MARIE (1 of 13)
FRIAR DAVE
Today -- May 31, 1997 -- I begin posting -- reposting, really, but
it's been several months -- MARIE. There should be 13 parts in all. I
will concatenate the posts to minimize the occasional Net lapse that
result in someone not getting a chapter.
This contains extensive and intensely graphic descriptions of sexual
activity, frequently involving a young -- even preteen -- female and
young and adult men and women. There is some rather graphic non-
consensual sex and some violence. There's a bit of same-sex activity.
You've been warned.
The woman you are about to meet is a real person. I emphasize the
second word -- person. This story is based on verbatim notes taken
during several interviews, during which she consulted the rather
detailed diaries she's kept for most of her life. The alterations --
names, locations, professions -- are only to protect identities. The
young woman in the story is extremely unusual: bright, articulate,
thoughtful, mature far beyond her years, poised, analytical and gifted
with a discernible talent for describing people, events and
situations. We -- she and I -- would like to think her memoirs will be
revealing and educational.
I ask only two things: that if you archive and or repost these, that
you do not edit it or excerpt it in any way -- including removing my
byline or the footer I've tagged to the end.
And please do not charge anyone anything for access to any of my
postings, either in original or archived form.
As always, I welcome all criticism and suggestions. And we -- she and
I -- hope every single last one of you who can afford to do so will
support R.A.I.N. (Please don't ask what that is until you've read the
final, 13th chapter.)
MARIE
(copyright, the author)
CHAPTER ONE
(MARIE01.STY)
[The first time? No, I don't want to talk about that. Maybe later --
I doubt it, though. But not now --
[The first time I liked -- Oh. Okay.]
I was living in Toledo, on the East Side. There was Dad, Mom, my two
sisters and my two younger brothers. It was a big old house, with
brown shingle siding and a little yard. I was -- let's see... 10, by a
couple of months. It was late May. My birthday is in August.
I was always sensual -- and I don't mean "sexual." I enjoyed sensual
pleasures: the taste of ice cold pop, the smell of fresh-cut rhubarb,
the shock of fresh snow rubbed on my face, the heat of the good sun
baking into me. I could lay for hours simply rubbing the satin edging
on a blanket or close my eyes and nearly faint from the ripe smell of
popping corn.
Anyhow, I was 10-1/2 and finishing the sixth grade at St. Cornelius
school. We didn't have much money, but Mom clipped coupons and Dad
worked an extra night job so all of us could go to Catholic school.
I was a fair student -- I hated to study -- and did alright. But in
the spring of my sixth-grade year, two things happened.
For one, I discovered I could write. It was an accident --
"serendipity," is what my phantom stepbrother would have called it --
because I wrote a composition on assignment. It was about springtime.
And I had a teacher, Sister Jannera, who talked to me about it. She
recognized that I had a talent for words, and she took it upon herself
to encourage this. I can't completely convey what a remarkable thing
it was. For one thing, I was only 10-and-change; for another, I was a
girl. This was 1965 in a blue collar section of a so-called city not
known for its sophistication, and she was teaching in a Catholic
school -- a bastion of conservatism. For her to recognize my talent
and then encourage it was amazing; no other word is really
appropriate.
[My phantom stepbrother? Oh, okay. Mom was Dad's second wife. His
first had left him -- I think he drove her away -- about six years
before. My stepbrother, Dan, was -- is, really -- five years older
than me. He's not just smart; he's scary smart. He -- Oh, never mind.
He's also very sweet and sexy. And inhibited, unfortunately. Anyhow,
he used to visit about once a year, from New York, where he lived with
his mom.]
The second thing that happened was -- Well, you may have noticed I
have these tits, hahaha! I started, shall we say, "developing," when I
was 10 -- Anyhow, I wasn't much past 10. By May of that year, I had
noticeable tits, noticeable even dressed in my white starched St.
Cornelius blouse and plaid skirt. As a shorter than average sixth
grader with a "cute" -- I hated that word even then -- round little
face, they seemed bigger than they were.
