McDonald's. The man I'd learned with had ejaculated as I coaxed
him from his briefs, or in a dozen littleboy strokes if that didn't
happen, so I was kind of extra sensitive to that side of what is generally
termed appeal, but that seemed pretty remote from lying on my back watching
Stan watch me. Forbidden, secret, unmanly, private, discreet, and faggoty,
which was thoroughly ironic because I had zero desire to even sleep in the
same bed as my friend, much less cuddle the night away. No way. At the
same time, I WAS getting more curious by the moment as to what might have
happened to the beauty as he was maturing, or not happened. There I went,
unable to think of anything else, and not even able to sputter.



I had to do better. Put lockedin preconceptions aside, while not
throwing them out. The last thing I wanted was for Stan to come up and
kiss me in the commons or become attached in any way exceeding our typical
collegiate friendship. Would have bet the `Vette, had I owned it, he felt
the same. But that was putting everything aside, not wanting this equaling
not wanting that and not wanting that equaling not wanting anything. I was
a writer, published every week at nineteen, and would soon go on to being
published every day in broadcasting, I had to take chances others wouldn't
have dared, because seeing your words pour off the presses by the tens of
thousands of copies makes one wonder in terms of hundreds of thousands and
dream in terms of millions, but, you have to have something to say. Even
then, look around. Others are saying huge amounts about everything. It's
there by the ton. Industries supply the ink. That means you really have
to have something to say and to do that a writer must take chances and
probe and prod at any likely source. It was thus I psyched myself up to do
better.



But that was then and this is now. A substantial body of work and
passing three million downloaded files, as alike as cans of LeSeur baby
peas, and now I'm meant to deal with two consenting adults. Ease from my
bed and, towel held as if I were headed into the shower, come up behind him
as he looked at me in the mirror, and stand close. Feel his warmth against
my bare chest. Keep standing there wondering how farfetched it would be
to pretend a mosquito had alighted on his right flank and I was picking it
off gently enough not to offend the ultralife Hindus of legend (those who
gently sweep ants from their path). But me? I'd rather touch him just as
described, but ask if he'd ever played doctor. If he had a kid sis. If
he'd ever unbuckled a heavy buckle and fastened heavy man's jeans as a
tyke, his fingers shaking with excitement because of the hot torrent of
sperm just seconds away. Sure, nobody dared write about things like that,
but the last thing I was or am is a contrarian, a rebel for the sake of the
attention rebellion brings. No, a runofthemill conformist, go with the
flow kinda guy, then and now, so I didn't want to write about what really
happened that night just because nobody else would, but because we were two
beautiful young animals with the consciousness and responsiveness to tell
each other of beauty. More, we both agreed on an ultimate, pure, physical,
sensual beauty, an aesthetic passion that was rare in inception and rarer
yet in the telling.



What if it had been different? He'd shown me pictures of his steady
girl back in Manhattan (N.Y.), and she had the slightly full and, well,
sort of rubbery look one associates with an allnighter, so we could have
gone off on Mary Jane; I could have omitted my story of summer camp, and
maybe ended up masturbating while we watched each other from our
sidebyside beds, then tissues and on to the sports page. The towel thing
has undoubtedly been used to incite wrestling, and our underpants wouldn't
have lasted long if that had happened, not much longer than it took to tell
about it, especially in the state at which I was arriving watching him
still standing in the mirror and making eye contact from time to time.



I'm trying here to lay it on you edgewise and at the mildest oblique
possible that I'm a one trick pony. If it had been over in breathless
minutes with Stan and me, that I'd be incapable of going back all Norman
Mailer and dissecting what he felt and what I felt and how we felt about
what others felt and the manifestations of dereliction and the subliminal
angst along with the acting out attendant to our fall from grace. Yes, one
trick, so it behooves me, pun unavoidable, to set a fiery pace and make my
limited act the best in the world. I've been exchanging letters with Mark
on this subject: formula, probably rationalizing an underlying deficit of
talent by taking the stance that ritual and repetition are inherent in
storytelling, as they are in music, and it becomes the orchestration that's
important; the melody enriched and enhanced rather than ever changing.
Nonetheless I've managed to bring two senior teens together, college
freshman, and even if they're sleek, longlegged and boyish, they are, for
once, of age. Can't you see the strain telling? No amount of talent could
hide it. Look at my file sizes. Eighty kilobytes of text, a hundred, way
over a hundred. And these stories are about consenting adult? Hello!
"Where's the beef?" That may be still buzzing around. Stan and I were all
athletic, tuned, adventurous, charming, snowwhite beef. And that's a good
thing; lean protein, often raised on land unsuitable for alternative
farming; luxurious lives for the animals and a painless end, but there
always seem to be limitations and even filet mignon is wrapped in bacon, so
beef, yea, but something more, too, and no, not a heavy roll to intrude and
ameliorate the essential feast, but something, you know, along the line of
cute little buns.



Reminder: this is something I wanted to know about, not something, at
that time in my life I'd ever done, other than the camp experiences, which,
apparently do to my dazzling presence as a nine year old, had made Jon
ejaculate fully into the bushes inside a minute. I had not been kissed,
molested, or slicked with the hot semen of my mature partner. I had not
experimented with my tongue to the extent of a single drop, for all the
heavy streaks of white sperm my eager twinkie hand had stroked from my
tall, athletic counselor. He had neither tried to touch or use his tongue
on me. And I had initiated the relationships, though, I suppose, he might
have set me up by suggesting I ask certain questions along certain lines
that boys sometimes talk to older guys about. Don't think so, think it was
wholly my idea, but all I remember is using the word "frank" because I knew
it was a subject one talked frankly about. I was instantly responsive to
going into the woods with him, every time, even though Jon approached the
subject in a mature and gentlemanly way, in fact, Victorian, by saying very
little. He never quizzed me and never told me anything about his
initiation, presumably as a young boy. The only thing he said was the camp
director liked to do it, and, indeed, there was a guy who was pulling it
off; a guru type with a retinue, very nice as well as charismatic, and a
great believer in the Fifth Freedom, which was freedom from clothes, which
turned Timberlake into a nudist colony part of each day, with Ken commonly
in attendance with his eight millimeter Kodak movie camera, the same kind
we had at home.



