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Brunette

Jeanne Franks’ eyes scurried to see if anyone was close enough to hear. I’d seen that conspiratorial look before. What was she up to?

“I know you and Jeff Morrison had sex in that bus, last winter,” my sometimes friend

said, so close to my head her voice made my eardrum itch. “No way that you couldn’t. Come clean, how was it?”

Another bullshit question, and I’m so tired of having to come up with answers about that stupid bus wreck. Girls especially wanted to know everything. They were relentless, and I had exhausted all my sparkling words of how Jeff Morrison looked up close, what he said, and blah, blah, blah . . . it was becoming surreal. Like someone else had been there, and I was just reading lines in a very old school play.

Jeanne is in many opinions the school whore. It was said she’d fuck anything. Take her to dinner and you were rewarded with a blow job. All I know is that she has been seen with a lot of

boys, and that could mean nothing. Some of those same boys had the habit, at least in my high

school to spread rumors if they couldn’t spread some girl’s legs.

Like I said, I was fried, and said, “Fuckin’ fantastic,” just to be rid of her.

“Really? Oh, my, God. How was he?”

“Didn’t I just say?”

“No, I mean how big is he?”

Without thinking I held my hands like an ad for a Foot Long Sub.

Jeanne’s large mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Yes,” I answered.

Jeanne had already run off to blab to her other friends, and missed it.

So stupid. How was I going to answer the flurry of questions over this? And how many indecent proposals were coming Jeff’s way because of my retort?

Having told the harrowing story so many times of how we had been trapped, I almost wished it would have been someone else in that bus instead of me. I always left out parts with sex as I didn’t want Jeff in trouble with school authorities. They had a zero-tolerance policy about anyone who worked for the school system fraternizing with students. And, after all, I am the one who pushed it.

Enrolling at the local junior college before highschool graduation, was the best thing I could have done. To save my parent’s money, I still lived at home, but between college and night work at the local restaurant to help with expenses, time was squat to spend with anything extra-curricular, including Jeff Morrison.

Closing my eyes for a few seconds brought instant relief to tired, smoke entrenched iris’. The buzz of June bug’s on the screen door at the back of the restaurant, made me think of the bulldozers working the street next to Jeff’s home. When I opened my eyes, the bug-pair was in the process of copulation. Shit, they do it right in front of everyone, and I’m nineteen, plenty old enough to have sex. Why should we have to keep it secret? Everyone knew anyway, even my

parents. How could they not? And, unlike them, it’s down to one night a week for us. Even the lard-ass cook knew how horny I was.

“Jump yer bones right here in da restaurant, if ya want.” He’d said only the day before yesterday, and I’d even given it a passing thought. Shaking my head at the inconsistences of my life, I wasn’t about to allow some dumb-ass flip-flop cook take my cherry. Not that he wouldn’t be willing, but to have fart face even between my legs sucking my juices, wasn’t appealing, and I so much enjoyed oral sex. I’ll revert to using my own fingers until tomorrow night.

In bed, I’d fallen asleep almost immediately, awoke in the early hours of morning to the

‘rump, rump’ through the wall behind my head. They were at it again. Pulling the pillow over my head, I held it tight to both ears, but it didn’t drown out the fucking sound, or the pictures in my head of mom and dad screwing just inches away. In exasperation, the pillow went flying, struck the far wall with a feathered plop. If I had to listen, might as well join in.

My fingers played along the soft spot between my long legs, envisioning Jeff’s stiffness there. My other hand scoured both breasts, bringing the nipples to ridge points. Stretching a nipple to it’s fullest and rolling it between my finger and thumb raised a sex enhanced growl. Rubbing harder, I found the jump button. The little-man-in-my boat suddenly had hooked something, and warmth cascaded through my entire body.

Straining to hear mom over my own moans, her voice built in pitch and strength. She was close. I hurried, imagining that I lay beside her, dad and Jeff together in motion, their ass’ pumping side by side. My fingers moved rapidly across the now swollen penis like clit in jack-hammer precision. The entire length of my over-stimulated pussy seemed about to ready to crack. My breath caught. There it was, mother and daughter in complete sync, both heart’s pounding, peaked, then surges of pleasure as we exhausted themselves.

Was it good for you mom, as it was for me?