Oh, sure, I'd asked about a bra -- at the dinner table, like a dope.
Dad laughed and said that with a bra, I'd look like I'd been bitten by
two mosquitoes. Sweet, eh? But by May, I had gen-u-wine little tits,
not just mounds of baby fat. I remember using the Sears catalog as a
guide to take my measurements. Sears decreed that I needed a 25-A cup
at 10-and-change. Of course, there was no such thing as a 25-A bra,
just those stupid -- and too small -- training bras. The rest of me
hadn't developed yet, which made my boobs more noticeable, since I had
a 19-inch waist and 24-inch hips.
So, anyhow, every summer, the church held this carnival -- lots of
games of chance and, of course, bingo -- as a fund-raiser and there
was--
[What? Oh, yeah, that's significant because that's when I started
keeping a diary. A journal, as my phantom stepbrother would put it.]
Segue to summer. All during the last weeks of school and the first
weeks of summer, the more 'advanced' boys had been trying to get close
to me -- or, more precisely, my tits. So here it was, late July and
the preteen training bra -- the only thing I could get that was small
enough for my bust measurement -- was just a little tight in the
elastic for me, especially in casual garb. If you recall, cutoff tee-
shirts had become popular in the summer of '65. That's significant.
The carnival was only four streets away, but Dad and Mom spent a lot
of time there. Dad was an electrician, and Mom was a great little
organizer, and the tow of them were always over at the church.
Everyone said they were terrific. Of course, no one thought to ask
them about the kids --
[Yeah, it is kind of a cheap shot. There's a reason.]
Anyhow, it was the Thursday before Memorial Day. Back then, we didn't
have these arranged three-day weekends, Memorial Day fell on Saturday,
so everyone got beat on the holiday. I couldn't get too annoyed,
though. We were in final exams and when you finished your exam, you
were cut loose for the day. I finished my last exam at a quarter past
11 on Thursday morning, and after that, I was free to enjoy the
sudden, midsummer-like heat wave that had hit Toledo.
As soon as I got home, I changed into my two-piece suit and a cutoff
tee-shirt. I pulled on a pair of loose white shorts and slipped into
my sandals, grabbed my Coppertone, then went down the block to Lisa's
house. We were best friends, even though she went to Rossford Public.
She was already finished with school for the summer. Lisa had a big
ol' Coleco above-ground pool in the back yard, out behind and to one
side of the garage.
[The tee-shirt? I couldn't wear the halter for my suit in public; it
was too small. It was this little bit of stretch fabric and I would
have looked like an advertisement for baby sex. Besides, it cut into
me and hurt. It's not like I had really big tits or anything -- not
like later -- but on top of my little-girl waist and little-girl hips,
even the little boobies I had were really noticeable. They seemed
bigger than they really were.
[Look, these days it's not that unusual for a girl to start budding
when she's 10 years old. In 1965, it was pretty rare, and no bathing
suit company provided for it, because people wouldn't buy them -- they
couldn't admit that their little honey-pies might be growing full-size
tits that young. And think about this: If they wouldn't admit to
themselves what they could see with their own eyes, how well do you
think they dealt with explaining the facts of life to a 10-year-old,
let alone talking about love, commitment, birth control or venereal
disease? So in '65, when you grew tits at ten, you learned the
unpleasant way -- usually, from grubby-fingered assholes who just
wanted to squeeze a boob. Okay?]
When I got to Lisa's house, Brenda -- her older sister -- was just on
her way out. Brenda was 16 and had this terrific figure and was real
pretty, and boys were always after her. She was going to the marina
where someone was taking her out on a boat for a ride on the Maumee.
Anyhow, Brenda told me Lisa had gone with her mom to the new mall,
over on Woodville Road, but I was welcome to hang out and swim. She
left, and I took her up on the offer. I figured the place was empty,
since Jerry -- he was 13 then -- had a route delivering the Toledo
Blade in the afternoons.