In actuality, and we're diverging here, I know, but Stan's still
standing at the mirror, his towel loosely bunched in front of him as mine
is casually strewn across my waist, not saying anything but no longer
fussing in his shaving kit, more looking at me as I looked back at him, so
it's not as if we're headed for Timbuktu or something. there was very
little molestation going on, considering the circumstances; a hundred or
more naked boys with a generous helping of collegeage male councilors,
also naked much of the time, especially when it came to swimming and
canoeing. That was strange, because it was so exciting, and they were all
nice kids, and I can't imagine any of them objecting to time alone with our
Ivy League staff members. Of course, it's possible thing were going on on
the sly. We went on several camp outs and maybe they slipped sleeping
pills into your bug juice and took boy toys into the counselors' tents at
night, carefully wiping our fledgling bodies clean before returning us to
our pup tents. In fact, the only exception I remember was Johnny Bland
displaying his boner, a full four inches jutting up from his very slightly
plump belly and thighs, as we all gathered around to look, but that lasted
less than a minute and was never repeated. I wasn't mentally agile enough
at the time to figure out if Jon was taking other boys out for short walks
at nap time, but I strongly doubt it, and, most regrettably, Motoi, the
junior councilor, never expressed any interest so it was perhaps the
beginning of your onetrick pony. As I've written elsewhere, it was what
didn't happen that I regret, that I wasn't fully molested by Jon, even
spending an hour in bed with him while he came on me repeatedly, though I
certainly wouldn't have wanted to sleep with him, not with so many girls
running around loose. As long as it never became any kind of pressure
thing, my guess is I would have liked spending time alone with any of the
staff, perhaps even Ken who was well into his sixties. And, for sure, I
know I would have liked being quizzed, after the first time, having the
story coaxed out of me, while stroking one of those fit, young adults and
listening to his story for at least a few minutes before he tensed and I
knew to hold him against my panting chest, but low enough so my eyes would
focus on the thick sprays of semen covering me with hot puddles. Something
way reasonable but exciting, too. Maybe ten times over the two months. In
any event, I had the best summer ever, and that's saying something because
both ancestral summer homes are veryoldmoney shorefront locations, even
if it could have been better.



"Do you think we had enough great adventure getting here?" Stan asked.
We'd crossed Iowa with the top down, and that's a lot of wind, so I was on
the same page.

"If I don't now I will in another hour," I replied, "so if you want to
put the top up I'll help you and we can stay in."

"Thanks," he said, wrapping his towel around him as I did. We went out
and got the car ready for the night, then returned to the room and sat
opposite each other on the twin beds. I had my camera with me, even a
strobe, rare enough in '65, and could have used them as an opening gambit;
we could have shanghaied us some drinkin' liquor and giggled over naughtier
pictures of each other, that could have been a desensitizer, but I took the
photo thing pretty seriously and like any professional would first do no
harm by never using it, well, that way. Sitting, towels bunched at our
waists, still in our white cotton briefs, almost at the "underpants" age,
we couldn't tell much about each other, somehow not straying off onto our
usual banter which was very usual, considering we were both bright, way
cute, and in play if not, in my case, anyhow, scoring. (Total celibacy
from Jon, and a brief shower with Peter Ketchum, who masturbated me with
extreme success, to the present, including kissing in the sense of making
out, yet in play to the extent of numerous near misses and attracting at
least superficial interest in so many girls it had to be (and turned out to
be) a matter of time before some lithe redhead, looking as much like Stan
as possible, though my own highcheeked, fox faced, big eyed Anglo Saxon
countenance could be substituted for his classic Slavic beauty without
engendering prejudice in the eyes of the viewer (who happens to put
Eurasian teen girls at the top of his list), appeared on my tweaked radar.
But that would be then and this was now.



Mostly I wanted it to last. Instinct told me if I simply dropped my
towel and stood in front of him, he'd do something with me and let me do
what I wanted with him, totally homosexual though I don't suppose we shared
a gay bone between us, and that I'd ejaculate as quickly in his hands as
Jon had in mine, and he'd do the same before I'd built up the courage, or
whatever it is, to try touching him with my tongue. Then what? Pizza?
We'd already had pizza.



