Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/M/MARIE.TXT/__headers__.txt

Text File | 1991-03-07 | 15.1 KB | 330 lines

MARIE4      If you read MARIE1, MARIE2 &/or MARIE3, then you know what to
expect. This is based on interviews from a woman recounting almost
a quarter-century of sexual experiences and she's not an old woman;
you figure it out. If such things offend you for any reason, this
is a good time to erase the file.      Some names and a few locations have been changed and some
editing has been done for the sake of smoothness. Other than that,
this is what she had to say, based on her recollections and the
extensive and detailed diaries she's been keeping for many years.
CHAPTER FOUR      Jeanne and I got to be regulars at that, sneaking into bed
together whenever we got the chance -- and that was every few days,
at least, since who would suspect a ten-year-old girl and her
eleven-year-old sister -- even if the eleven-year-old was
developing the kind of figure I was?

     [Oh, yeah, well strange as it sounds, they didn't seem to be
growing that fast right then, as if there was this first spurt and
then it slowed down a more normal pace; the major difference was
that my "normal pace" had gotten a head start. I was kind of glad,
in a way. I mean, they had stabilized at too big for a training
bra, but I still wasn't able to wear even a 32-inch bra, the
smallest they sold in the stores. I only measured twenty-five
inches at the bust.]

      The problem was, I wasn't growing taller or wider, either. I
was only about four-foot-five and my waist was still nineteen
inches and my hips were just about twenty-four inches, so I still
looked surprisingly busty. If it hadn't been for Dana Connolly --

     Dana and I had gotten to be pretty close friends, mostly
because she and I the were two girls always getting hit on by high
school kids. Dana was tall for her age -- about five-foot-three or
-four -- and she had a real figure, all nice, sleek curves. She had
these real long legs and lots of blonde hair. Dana wasn't pretty,
but she was attractive and I could see the boys found her sexy and
I knew why: She had a way of walking and moving .... Mmmm. She was
sexy and she knew it and she flaunted it. And she was adventurous.
She'd try just about anything. With anyone. She told me things --

     [No. I promised I'd never tell and I haven't and I won't. even
though she betrayed me two years later. We haven't spoken since.
But a promise is a promise.]

     Where was I -- ?

     Right.  Well, if it hadn't been for her, I probably would have
gotten all the wrong kinds of attention for all the wrong reason.
As it was, when we hung out together, boys who came on to me got
lured away by Dana -- which was just fine, as she liked any
attention from boys, and I was sort of picky.

     [No, I hadn't lost interest -- quite the contrary, my dear! --
but the kind of high school boys who come on to a sixth-grader were
not the kind I wanted to deal with. Dana seemed able to handle
them -- and did she enjoy handling them!]

     It was fine with me.

     The first half of my seventh-grade year was pretty uneventful.
Oh, sure, I came on to a couple of eighth grade boys and a freshman
at Rossford High -- I was successful with all but one, who got
scared and ran away -- but it was always furtive and sneaking and
there was never time to really enjoy it. Besides, mostly they just
seemed interested in grabbing my tits and poking me with their
fingers. One of the eighth graders was ready and willing to fuck
me, but every time he got his cock near me, he came. This happened
over and over again, to our eternal frustration. It was almost
funny -- and it was amazing, too.

     One night, I got him alone in the back of one of the school
busses parked in the school lot. We had time and I was determined.
He always amazed me when he came so fast, because there was a lot
of it. He had really big balls and even after he came, he got hard
again.

     This time, I figured, I would get him off a couple of times
and then get him inside me. It was November and it had been almost
a month since I'd had a hard dick in me. My baby sister's lovely
tongue and fingers notwithstanding, there was no substitute for the
real thing.     We were having a little bit of Indian summer, so the Saturday
night in Thanksgiving weekend, we sneaked into the lot and into one
of the buses in the back. I stripped us both to the waist -- from
the ankles -- and went to work. Sure as a clock, as soon as he got
between my legs and I grabbed his dick, he came all over the place.
I mean, on the bus seat, on my legs, on my cunt, my belly --
everywhere. And stayed hard. Mostly.     Fine, I thought, and proceeded with my plan. I stroked him a
little, my hand all slippery with his cum, and when he was really
hard again, lined up his cock with my pussy. And he came again --
just like before. Gobs everywhere.

     And stayed mostly hard.

     I told him, No problem; we're gong to lick this thing. And
then I did just what I said and got down and started licking him.
He got stiff as steel and came in my mouth. I thought I'd drown.