I awoke the next morning refreshed. Jumped happily out of bed at the alarms first ring, clamped the button down with casino şirketleri my pointing finger and padded for the shower. The much anticipated Friday was here. After college classes would be filled with the sounds of abundant sex in Jeff’s little house on Belmont Street. Right now my sex drive was in high mode just thinking about our liaison, and this was the perfect place for uninterrupted self-exploration and gratification.

Hot, stinging water is very pleasant any time, but in the early mornings, wakes me fully, and as soon as it was the correct temperature, I stepped inside. Some enjoy the warmth of water all around them, but I prefer a pelting shower. There is much one can accomplish in a shower that can’t be done comfortably in a tub, and there’s seats in here.

Soap is an important part of every woman’s ritual, and with the many fruit and flower scents, there is choice. I do use bar soap on occasion, but the soft liquid kind is best. The plastic squeeze bottles are so easy to use. At the moment, some squished onto my hand, and a strawberry scent wafted through the shower. I flashed it over my tits with my back to the spray so I wouldn’t loose any, bent down, put the plastic bottle on one of the seats. My tits now showed their propensity to adhere to the force of gravity, and both felt extremely full and good in my hands. I envisioned Jeff standing naked before me, his well lubricated fingers mirroring my every action.

Closing my eyes, Jeff’s invisible fingers kneaded the twin pillows of flesh, and I gasped as they rubbed and pulled the nipples through slippery fingers. I thought of his hard dick brushing

my tongue doing what he liked, his other hand flicking my clit, making it grow and groan with delight.

I turned, allowed the hot water to strike my breasts. The soapy water made bubbly runs of white on my legs, but I envisioned that stream as something from Jeff. The plastic soap bottle caught my eye. Unscrewing the top, a thought of the physics class about suction came whipping back. That had been a fun class, with many girly whispers about a certain type of suction.

“Get your minds back to the project, girls,” Ms. Fremont, our physics teacher had said of the undertone.

That brought more giggles and some outright laughter, sure that Ms Fremont wasn’t smart enough to know what we were about.

Off came the screw top, and squeezing the bottle to force out most of the air, and placing the entrance to the bottle over one nipple and tight to my breast, I released the pressure.

The nipple sucked into the bottle. I stood a few moments squeezing and releasing. It wasn’t the same as a man, but somewhat gratifying, until the thin rim around the opening cut into my skin. Releasing the bottle it hung from the nipple like an elongated mouth. Bouncing up and down was more enjoyable, flexing the nipple like soft rubber, and wondered if one on my other breast would give twice the pleasure.

Damn . . . I’m oversexed. All I think about lately.

The bottle make a little sucking pop as it was removed.

With hands no longer slippery, they squeaked along my skin like on a clean lacquered surface. A little mental warmth ran through me as I grabbed the shower nozzle off the hook. My fingers twisted the dial on the head to hard, turned it on my tits, the needle like spray forming dents in the flesh, pelting the nipples, and another wave ran through me, almost numbing in intensity. The water jets as if on their own, wormed their way to the hairy patch above my throbbing pussy. A torrent of hot water ran down the folds Jeff thought of as his personal Taco.

Spreading my legs further the hot stream rushed over the more tenderer area. Whoa blistering.

I jumped, and my legs slammed together.

As the area became used to the storm of hot water, my legs reopened, and I tried again.

Ahhh, much better.

A tingle ran upward from my nether regions, and playing the spritz of water on and off built a certain tension. It was time.

Hanging the showerhead on its post, I grabbed the lotion, yanked open the flip top, squirted some onto my pubic area. Working the pink liquid into and over the thick bush, my fingers contacted the greatest pleasure point. The cool lotion was poured between my ass cheeks, and a middle finger wiggled inside the tight puckered spot. With a finger working my clit and one in my ass, cuming was inevitable, and with a great rush and sigh.

The day in college went slowly, thoughts other than learning popped into my mind. Actually my favorite subject beckoned. Every thought of Jeff made me twinge with anticipation, then I was vaguely aware of some interruption from outside.

“Miss Phelps, can you answer, please?”

Way too quick to be jerked suddenly from revelry. At first I wasn’t aware, until I saw Professor Ronowski, who rarely asked anything in class, and I’d missed it.