Our extreme beauty, in fact, left out any touching, and in addition the
karma told at least me, and probably him, that if it happened on the spot,
at the moment, there would be far less chance of it happening again than if
it was more perfect the first time, and that if we could somehow make it
just plain perfect, it might happen late into the night, exhausting us for
the moment, and leading to at least brief private encounters as long as we
were both at school together. Yes, touching was a nono. And that left
talking, hanging me on the great horn, Dilemma, because I wasn't gay and I
didn't want to tell the beauty I loved him and wanted to go dancing. I
didn't want to comment on how this boy in the music magazines was really
cute, or did he think the other cutie was gay, or what he thought of some
of the letters to the Playboy Advisor. Gave me the creeps just to think
about it. Looking at him, and by now we were all but staring openly at
each other, three feet between us, I wondered if his lily white skin had
ever felt an illicit touch, that of a mature teen or attractive adult, if
his hands had ever felt what mine had, Jon hugely swollen, gigantic, his
glans especially glistening as he became hard as wood in my childish hand,
and the long seconds it was really happening before the heavy bolts of
thick, white semen jetted six or seven times into the bushes. And maybe
more. Maybe it had happened on him, even when he was a little twinkie of a
ten year old, maybe an adult had lost control all over him as I'd wanted
Jon to do on my body. And even on his tongue. If Jon's cum had splattered
him, instinct would have guided me with triple the force of gravity at
least to an experimental lick. Had that beautiful mouth experimented with
a mature boy's hot spill? And that was just for openers. How ABOUT girls?
Yes, Mary Jane, but things beyond that, alternative things, with females.
How could a six year old chick keep her hands off him? That had happened
to me; extremely young girls falling madly in love, and, for sure, knowing
what they were about, but, again, near misses, while at the same time of
value as reference points (and very, very accurate ones I might add, as
events in later years proved repeatedly, and unabatedly). Or he could be
in my camp, almost nothing, perhaps Mary Jane had been the first to feel
that beautiful chest her nipples and take the first flow of his hot seed,
at a routine age of fifteen or thereabouts. Would it be a replay of
Timberlake, things that hadn't happened, stories he couldn't tell should I
make so bold as to ask? Nah, too beautiful. I'd passed largely untouched
by flukes and circumstances, Jon could have been repeated several times
with any degree of luck, so the chances stood in my favor, especially as
he'd grown up in a stable, urban environment versus my half Old New
England, half suburban New York existence with constant changes of school
and scene. Come on, Emerson, something had to have happened, and one day
you'll end up a supreme writer, but not if you sit tongue tied with supreme
opportunity all but in your lap.



But mightn't one be hanged for a sheep if he talked of lambs? Deemed a
retard for not being able to think of something a little more
grownfuckingup? "Emerson loves little dickiedickies!" Wrong guy on the
other bed, and that would be all over campus, where everyone knew me
because I was the only photographer among two thousand undergraduates.
Well, at least that thought defined one extreme, with its opposite being a
cloying gay thing, and it wasn't the era for that offensive anomaly. And
extremes were part of my life, making them most relevant to the situation.
Stan came from money, he had a latemodel Corvette, and I didn't, but I
come from the old kind, vast lands, scant cash, which is why we have the
vast lands. Along with this goes the disorientation of Calvinistic
attitudes mixed with the randyness of goats, grandfather for granddaughters
and brother for sister, so the moral compass doohickey swung to the north
of opportunity. It wasn't anything goes, in fact had anyone but Stan or
Allan, my boyish, even by our standards, roommate, called Squirrel because
of a way sexy overbite, been sitting on the other bed I wouldn't have
needed to bunch my towel in front of me, and we'd be discussing plans to do
something.



I think at this point I've done my duty by Mark. I've seriously tried
to break the formula, and four thousand words in have concentrated on the
relationship of two nineteen year olds, boyish in the extreme though they
are, and, while not altogether excluding children, have indulged in no
lingering scene of whispering and experimentation between an adult and a
child as willing as I was.



Sex with boys and girls. Sex as a boy. It would keep our hands off
each other and might delay what was going to happen for hours, and
correspondingly enhancing and amplifying what finally did happen. All I
knew for sure was that he was smart enough to get it, that he drove in a
relaxed but extremely alert manner, that our great adventures started off
as risk free and got safer as we carried them out, and that he probably
wouldn't try strangling me if I was tangential about going all perv on him.



"This is kind of neat," I said after a few minutes. No studies (we were
on ye dean's list and had met in honors English, which we were on the way
to acing for the second semester), a great ride across the rolling Western
beauty of Iowa, Friday night in K.C. with enough money to buy pussy if all
else failed, sober, because the `Vette was enough, and bare chested.

"I'm glad there was some way I could pay you for the pictures," he
responded, which, in context, took on a thoroughly ironic note because it
was a reference to risky business, and here he was, again, three feet away,
only not receding at sixty miles an hour.

"Did you send one to Mary Jane?" I asked.

"Her brother went wild for it," Stan replied, "and she admitted it was
okay." Actually, M.J. was probably my kind of girl, though Stan did
occasionally sigh in negative anticipation of trading his car for a wagon
and investing the surplus in aluminum siding.

Now, a little bit more about writers, because I'm about to give a
demonstration of craft and it might be misinterpreted if I don't forewarn
by pointing out the fact we are, not to put too fine a point on it,
spiders, ever lurking for the summons of the web. No tug is too slight to
escape our interest, no word or phrase can fall in our hearing without
being deemed possibly edible. And this is a substantive characteristic,
something not just of, in the present case, words, but of tone, of
precisely how those words are uttered. Okay? So let's get back to writing
and the exercise of craft, with today's lesson titled Keep it Simple.



"How old is he?" I asked, letting a distinct beat pass, with just an
edge of raggedness creeping into me voice while I stifled the shadow of a
yawn. And he did. He paused and even colored slightly, also spoke in an
intangibly huskier voice.

"He just turned twelve before I came back from break," he said.

The spider gave the fly a long time to retreat, to change the subject,
you know, since desiccated prey is of little use, indeed, might serve to
warn other game away "Would you like to see a picture?" he then asked.