     Surely, I thought, after cumming that much three times in
twenty minutes, this time he'll last longer. I stroked him a little
and had him lay on the seat. I managed to squat over him and this
time the tip of his dick touched my cunt. Success! I thought.

     Wrong-o. He spurted again and left a lake of it dripping on
his belly and pooling there.

     This went on for about an hour and a half and all together, he
came on, around and over me about six times.

     On the seventh try, he got the head of his cock into my pussy
and started cumming immediately. I was on the back seat of the bus
with my legs around his waist; he was standing on the floor. As
soon as I felt his dick enter me, I pulled him in the rest of the
way. If I'd thought he'd cum the first six times, I hadn't seen
anything. I think he must've cum in me for a full minute or more.
The only reason he stopped was he passed out and collapsed. By
then, the jism had filled my cunt and backed up and dripped out
around his prick.

     His cock was still hard.

     I considered squatting over him and taking advantage of it,
but by then I was tired and stiff and hardly even horny any more. I
woke him up and cleaned him up and he told me how he loved me and
how great it was and we left.

     Christmas and winter came and went. Dad got drunk a lot that
year, worrying about money, I guess, and he got mean when he got
drunk. Jeanne and I conspired to avoid him and were largely
successful.

     So then it was spring of 1966 and that was the first time I
seduced an older man. It wa over spring break -- we called it
Easter Vacation at St. Cornelius.

     I'd gone into Genoa to stay at Uncle Van's house for a few
days. His daughter, Charlene, was a lot like me in some ways.
Charlene was a little more than a year older, but she was all pudgy
and baby fat, just starting to melt away. But was she ever boy-
crazy! Charlene made even Dana seem tame. She'd do anything to get
boys around her and keep them near here. She'd told me how she once
pulled a train --

     [Gang-bang. When a girl fucks several guys in succession,
that's pulling a train.]

     She was almost thirteen. She'd done it when she was twelve,
with a bunch of her brother's friends.

     Her brother, Tod, was a real asshole. He was fifteen then. A
real blockhead. About six foot two, maybe two hundred and twenty
pounds -- enormous for his age. But he didn't have a brain in his
head -- and no sense of right and wrong, either. If he wanted
something, he bullied his way around till he got it. He'd started
fucking Charlene when she was nine. "Raping her" is more like it.
If Charlene was twisted, Tod was why. Sometimes I wonder if she
didn't provoke .... No. I don't think any nine-year-old girl knows
enough to do that. And I think Charlene may have been a little off,
y'know?

     Anyhow, Charlene and I got along pretty good and besides, they
had this terrific in-ground pool and it was shaping up to be a hot
summer, judging by spring, and they had a finished basement with a
pool table and stuff and her folks were away a lot. Uncle Van drove
on the racing circuit, and they were always off somewhere or other.
And I just wanted to get the hell out of Toledo for a while.

     It was nice. We sat up and watched scary movies from the
Detroit stations and we exchanged notes and secrets about
mysterious doings with boys and --

     [No. I didn't find her appealing in that way and she didn't
care for women that way.]

     They lived in this development off State Route 51 and their
neighbor was this guy named Roger something-or-other.

     [Did you know that "roger" is now another word for "fuck"? No
kidding. In upper-class circles now they talk about men rogering
women. Everyone knows what it means, so why don't they just say --
Oh, never mind.]

     Anyhow. Roger's wife had just left him, oh, not six months
before and the guy was a wreck. Charlene told me he was all messed
up -- couldn't sleep or eat or anything.

     Roger was about twenty-seven and about six foot tall and had
this great body that I saw sometimes when he was working in his
yard. And he was nice looking. Not a fox, like my phantom step-
brother; just nice.  But there was something about him that had me
all achy and twisty-stomachy and wet and itchy inside just to look
at him. Charlene told me his lights were on all night and he always
looked really tired and sometimes you had to call his name two or
three times before he noticed you. It was like he was still in
shock from his wife leaving him. Charlene didn't know why she'd
left, but said she was a real slut -- worse: a cheat.

     I knew he was a long haul trucker and when he was working,
he'd be away a week at a time. I knew he was quite an amateur
gardener. And Charlene had told me he sometimes let Uncle Van use
his basement workshop, because his hobbies included cabinet-making.

     That was my key. I waited for the right moment. It came two
days later. Van and Aunt Irene were down in Kentucky for a race and
Tod was passed out -- as usual when his folks were away -- from too
much beer. Charlene had taken her bike to peddle over to Casper's
Corners, this country-road intersection about three miles away
where a lot of kids hung out.