I raided their fridge for a beer. Yeah, a beer at the age of 10. I'd
had sips and even a half a small glass at cookouts at home, but I was
feeling a bit flaky and adventurous, so I took the churchkey and
popped a can of Blatz. Then I changed and went out back. I was going
to get wet and then lay on the picnic table near the bushes and start
my tan. I'm a lot darker than any of my brothers or sisters and I tan
well. Besides, I liked just laying there and letting the sun soak into
me.
But the bathing suit top was still tight on me and just before I went
out, I took it off. There was a girl in the seventh grade who already
had real big boobs and her life was miserable. The girls didn't trust
her, the boys her own age always giggled, and older boys were always
grabbing her. I remember hoping mine weren't going to grow like that.
Wearing just the cutoff tee-shirt and the bottoms, I went out. I
slipped into the pool. I knew the tee-shirt would be plastered to me,
but with the tall bushes all around the yard, I figured there was no
one to stare. I bobbed around in the pool for a few minutes, then got
out and lay on a towel on the picnic table. I rolled up the bottom of
the tee-shirt till my tits were almost showing and then just lay
there, enjoying the sun's weight. Every now and then I took a draw on
the beer and eventually emptied it.
After a while, I rolled onto my belly. The towel bunched up a bit
between my thighs, but I was feeling too lethargic to do anything
about it. Besides, one of the folds was right under my little pussy,
and the pressure on my clit felt nice and tingly.
Anyhow, I looked around: No one in sight. I pulled off my tee-shirt
and lay flat. The sun was so heavy on me that I dozed off. I don't
know how long I slept.
Suddenly, my eyes were open. What had awakened me? I figure it was the
sound of Jerry putting his bike in the garage, because he was striding
toward the back steps. He was wearing sneakers, cutoff jean shorts and
nothing else, if you don't count the newspaper bag and the rubber pad
for his shoulder, where the strap rested.
I don't know what possessed me. Probably it was a 12-ounce can of beer
in a 62-pound body that had been baking in the sun for too long.
"Hi, Jerry."
He froze in midstep, turned and spotted me.
Jerry was 13 and really had a nice build, all lean and with his belly
like a washboard, and he was cute. He had lots of curly dark hair --
all plastered down by sweat, at that moment -- and his jeans were real
tight. I mean, you could practically see his ... stuff through them.
He looked at me, blinked and stared -- and his jeans got snugger.
I liked the way they got tighter. "Would you do me a favor?"
"Sure, Marie."
"C'mere."
He shifted the carrier bag around so it hid the good stuff. I was
already feeling a definite urge, though, and hiding his crotch only
left more to the imagination.
He stopped about three steps from me, standing slightly behind me.
Didn't matter; I knew what he was looking at.
"Would you mind putting some lotion on my back?" I folded my arms and
rested my face on my forearms. I knew that folding my arms revealed
the sides of my little tits to him, and I knew he was staring at them.
I heard the carrier bag hit the grass, and then I heard the cap coming
off the Coppertone. The bottle had been in the hot sun, and the oil
was warm and sensuous. He poured some right in the middle of my back,
between my shoulder blades. He rubbed it around in about a two-inch
circle. Shy.
""More? Please?"
"...sure."
Slowly, the circle widened. I raised myself slightly to rest on my
elbows, momentarily revealing most of my tits to anyone who was paying
attention. And he was paying attention, because the spreading of
lotion hesitated, then became erratic. I let myself back down flat on
the towel.
"Lower please?"
By now, his hands were wandering closer to my sides. He froze for a
moment, then more oil hit my back, and he started working it lower,
into the small of my back and down to the beginning swells of my
little butt. I reached back with both hands and rolled the top of my
suit bottom down about half-way, maybe less.
I could hear his breathing as he lightly rubbed the oil on the upper
slopes of my ass. I flexed my butt a little, and his breathing got
heavier.
"That feels so good, and I feel so lazy ...." I parted my legs
slightly. "Would you mind doing my legs? I can reach them, but your
hands feel so good -- "
" ... sure."