"Yes," I said. I'd seen Mary Jane in several poses, other subjects,
pets, for example, as the topics had come up; house, cars, summer retreat,
that kind of thing, and couldn't help feeling a bit smug at the apropos
timing of bringing up boys, nor less than petrified with excitement at his
skilled return of my lobbing serve. He sort of obviously held his towel in
front of him as he found the trucker's wallet he carried in his luggage
when we were away from the dorm. I participated by moving toward the head
of the bed, making more room for him, and he responded by sitting at my
right, our shoulders almost touching as he thumbed through the wallet, his
towel neatly bunched (a little food for the oxy morons) in his lap. He
recognized a picture from its corner and pulled it out. In those days
drugstore photos were things of beauty, with neat white borders and on
crinkle cut paper that went a long way in framing the image. But even if
they'd been today's sleazy (but cheaply run off) jumbo prints, I would
hardly have noted it. "That's Kenny with Brad," Stan said, "he was
lifeguard with me last summer." English speaking fools, dithering on about
poets and the rag tags of philosophy, we'd never talked about practical
stuff. I guess I knew vaguely he'd been into swimming as he might have
remembered I'd spent the summer working in a marine biology lab. Mostly it
was trying to figure out if Shakespeare was mad as a hatter, or we were off
kilter in finding a pound of bombast for each grain of salience. We both
read well, having spent a fair amount doing the same for our aged
grandmothers, so we'd stitch each other with flowery phrases from the
literary greats until it hurt to laugh or keep from giggling.



Yes, my mind was going faster than the Corvette in fourth gear,
deliberately straying over lapses in the last few months, questions not
asked, subjects that never came up, anything to buy time so I didn't blurt
out "holy shit," or something elegant like that at the sight of a six two
Olympic quality swimmer, by each and every look, standing behind a
shylooking blackhaired boy with big eyes and the slender built of a ten
year old. Both were in swimming trunks, and the lifeguard's hands were
crossed on the child's chest. "I've got one of him with me, too," Stan
said, his voice a trace huskier, "if you want to see it."

"They're both extremely attractive," I said, nodding and adding: "Kenny
has that easytobewith look."

He pulled out a second photo. Same country club pool backdrop, and,
who'd have guessed it, a pair of perfect young males, Stan's hands on the
child's chest as Brad's had been.

"And this," Stan continued, pulling out a last picture, "is Karen,
Kenny's sister. She was with Brad, young man standing behind nine year old
girl, hands on her chest with hers on top of his as she looked brightly but
not saucily at the camera.

"We took them the day Mary Jane sprained her ankle and I had to babysit
the kids. They stayed after the pool was shut and helped us clean up."



"Had they met Brad before?" I asked, feeling more like a tick who'd been
hanging out in a lab's ear for a couple of days than a spider at that point
in time.

"They'd come with Mary Jane when she picked me up from work," Stan said,
and they'd usually swim for a few minutes, so they knew him."

"They look comfortable with him," I said.

"We get really used to being with kids that age over the summer," my
friend said, "so it becomes natural to not act phony around them, to act
kind of passive, and let them experiment with being friendly at their own
pace, but it's not as if we were trying anything, you know, encouraging
them. I liked Kenny from helping him with his homework, and Karen from
going to her tea parties, and Brad had a sister just her age she was
friends with at school, so he wasn't like a complete stranger."



"Stan?" I asked, "do you think it's okay to like talk about stuff once
in awhile, or should guys keep everything private?"

"I don't know," he said, hardly more than whispering. "They stayed a
couple of hours until Mary Jane was home from the clinic and Brad and I
could take them home, and it only took half an hour to dry the towels and
mop the locker room. I guess a lot of guys would want to keep that kind of
secret and maybe be embarrassed about it, but at the same time, with the
right person, maybe it is okay to tell.

"What do you think?" he concluded.

"I'd tell you if I had anything exciting," I said, my voice the equal of
his, "but my story wouldn't last five minutes."

"Would you tell Squirrel?" he whispered.

"Yes," I said, "but the two of you are the only ones on campus, and I
work for the paper so I know everybody."

"That's how I feel," he said, "you and your roommate would be okay, neat
even, and I can't say that about anyone even going back through high
school."



We sat silently as he slowly cycled the images of his beautiful young
friends through his fingers. "I think I was pretty lucky," he said,
"because something happened when I was eleven and I learned from experience
that kids that age and even younger can like things in a real way, not a
candy way, so when I qualified as a lifeguard I knew other kids probably
felt the same as I did. Brad helped, too, because he was pretty open about
what was happening with Nancy, his sister, and him. He asked me a lot of
questions after we got to know each other, and I told him what had
happened, about riding on the bus with Richard, who's the one that got me
into swimming, and he told me about how Nancy had started hanging closer
and closer to him as she got older and how their mom had finally taken them
aside and told them they were both great kids and they were free to love
each other any way they wanted so long as they were respectful of the
sensibilities of others."



"When you talked with Brad about things," I said, "did you go into
detail, or just kind of work through allusions and references."

"Once we were sure of each other," Stan replied, "we told each other
everything."



Candles and incense were big even in those days, though no such thing as
lava lamps, and we'd brought a supply with us (for girls, on both our
parts, I'm pretty sure). As if cued, we fetched them from our luggage, set
the mode of the room, and lay back on a single bed, side by side, not quite
touching, towels still covering our briefs.

"How old was Richard?" I asked, since asking how old Mary Jane's brother
was had worked well.

"Twentyone," Stan said, "his summer job was driving the bus for the
country club, and, again with a lucky break, my house was the last stop and
he lived a few blocks away and kept the bus overnight so he could pick us
up in the morning."

"It's cool that you liked him," I said, reviewing how important yet
irrelevant that facet could be. I'd liked Jon just fine, and certainly had
less than no reason to dislike him, and it had been neat to feel him tense
in my hand then splash hard from his purplish shaft into the green foliage,
but just liking him okay had kept things at the exploratory stage, and,
truth to tell, I probably wouldn't have like it if he'd tried kissing me,
though ejaculating on me and probably even on my face would have been
acceptable. I would have, I'm sure, liked having Motoi kiss me, cum on me,
hold me against his slick chest, cum fully in my mouth, and really molest
me for an hour at a time, and, equally, would have liked watching him
molest Peter Klaus, John Bland, or any of the other Bear Pit boys. But
that's far from the whole story. Over the years I've more or less come to
the conclusion that, while it's nice to have an underlying friendship, it's
also detached, and, in fact, you can have nervewracking experiences with
strangers or someone you perhaps don't particularly care for, and hold long
term affection for someone else who's of no physical interest. As
ambiguous as it all is, I was glad for Stan and hoped my comment was
accurate.