“Sorry,” I stammered, suddenly embarrassed. “I can not.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

He pointed to a raised hand in the class, but casino firmaları I don’t remember what was said. Just then the bell indicated the end of class, and I headed out the door and to the old Ford. It was truck big, took a mile to turn around, but all we could afford. The drive to Jeff’s would take a full thirty minutes, and I didn’t work tonight.

The cell emitted “Like a Virgin,”my special inputted ring for Jeff. I was extremely proud of that particular ring-tone. No one else I knew had it. Maybe they weren’t virgins.

“Hi,” I said, “on my way. Be there in a few minutes, can’t wait to see you.”

“Uh, Carla, there’s been a crimp in our plans. I won’t be able to see you tonight. I have an emergency meeting.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Don’t know when I’ll be home. I’m so sorry. Go home, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I was so looking forward to seeing you.”

“I was too, but it’s impossible tonight. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Okay, you’d better. I’ve been horny for you all week.”

“Call you in the morning, I’ve got to go, their starting. Sleep tight.”

“Don’t like it, but alright, call me.”

I made the turn toward home and my do nothing but work and study-life. Damn, I was so looking forward to some really nasty, uninterrupted sex. I was even thinking of giving Jeff another go at some anal activity. I’d never let on, but that first time with Jeff had hurt, but didn’t see a reason to tell him. Why make him feel bad, it was my decision, what I wanted. The pain had been bearable, and a little more fun remembering it was supposed to be taboo.

For three days afterward, my little starfish ached, seemed like it wanted to run back to the sea to cool off. For the past several months, using my fingers had loosened up the muscles, and I’d kept close watch for injuries to the soft tissue. I admit to cuming that day with Jeff so deep inside, and wondered if pain had been a factor in it taking so long.

I made a sudden right turn. The thought that I needed some extra stimulation tonight banged my brain, and I knew just the place. Maxie’s Sex Shop. When I drove in, a single car sat in the parking lot, probably the owner or a worker. That’s good, no extra witnesses. I had never been here before, only seen it on my way home, when with something else on my mind I’d missed my regular turn.

The inside of the small building was crammed with so much sex paraphernalia that it was difficult to walk without bumping into something. At first glance, lubes, oils, and pastes of all colors and tastes met my fascinated gaze. Not much for male pleasure enhancement. Some things that looked like a strangely colored, bald pussy. Oh, my word, there’s one with a mouth. The box indicated it was a replication of the lips of some porn star. A finger went inside. Not like my mouth, too rough. There were cock extenders for women’s excitement, vibration bars, massage sticks . . . a vibration turtle? Ooh, some warming liquid. I fingered the bottle and laughed. Not for now, but the directions looked interesting. There was something that went into a woman’s pussy, with ribs and knobs, and a curling thingy to stimulate the clitoris. And this one, to be used on the vagina, clitoris and the ass all at once. Or with a playmate, the ad read. Hummm. More of my juices began to flow.

“May I help you?”

Startled, I swung toward the voice, noticed the large mirror overhead. Missed that. I tried to stay out of sight, but was caught fingering the merchandise.

“Shopping for my husband,” I lied.

“Anything special you’re searching?”

“Just browsing.”

“Take your time. Need any help, just call out.”

His face said nothing, but his eyes told me more than I wanted to know, like he could read my present thoughts like some super alien entity. But then, people who come into his shop were looking to spice up their love life in some manner.

My eyes sized him up. All this sex arousal equipment was giving me the hots.

“Any chance one might try out some of these first?”

The look I got, definitely said no.

“No returns either,” young stud said.

I grabbed a couple boxes. “I’ll take these.”

Stud-boy’s smile said he knew all along I wasn’t shopping for a husband.

“Good choice,” he said. “Guaranteed to please.”

On the way home, my thoughts kept returning to what I had purchased. Guaranteed to please, huh. It’d better, I was growing hornier by the second just thinking about how I was going to use this stuff.

I hurried into the house.

“Hi, mom,” I said, rushing passed her and into my room. I was out a few seconds later having deposited my purchases.

“Hello, dear. Been shopping?”

“Just a couple pair of panties and some lipstick.”

“Crotch less?” she asked, “and I’ve heard they have some lip gloss guaranteed to make a man drool.”

What was she doing? This was a first, she’d never joked about sex with me before. I smiled inside when I thought of the lipstick that was supposed to güvenilir casino have an aphrodisiac built into its base material. Wonder if she knew.