He started at my ankles and worked his way up my legs. I have good
legs and always have. He was enjoying kneading the taut muscles, and I
was enjoying the manipulation. I let my legs part more when he reached
my knees, and the higher his hands went on the insides of my thighs,
the better I liked it and the more my legs opened. Part of what let me
like what was happening was that he was a little intimidated by it, I
was the leader and the aggressor, so I was in control. This was new,
and I liked it.
And then he was massaging the lotion into the smooth flesh adjacent to
the crotch of my suit ... and his fingers began to brush my now-soaked
slit through the material. I hummed tunelessly and pushed up and back
a little. He took the encouragement and worked one finger under the
edge of my snug suit and began rubbing my cunt lips. It felt great. I
raised my butt a little, but he didn't know what I was seeking.
"Mmmmmm -- hold your finger right there for a minute," I said. He
froze, undoubtedly afraid I was going to stop him. Wrong-o, Jerry.
I pressed my cunny down so my clit was rubbed against his finger. I
gasped, "Right -- there -- is the -- place -- okay?"
He started rubbing my swollen little clittie, and it wasn't more than
30 seconds before I was groaning, and my hips were moving. Another 30
seconds and I was clenched in a tight little orgasm. I shook for a
moment, then relaxed back onto the towel. My hips were still moving,
and his finger had lost its place. Now he was probing my cunt lips,
trying to find the opening.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said soothingly. I reached blindly behind me and
felt his hard belly, then trailed my hand down to catch the waistband
of his cutoffs in my fingers. "C'mere." I led him around to stand
beside the pool table and turned my head to face him. The bulge in his
cutoffs was impressive. I ran my hand down to it and pressed it
through the denim. He sucked in a breath.
"I liked that," I said. "Did you like it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Do you jerk off?"
"... I guess."
"You're not sure?"
He blushed madly. "Well, sure."
"What do you think about when you jerk off?"
I was rubbing my hand back and forth over that promising bulge.
"You know -- doing it."
"With whom?"
"Girls."
"Any particular girls?" I rubbed a little faster.
"Not really." He was lying.
"What do they look like?"
"Y'know -- all grown up."
"With big tits."
"Yeah."
I rolled onto my side. He stared at my tits. I sat up, fought off a
moment of wooziness caused by the heat of the sun, the heat in my
crotch and the single beer. His eyes followed my tits, drawn to them
as if they were magnets. I brought my other hand over and unsnapped
the waist of his jeans. I tugged the zipper down and then pushed his
shorts down. He was bare underneath them. His cock came out, so stiff
it was almost bouncing off his belly. It was a nice 13-year-old's
cock, about five or six inches long and average thick. He had some
nice soft hair around the base of it, and his balls looked hard and
tight. I gripped his dick lightly -- the first time I ever touched a
hard, naked penis; I felt a little sizzle of excitement run through me
-- and began sliding my hand on it. His knees began to tremble.
"Bigger tits than mine, huh?"
"You have real nice tits for a kid -- " he blurted. "I've been
watching -- "
He suddenly realized what he was saying and clamped his mouth shut.
"So you've been watching me, huh? Looking at my tits, huh?"
He nodded. I skinned my hand up and down his cock quickly a couple of
times, then stopped and wriggled out of my bottoms. I sat naked in the
sun on the picnic table in front of him.
"Would you like me to jerk you off?" I asked, again gripping his dick.
"Would you like to touch my tits and my cunt again?"
He nodded.
"Then I want you to do something for me." I stood on the grass beside
him. He was much taller than me. He smelled of sweat and Coppertone
and excitement.
"Anything!'
"I want you to kiss my pussy -- right where you were rubbing with your
finger."
"You mean -- with my mouth? Down there?" He sounded dubious.
I nodded. "Lay down on the picnic table, and you kiss me down there
while I jerk you off."
"I dunno," he said. "I can jerk myself off."
"So can I, but I can't lick my own pussy."