"He taught me great adventuring," my clate said, and made my head
spin just a little by adding another sister to his story, "especially the
time we blew up Jill's Barbie collection with a pipe bomb that sent Ken
seventytwo feet, seven and a half inches from ground zero."

"Jill?" I said, trying not to gulp and at the same time fit her in with
Karen and Nancy, one being both Mary Jane and Kenny's kid sister, and the
second belonging to Brad. There and then, in fact, I made myself a
professional promise that when I reached the point of literary supreme
being, I'd be most careful in winnowing my work so as not to confuse
stories with something like five or six parallel events taking place in
real time or as too glibly named "flashbacks."

"She drew the schematics," Stan explained. "We had drawings for the
pit, for the positioning of each doll, for the device, for the wiring, a
hundred and twenty feet, for our shelter, for the switch, for the eight
millimeter movie camera we though we should use, and for the whole thing
plotted a hundred yards from any house in the deepest and thickest part of
the woods, because the bomb we made from her drawings weighed two pounds
and two ounces and we didn't want anyone to hear anything more than a
backfire or a shotgun."



This was a neat commentary on luck. I thought I had it pretty good in
that department, old money that never seemed to run out, houses and cars
like other families have kittens, and, hellish individuals notwithstanding,
a pretty keen run going, but it was becoming apparent as I lay beside Stan,
that thing one I didn't know about the subject. But, lucky me, I was about
to learn.



We were, it turned out, on identical wavelengths, on the same letter of
the same page, never mind word. I was just wondering to myself, "does this
story have a beginning?" and Stan said, "maybe I should start with how IT
started." I nodded, trying not to shake the bed.



"It was a dark and stormy night, we were coming home from a late session
at the club," he said, "and we got stuck making a turn in Jeff Bloom's
driveway. He'd run off to get dry, the house was way out of sight, we
weren't blocking the road, and it was absolutely pouring."



"Can you think of anything?" the driver asked.

"Pneumonia," the eleven year old redhead said, "or lost with no scent
for the dogs."

"Well," Richard said, "the nearest creek's a hundred feet below us, so
that's not a problem, and when I don't turn up Jill will put two zillion
and five together with the square root of minus six and figure out we're
stuck, probably to within the quarter acre, and have help arriving in
sixtyseven minutes, give or take, so, since we have no rain gear, it might
be best to stay put."

Stan nodded and the two sat looking at each other, the sole passenger in
the right front seat of the small bus.

"Maybe you can think of a great adventure," Stan suggested, both a
little nervous and thrilled at being alone for an extended period of time
with the sixthree State finalist athlete.

"Something did cross my mind," Richard said, "but it's probably a little
mature for eleven."

"We blew off a limb that took three days to burn," the boy replied,
"that was mature for a hundred and eleven." The retort found its mark and
Richard looked steadily at the child.

"This is different," he said in a voice that electrified the boy across
the isle, "though, on second thought, maybe not so very different.

"We don't have raincoats or umbrellas," he said, "but I do have some
towels from the club because their washer's not working. They're a little
damp but not wet. So, if we were to take a shower, we'd be able to dry
off."



Stan sat stock still and neither spoke for a minute.



"It happens with athletes quite a lot," the driver went on from his
seat, "a coach or an older player alone with a boy your age. We've become
pretty close in the last few months, damming up the creek in back of your
house, rescuing the moronic cat, Jill finalizing her doll stage, and, Stan,
you're one exceptionally attractive eleven year old, so, since it's bound
to happen soon, if it hasn't already, I thought we could take a shower
together in the rain, and I could explain about it so you'd be forewarned
about things you might not want to happen."



Stan sat stock still and neither spoke for another minute.



"It's very gentle," Richard whispered, "and we have time for it to be
very complete."



This time he nodded very slightly. Richard didn't rush, so another
minute passed.



"We could start here in the bus with your underpants on," the adult
whispered, "then, if you want more to happen, you can ask to go out in the
rain, which will mean we have to be naked together because there's no way
to dry any clothing that gets wet."

"What would have happened if we hadn't gotten stuck?" the boy asked.

"In the first place," Richard answered, "I've turned in Jeff's driveway
dozens of times, understand, and, in the second, I could sense you were
starting to get interested in Jill and me, so I was going to just park in
your drive soon, maybe tonight, and tell you I thought you were, next to my
sister, the most beautiful person I've ever know, and that my sister thinks
so, too, and then what I just told you about getting mature enough so older
athletes will want to shower alone with you, to outline the tip of the
iceberg."



"What you said about me maybe knowing stuff already," Stan murmured,
"well, I don't, except the talk, which I guess gives some ideas."

"It's like wrestling very slowly and gently, especially when a man's
teaching a boy," Richard whispered, "and we can start with our shorts and
tee shirts on. The only thing that's violent is what happens at the end,
and that's not violent in the sense of hitting or hurting, but just
violently sudden and shocking if you're not ready for it."

"Should we take our sneakers off?" Stan asked in a whisper, leaning down
as if to untie his because the school nurse had told the class to do that
if they ever felt faint.

"No," his friend said, "young boys with big feet look sensationally
extreme when they keep their gym shoes on, and it stands to reason we'd get
them wet dealing with the situation."