     I waited till I heard the radio from his house and then went
over. It was about seventy degrees, but there was a breeze. I wore
a light windbreaker, real short cutoffs that had faded and shrunk
all soft to fit snug on my butt. Under the windbreaker I was
wearing a thin tanktop and nothing else. I rang the bell. He
answered, wearing a pair of jeans and a sport shirt. The jeans were
nicely filled.

     He didn't recognize me through the screen door for a moment,
then he smiled. "Hello. You're Marie, aren't you? What can I do for
you?"

     "Uncle Van said you know cabinet-making and I wanted to ask
you about it. Can I come in?"

     He held the door for me and asked if I'd like a Coke or some
juice, and I said water would be dandy. While he fetched it, I
looked around the living room.

     Roger's house was identical in layout to Van and Irene's, but
where my uncle's house was decorated to look like an Italian
director's idea of a swinging Playboy pad -- all shag rugs and red
drapes and such -- Roger's looked like one of those model rooms
they set up in furniture stores. And everything was spotlessly,
shining clean. There was a whole bookcase full of books. I looked
them over: Reader's Digest Condensed versions. Ycccch. But at least
he read books.

     He returned, water in hand. I unzipped my windbreaker about
halfway and thanked him.

     "I want to put a bookcase in my room -- not real big, just
about this high --" I held my hand even with my breasts. "-- and
about this wide --" I held my arms wide apart. This caused the
windbreaker to part and my breasts to heave up into sight within
the tanktop. "Do I need a lot of power tools for that or can I just
use a hand saw and hammer and nails?"

     "Easy. You don't even need a saw. The lumber yard will cut the
boards to the length you want for about a nickel a cut. Hammer and
nails and glue will be -- "

     "Glue? Like Elmer's?"

     "Better to use Carpenter's Glue." I nodded. "What color will
you paint it?"

     "I don't want to paint it. I like wood."

     He grinned. "Smart girl. You could stain it, you know. That
would give it a shade to go with your room and wouldn't hide the
grain."

     "I suppose, but Dad's always talking abut how easy it is to
mess up with stain."

     "Naw; you just have to know how to do it. I'm going to stain a
piece I just made; want to watch?"

     Well of course I did and I'd known -- from peeking through his
basement window -- that was what he was going to do, which was why
I'd asked the question I'd asked. Heheheh.

     His basement was as neat as his living room. Half of it was a
little recreation room with a pool table. Built-in couches lined
two walls. We went into his workshop and he showed me how he
stained furniture -- in this case, a natural penetrating stain on
the maple top of what would be a gorgeous credenza. And he was
right: It was easy and neat, not at all messy, if you knew what you
were doing, which I figured could be said about a lot of things.

     I thanked him and we stepped back into the rec room. I picked
up the cue ball and rolled it toward the neat triangle of balls
waiting at the other end of the table.

     "Do you play?"

     I shook my head. "Always wanted to learn how, but we don't
have one."

     "Van and Irene have one. I'm surprised Tod hasn't taught you."     I laughed. "Tod's always trying to teach me something, but
it's not pool. He's always grabbing me and stuff."

     "Pretty girl like you will have to expect that and figure out
how to deal with it."

     "I wouldn't mind, so much," I said, "except Tod's so grabby
and such an -- " I shut my mouth.

     "An asshole?"

     I laughed. "Exactly."

     "Pool's rules are simple for the major games," he explained.

"It's getting good at it that's tough. Good at pool means
practice." He frowned. "Good at anything means practice." Then he
brightened. "Want me to teach you?"

     "You wouldn't mind -- "

     "Not at all." He selected a pair of sticks from the rack, and
showed me how to hold the stick and stroke. I kept messing up,
mostly because I didn't have much coordination , but sometimes on
purpose. Knowing what was coming.

     "Here," he said, moving around the table to stand behind me.

     "Hold on." I removed the windbreaker in the minimally
ventilated room. "It's warm down here." Now my tits were exposed
against the tanktop, which was damp and starting to cling quite
nicely, thank you. he glanced at them, then away. The deep arm
openings went down so low that I knew he could see the sides of my
breasts. "Okay."

     He reached his arms around me and bent me forward a little to
reach the cue ball. I could sense him stiffly trying not to make
any body contact. I was having none of that, so I kept arching my
butt out until I felt his thigh against my behind. Then I shimmied
to the left and rubbed my butt on his crotch a little. He froze,
still as a rock -- and the lump in his jeans was just as hard.