“I’m kidding,” she said. “But you wouldn’t be the first Phelps woman to purchase something to spice up her love life.”

“You?”

“Heavens no, dear. Your father and I have a very satisfying sex life.”

Yeah, hear you every night banging away at each other, and I wondered why mothers never give their daughters a little knowledge in that direction. I decided to test her.

“Any suggestions?”

“On what dear?”

“In pleasing a man.”

She had the decency to blush.

I saw the wheels in her head begin to revolve at light speed, wondering what she should say, how much, and that big intake of breath. She didn’t surprised me.

“Are you sexually active?”

“I’m still a virgin, if that’s what you mean?”

A look of relief came over her features, and she seemed to relax. “There are other ways to have sex than intercourse, you know.”

If she thought that I already knew why was she bringing it up now?

“We’ve never talked much about sex, passed the basics,” she continued, “but now that your thinking about it, I think it’s time we really discuss it.”

Oh goody, that mother–daughter embarrassing talk, but I was well passed that. I knew about the birds and the bees . . . learned in high school how that worked. Most of us girls had a definite idea anyway. Knew what boys wanted, and I hadn’t given in or out as the case may be . . . until Jeff, and he hadn’t yet received the ultimate.

“Being curious is a normal reaction. There’s a lot of myths about sex, what’s normal, and what’s not. I’m pleased, that you’ve waited. Sex is something that’s very personal, not to be given lightly. After that three day horrible episode with the bus accident, and as much as you’ve been seeing this Jeff Morrison, we’d thought maybe . . . but enough of that.”

I wondered what those talks had been like, and what they’d think knowing what had actually taken place. Think I’ll keep those thoughts to myself for the time being.

“Your dad and I, as I’ve said, have a very good relationship. We do what comes naturally in our desire to please each other. I will admit some of the things we now do, have not always been on our schedule. Early in marriage much of what took place was experimentation, just as you and your future husband will eventually. People’s needs change.”

“I heard that sexual activity diminishes the older we get,” I said, wondering when theirs was going to slake off.

“Not your dad’s, and surely not mine, as I’m sure you know.”

Holy shit! Did she know I could hear them at night?

“We didn’t want you to grow up thinking sex was something to be afraid of, or not natural. Still, we didn’t want to throw it right in your face either. Let you know gradually.”

“Is that why your bed is so close to my wall?”

This stopped her. The blue eye’s I so loved, wished I had been born with, widened with what I thought unquestionable shock.

“Oh, my god no. I wasn’t aware. You can hear?”

“Mother, we’re head to head, the walls are thin, I hear everything, even through a pillow stuck in my ears.”

“I’m so sorry, Carla. I had no idea. We’ll fix that, I promise. I was talking about your dad’s and my relationship . . . of not hiding our love for each other. It’s just that we’ve always been open, not afraid to show our true affection for each other, a hug here, a little pat there.”

Actually, if she really wanted to know, I enjoyed the last time they had sex, but she might think I’m perverted, needed analyzing.

“Remember,” I said, “when I asked if anal sex hurt?”

Mother opened her mouth but before she could speak, I added, “you said only whore’s and prostitutes did that, but I heard what you said to dad.”

Her mouth closed.

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Why?”

“Because of what other people might say and think of you.”

“But if you and dad practice it, it can’t be bad.”

Mother looked as if scalding water had just been thrown, and her eyes had wet sparkles in them, turning red rimmed. I suddenly wished I hadn’t mentioned anal sex.

“I’m not fond of the practice,” she said in a whisper, getting up and pouring from a bottle labeled Vodka.

“Then why do you allow it?”

For a moment, I didn’t think she was going to answer, instead she took a long taste from her glass.

“When you love someone as much as I do your dad, you do things you might not consider otherwise,” she said.

“If you were married to someone else, you might not–do it.”

“That’s possible, yes.”

“You get no pleasure from it?”

“I get pleasure from pleasing your dad.”

“But?”

“Carla, after today we shall not ever speak of this particular act.”

I wanted to blurt out that I received pleasure from it, why didn’t she? But I couldn’t. “Can we talk of other things involving sex?”

“If you have questions, and I can answer, of course.”

“Then, why are we so different?”

Her eyebrows developed a tiny flicker, pinched together for just a mini-second.

“You and me?”

“Well, no, people in general, their likes and dislikes.”

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