"Okay," the boy said, his mind so filled with the image of the tall
swimmer in front of him standing in the rain just wearing his sneakers that
blood returned to support the fantasy, plus he needed some to nourish his
cognitive and analytical skills which were telling him that if he reached
Richard's house, their likely destination on such a night, with wet
sneakers and dry clothes, only one conclusion could be drawn by any
present, and being able to let others know in such a subtle yet conclusive
way was enough to fully alert his entire brain to being raped by Jill's
twenty one year old brother. He stood and walked to the back of the bus.
Heard the squeak of the driver's seat, And waited.



"Jill," Richard whispered over Stan's left shoulder, "if you're really
sure."

"I am," Stan whispered back, "I see you looking at me looking at you
when you're swimming, and I don't mean that, swimming, literally, I mean by
the pool getting ready, or after you come out. You always look at me and
I'm always looking at you."

"Then you must have noticed the other part, too," the adult said.

"That your eyes are on me when I'm, well, not swimming," the play sister
said.

"How do you feel about it?" Richard rasped, his hands now on the waist
of the eleven year old redhead.

"Overdressed, even in my racing suit," Stan said, "because I'm starting
to grow a little bit and I wonder if you notice."

"And you really want to show me? To let me touch you?"

"And to feel you against me," the girl whispered.



Stan guided Richard's hands to his top button and moved firmly back
against the adult now huddled over him. When two were unfastened, the boy
whispered, "do yours," and quickly finished opening his own shirt, then
stood, arms at his side. In a few seconds, the adult was naked to the
waist, his shirt over a seatback, and he again put his hands on the child's
waist, pulling aside his shirttails, and then moved them over Stan's flat
and silky belly as the boy thrust firmly but not predatorily to him.



"Sis," the athlete whispered, " we can only go this far."

"Why?" Jill whispered.

"It's a physical thing, darling," he answered, "it happens with swimmers
who like spending time alone with older swimmers while they're growing up.
A certain amount of male activity happens, and the result is that some of
us develop more than nonswimmers. To put it plainly, it would hurt with
me, but Stan would be perfect for you, and then, when you're experienced,
if you still want it to, something complete could happen between us."

"But Stan's a swimmer, too," Jill whispered, "won't the same thing
happen with him, you know, what you just said, from being alone with older
males."

"Yes," darling the roleplaying brother said, "but you'll grow two, no
one is eight forever, and so it won't be any problem, no, not in the long
haul."



They abandon their little playlette, whispering fully to each other.



"How old were you when this happened?" Stan asked.

"Same as you, eleven," his friend said, "and that's kind of customary, a
code of the cult you might call it."

"Was it in a shower," Stan panted, the adult's hands now openly roaming
over his upper body as he stood on his tiptoes and arched back against the
bare chest of the athlete behind him.

"Partly," Richard whispered, running his hands up the child's flanks,
bringing his shirt with him. Stan raised his hands over his head and his
shirt was lifted free. "Say like that," the adult whispered as he draped
the shirt next to his own, then moved his hand's back to the sixth grader's
chest and pulling him gently back. The redhead went higher on his toes,
now reaching far back, and quickly linking his fingers behind the neck of
the panting adult.

"You're enough taller than Jill to take here this way," Richard said.

"Will you watch her let me do things?" the now openly panting boy
rasped.

"If you want me to," the man whispered, toying with the youth's tiny
nipples.

"I do," Stan responded breathlessly.

"You'll be beautiful together," his mentor said, "and you won't have to
stop or use any caution at all."



"I want to take a shower with you," Stan announced.

"Okay," Richard said, moving his hands to the boy's belt and unfastening
it as the child remained arched and panting, "but you'll want to take Jill
in her panties for awhile, so let's do this again, just in your underpants,
because we have lots of time, and I want you to take lots of time with her.


"It's the hurried, halfthing that's dangerous for a kid," he went on to
explain, "that's what leaves confusion and distortion. If it's measured
and complete, then it's understood for what it is and can be accepted or
rejected."

"But you be naked, okay?" Stan asked, thrusting his hips to the hands
now undoing his zipper and skinning his tennis shorts down over his long,
slim legs."

"Do it to me," Richard rasped in response, turning his young beauty to
him. Stan, mindful of the words he'd just heard, toyed with the adult's
buckle, running his fingers over the powerful chest in front of him, then
returning to slowly unfasten, unzip, and slide down the athlete's country
club shorts. They backed away for a few moments, to look at each other,
then Stan finished, slowly and lingeringly, finally again standing back
while Richard spread his legs wide, arching back against one of the
seatbacks as his young friend stared at the nearly eight inch shaft jutting
high from his otherwise boyish waist.



It's not real smart of a writer to put a character in a speechless
position, but errors creep in and it does happen.



Stan stared for a minute, then two, then turned away and raised his
arms. Richard came up behind him and eased the boy off the floor so his
feet were on two of the seats, his slim legs widely spread. Gently he
hunched behind the eleven year old, carefully working the tip of his long,
hard erection into Stan's underpants, then pulling the boy to him and
openly molesting him for several panting minutes.



Feeling equally heroic and foolish, they did the shower thing at the
younger male's request. Richard knelt before him and slowly pulled down
the white briefs, then they stood for a minute looking at each other, then
went out in their sneakers to brave the still bucketing downpour. If
speechless characters are a nuisance, cold, wet ones are a downright turn
off, but it ended well enough, the pair both shivering back aboard the
coach, drying each other off, then standing, Stan again with his legs
spread and his feet on two of the seats, outrageously sensuous, naked in
his wet shoes, forehead to forehead as they watched each other respond to
the return of warmth, so much blood rushing from their heads at the sight,
they both felt dizzy. In two minutes both were again fully erect and no
longer panting from the cold.