"And I can't suck my own dick..." That sudden boldness surprised me,
but not enough to put me off. His hands were wandering over my tits.
He was surprisingly gentle after the first careful squeezes -- testing
their firmness -- and his caresses were exciting me even more. When he
began playing with my nipples, I decided.
"Alright," I said. "I'll suck you, and you suck me."
He nodded and stepped out of his cutoffs, then climbed on the picnic
table and lay back on the towel. His dick throbbed furiously in the
sunlight as I climbed over him, facing his feet. I straddled his chest
with my knees and back up. He was so much bigger than I that my legs
were quite wide open. I felt his hot breath on my mound and stretched
forward till his dick was touching my mouth.
He began to kiss and lick my cunt, and I gasped and opened my mouth.
He hunched his hips up, and about half his hard teenage dick was in my
mouth. I closed my lips around his dick as he closed his hands around
my little butt, and then I closed my eyes and sucked for oil. I didn't
know -- then -- all the little movements that make a good cocksucker,
but this kid didn't notice. I put my hands on his hips to moderate the
thrashing of his fucking movements and sucked and pulled with my lips.
I knew it was going to be about 20 seconds before he came.
Even so, I started cumming first. He didn't know anything about cunt-
licking, but he knew how I responded the first time his tongue brushed
my clit, and he knew I sucked harder when he did that, so he got a
liplock on the little bud and went to town, trilling his tongue tip
over it as fast as he could.
I started cumming and didn't stop, not even when he worked one finger
into my cunt. I felt a little tension and a moment of discomfort,
nothing more, and I was distantly surprised it hadn't hurt more. But
since I was on top, and I wasn't being controlled or forced or
anything -- well, it really didn't bother me. On the contrary -- my
pussy grabbed that finger and squeezed it. I came then as I cum now:
clenched and almost frozen, bucking toward the source of pleasure --
in this case, his lips and tongue and finger.
The combination of that finger-fucking and his prolonged arousal along
with my desperate sucking sent him over the edge. His hips jerked,
driving half his dick into my mouth, and then he was cumming. I hadn't
planned to swallow, but there was no escape before he started to flow,
and I swallowed by reflex, and then the deed was done, so I kept at
it.
His semen was so thick!
I was sucking and cumming, and he was licking and cumming, and both of
us were moaning and cumming. I kept swallowing -- it was swallow or
drown -- and he kept cumming, more than I'd suspected was possible.
When he finally stopped spurting, I sucked as hard as I could, and
from somewhere in his teenage balls summoned forth a last gob of
sperm. He groaned and his hands fell away from my butt as I released
his spent -- but still half-hard -- dick from my spermy lips.
I lay sprawled on him in the hot sun for a few minutes, my pussy
backed against the underside of his chin, and my hips slowly,
languidly revolved. His dick stayed half-hard against the side of my
face.
Finally I climbed off him and got down to the grass. It felt crinkly
and warm between my toes. I was still tingling.
He sat up slowly, as if exhausted. His face was slick with my juices,
as were the insides of my thighs. I gathered my stuff -- and the empty
Blatz can -- and turned to him. He was climbing down from the table.
"I need to clean up, Jerry. Can I use the shower in the basement?" I
knew about it because when I stayed over with his sister, we
frequently sat up in their basement recreation room -- such as it was
-- as late as we could get away with.
He nodded. "Sure. You know where everything is?"
I reached out and gently stroked his half-hard dick a couple of times.
"I do now." His prick began hardening again: Thirteen.
He took his shorts and stuffed them in his delivery bag, and we
scurried into the house. I headed down the basement stairs for the
shower. I heard him climbing the stairs to the second floor, to his
room. I knew there was a full bathroom up there and figured he'd use
that one and I'd use the one downstairs, and that would be that.
I figured wrong.
===============================================================
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag. For
information about The Abbey, a spam-free place for writers and
readers of adult material to gather, email Friar...@mhbbs.com.
================================================================
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
---
MHBBS (212-683-1448). For email replies, remove the "*" before MHBBS.COM.