"It's done in three steps," Richard coached, easing Stan back to the
floor, then positioning the boy in front of him. "First from behind with
the man holding you in his left arm while he masturbates you with his right
hand." He took the prescribed position, fondling the child for a full
minute before beginning to take a distinct rhythm with the youth's jutting
five inch penis. "This lasts for just a few minutes, then the next part
comes," he went on, showing Stan what he meant by moving him to his right
flank, guiding his left arm around his own waist, then moving the child's
right hand to his fully adult penis, and coaxing him into a deliberate
motion. "You take me all the way," he then said, "and after I cum, that
will be the final step, and I'll take you from behind again and jerk you
off with a lot of hot sperm on my hand."



This froze the tableau, boy at flank of man, adult with legs spread wide
and comfortably braced, boy continuing with mature male, responding to the
rising tension in his partner by redoubling the grip and stroke of his
right arm and hand.



"The violent part is coming," Richard panted, "and you can move in front
of me and take the sperm on your chest like Jill did, or just let me spray
off on the seat and we can clean it up later."

"Has she ever let it happen in her mouth?" the boy asked, having heard
of things of that nature along the way.

"Just on her belly and chest," Richard rasped, "because an adult is too
much that way for the first time, but a boy your age is perfect."

"But I'm older than she is so we could experiment that way?" he then
asked.



"Yes, next time," Richard gasped, then he said, softly: "I'm cumming,
Stan."

Stan moved directly in front of his mature partner and held him low on
his heaving, sweating chest, his eyes perfectly focused by the time the
quaking adult began splashing him hard and fast with one sheet of hot semen
after another until he was slick and sopping with the thick, slippery cum.
Even before his flow fully ebbed, Richard had slicked his right palm on the
eleven year old's belly and moved behind the child, now masturbating him
rather than teaching. Stan gripped the muscular arms of the athlete,
spread his legs so one sneaker was up on a seat, and gave himself
completely, hissing and crying out as his young body responded, all cells,
battle stations, to the slick hand tight and fast on the hardest boner he'd
ever had. "It's happening to me, too," he gasped after five panting, hot
minutes, and in a few seconds his thin preteen seed was spurting high in
streak after streak from between his rigidly corded loins. Richard turned
him after some moments, and the youth's climax finally slowed as he mixed
his juvenile semen with the wetness of the mature male. A quick return to
the rain, more drying off, a gentle mutual stroking, heads on each other's
shoulder, a second flow from each young body, and they cleaned up, dressed,
and were talking about the next meet when a pair of headlights stabbed the
darkness.

"Sex with Boys and Girls" End File1

xxx

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Tuesday, July 27, 2004

 

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Saturday, July 24, 2004

 

Russian Porn Sex story

[door] [1991] Door to Door Saleswoman [FF bdsm nc]

Door to Door Saleswoman, by Rajah Dodger
<rdodgerhotmail>, 1991. All rights reserved,
except that electronic notforprofit reproduction rights only
are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship
and permission note must remain attached.

Word Count: 1697

Kelli was doing her ironing and taking care of the usual
garbage housework Monday morning, decked out in her sweatshirt
and loose jeans with her hair still damp from the shower. Maury
Povich was on the TV talking about women married to serial
rapists, and the house was just starting to warm up after the
last night's freeze when the doorbell rang.

Kelli looked through the peephole and saw a professionally
dressed woman carrying a sample case. She opened the door and
asked what the woman was selling. "My name's Martha Howard, and
I'm with 'My Special Wardrobe'," the woman began. "I'd like to
show you this year's catalog of fine affordable hosiery and
lingerie for the woman without time to shop for herself." The
woman reached into her inside jacket pocket to hand Kelli her
business card, and flashed her a view of a color catalog.

Kelli opened the door and ushered the saleswoman into her
living room. "You'll have to excuse me, I've been working..." she
started. "Don't feel any need to apologize," Martha responded,
"if you had time to keep a meticulous house you wouldn't need our
services." With that, Martha pulled out a catalog and laid it on
the coffee table, then opened her sample case and pulled out a
lined nightgown. "You're about a nine, right?" she asked. Kelli
blushed and allowed as how she was closer to a ten. The
saleswoman grinned, saying, "Well, these cover a range of sizes.
Let me show you this one." And with that, to Kelli's surprise,
the woman stood up to take off her jacket and blouse, revealing a
black lacy bra and tap pants, and pulled the nightgown over her
head. "Feel the material," she continued with no break, "it's a
new development that combines the feel of silk with the wearing
properties of a nylon blend." Kelli took the hem of the
nightgown between her fingers and rubbed it, agreeing that it did
feel nice.

Martha started to take off the nightgown, her voice somewhat
muffled through the material as she said "Go ahead and try this
one on we do have them in a wide variety of colors to suit
your preference." Kelli was a little embarrassed, but since the
saleswoman was so nonchalant about changing in front of her, she
decided it must be part of her normal routine. So Kelli tugged
the bottom of her sweatshirt out of her pants and pulled it over
her head to remove it.

At that point, Martha palmed Kelli's breasts through her
bra. Kelli shrieked as the woman's knowing fingers found her
sensitive nipples, but the heavy sweatshirt muffled her voice.
Before she could uncover her head, Martha had turned her around
and bound her arms behind her back. Then, as Kelli started
cursing her out, she tugged the sweatshirt away from Kelli's face
only long enough to put something rubbery into Kelli's mouth.

The device was an inflatable plug, and Kelli could hear the
woman squeezing the bulb as the infernal thing filled her mouth
with the acrid taste of rubber, stretching her jaws wide to hold
it in place. That done, the woman released the sweatshirt, once
again muffling the helpless housewife's curses. She removed
Kelli's bra and wrapped a different one around her, one with
cutouts where Kelli's nipples were. Kelli felt the draft from
the air conditioner playing over them, and the saleswoman nodded
knowingly as they perked up like two ripe raspberries. She ran a
feather over them, and Kelli moaned around her gag as she felt
her legs grow weak.

Martha piped up as she watched Kelli squirm, "Let's see what
we've got under those jeans!" Kelli tried to kick, but the
saleswoman was stronger and she soon had Kelli's faded denims
sliding down her legs, revealing her drab panties. As the woman
tugged the jeans around Kelli's ankles, the squirming woman sent
a vicious knee in the direction of her tormentor's face. But she
wasn't quite on target, and Martha's voice turned cold in
response. "You're not being a very good model, my dear
perhaps you need a little... motivation." With that, she took a
spreader bar from her sample case and locked it between Kelli's
knees, holding them open and vulnerable.

Kelli felt the cold steel of a knife touch her thighs, and
she willed herself into total stillness. She heard more than
felt her panties ripped open, and as the air washed over her
bared pussy her wet thatch of hair testified to her arousal. "I
think you need to try our special accessories," Martha continued,
and she probed Kelli's pussy with a long finger. She removed her
finger and replaced it with a thin dildo, warm and slick, pushing
it deep inside Kelli as the girl squirmed on the couch, wanting
to repel the invader but unable to keep it out. Just as Kelli
couldn't keep Martha's fingers off her nipples, or hide her
response as the woman plucked at them and made them hard, deep
red and sensitive. Kelli moaned as the woman moved the dildo in
and out until she came, breaking into a cold sweat and slumping
back onto the sofa.

While she was out of action, Martha removed the spreader bar
long enough to slide a gstring up Kelli's legs. She reattached
the bar and cinched the gstring tight over the base of the
dildo, then untied Kelli's arms and pulled the sweatshirt
completely off her. She took out the mouth plug, but before
Kelli could enjoy the relief from the strain it was replaced by a
bridle and bit which the woman squeezed savagely between Kelli's
jaws. "Let's play horsey!" she said, tugging Kelli off the sofa
and sitting on her back. The housewife struggled to carry the
saleswoman, who kept reaching down to alternately pinch her tits
and slap her ass. Because of the spreader bar, Kelli could only
move in small jerky paces, while the dildo rubbed her maddeningly
inside every time she moved. By the time they got into the
kitchen she was a mass of quivering flesh and rubber muscles.
When her tormentor got up to get a drink from the refrigerator,
Kelli found enough strength to stumble to her feet and do a full
body slam, knocking the woman's head against the refrigerator
hard enough to knock her out.

Kelli caught her breath shakily, then went to the closet and
found some strapping tape. She tied Martha's arms tightly
together behind her back, and started to rip the woman's bra off
but changed her mind. She looked for the gag the woman had used
on her, coated it with hot mustard from the refrigerator, and set
it aside while she figured out how to get the spreader bar off
her legs. That done, she started to take out the dildo, but as
she tugged the thick object out of her vagina, the sensations
were so intense that she had to close her eyes and thrust it back
in and out, rubbing her clit until she came again.

When Kelli was able to catch her breath, she pulled the
slimy object out of her with a quick shuddering gasp and set it
aside. Martha was starting to come around, so Kelli pushed the
mustardcoated gag into her mouth and sealed it with some of the
strapping tape. She smiled coldly as a thought occurred to her.
"Don't go away now," she muttered to the dazed woman. Kelli
rummaged in the bathroom until she found what she was looking for
an old tube of BenGay. She squeezed some of the heating
ointment onto her fingers and then slipped her hands into the
saleswoman's bra cups, squeezing the woman's tits to and fro as
she worked the stuff in. She stood back and watched as the
ointment took effect. Martha began writhing on the floor,
muffled curses and moans coming from behind the gag. Kelli
watched the sweat pop out on the woman's forehead and reached out
with one foot to rub Martha's tits, making her squirm more. "Is
this enough motivation for you?" Kelli snarled.

Kelli tugged her Gstring off, and squatted over Martha.
"Do something nice for me, and maybe I'll cool off those tits of
yours," she said. She reached down and peeled the strapping tape
off of the saleswoman's mouth, the gag coming with it.
"Guuhhgg..." was Martha's unintelligible reply. "I'll take that
as a yes," said Kelli, and settled down over the woman's nose and
mouth. Quickly she felt a tongue probing around between her legs,
searching her private places until it found its way to her vagina
and clit. "Gee, seems like you've done this before," the young
woman commented as she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation.
She rocked back and forth as the probing tongue brought her
around to a shivering orgasm, then got up and went back to the
refrigerator. She came back with a jar of honey, and took off
the woman's bra. Her breasts were large with bright red, raw
looking nipples. Kelli rubbed the cold honey all over the
breasts, pushing the nipples in with her thumbs as Martha
shuddered and moaned beneath her. Kelli slapped them
experimentally, enjoying the way they looked when they quivered.

"Your arms must be hurting, lying on them like that," she
said. So she rolled Martha over onto her stomach, then after
another thought found the spreader bar and fastened it between
Martha's legs. The saleswoman started to complain, but subsided
quickly when Kelli waved the gag in front of her. Kelli helped
Martha up, wobbling a little on her feet, and halfwalked, half
pushed her toward the clothes closet in the living room. She
took some twine from the closet floor, and fastened Martha's arms
to the closet bar, then stuffed the gag back into her mouth and
shut the door.

Kelli went over to the phone and started to dial her
neighbor's number. "Peggy," she said when the call was answered,
"do you have time to come over for a while? I've got a
saleswoman here who has the most interesting things to show..."

/end/ 1991 Rajah Dodger All Rights Reserved

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