MARIE (13 of 13; 1 of 4)
FRIAR DAVE
MARIE
(copyright, the author)
(MARIE13.STY)
CHAPTER 13
I went crazy that year, 1969. The whole country was going crazy, and I
guess that just made me feel like I had to get even crazier. In May, I
was out catching some rays -- sunning myself -- on one of those
strange Ohio May days when it feels more like August. I was wearing
pieces of two separate bikinis, so I almost had one that fit, for a
change. Not that I had a choice in the matter. The Toledo police were
cracking down on everyone for exposing themselves or even hinting at
it, so the black bikini covered my tits almost completely and most of
my ass.
So this guy comes up to me. He's got two cameras and a camera bag, and
he's got a card, with his picture on it, hanging around his neck,
identifying him as WORKING PRESS and an employee of THE TOLEDO BLADE.
He wanted to take my picture for the Peach Section.
[The Blade's entertainment pages are printed on this peach-color
paper. It's got movie listings and the TV and the comics and columns
like Earl Wilson --
[He is? Oh. Well, it's got Erma Bombeck and whoever in it. And they
always run pictures of girls in bathing suits. Local girls in the warm
weather, Australian or Brazilian girls in the winter months. They run
the editorials bitching about sex magazines in another section of the
paper.]
Well, laying out in the sun on a May afternoon had me feeling kind of
Who-cares? so I said sure, and he took about 2,000 pictures, and then
he gives me this release to sign. I read it all the way through and
told him I couldn't sign it, because of the part where I was supposed
to attest that I was 18.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen??!!?" His eyes were on my tits.
I nodded. "Sorry."
"Listen, get your mother or father to sign it, okay?"
I shrugged. His eyes bugged out, because the bikini usually covered
me, but all warranties were off when I moved like that. He jammed the
paper in my hand and stalked away, muttering.
Mom was okay about signing the release, but Dad threw a shit-fit. He
was ranting and raving about showing girls naked (hah!) and sinful
lust (hah! hah!) and the temptations of the flesh, et cetera, et
cetera, ad hypocritical nauseam. And eventually agreed.
Mom signed.
The pictures ran, and I became something of a celebrity at school.
Marie The Brain Shows Her Assets. Marie The Honor Student Featured In
Local Paper. All This And Brains, Too. I guess 30 guys hit on me
between the time the pictures ran, the Tuesday before Memorial Day,
and the arrival of my Phantom Stepbrother, on July 2.
And, in the interim, I got myself scouted. I guess my picture got
around, because it was like all of a sudden, the rest of the world
discovered we had sexy girls in Toledo. Naturally, since my age had
been clearly hinted at, only two people approached me. One guy called
on the phone and wanted to know if I had any older sisters willing to
model for a magazine layout. I told him no, not really, and he thanked
me, told me I was a beautiful girl and wished me good luck with
school!
[Eventually, he did find a model whose pictures ran that December.
[You remember her name? All I remember is she had gazongas even bigger
than mine! I didn't catch up with her until -- Oh, never mind.]
The other one came up to me while I was walking to the store. He
offered me a LOT of money to do a layout...or maybe even a movie. I
said no thank you, remembering that OTHER movie and those OTHER
pictures and continued about my business.
When my Phantom Stepbrother finally arrived, I was out on my first
date in about four months -- some otherwise-forgettable guy from the
Latin Club -- so I got to greet him when I came home. He was the only
one awake, about one in the morning. I was wearing this really decent
A-line miniskirt that emphasized my legs, rather than my boobs, which
were up to 34-D and were absolutely ridiculous on my 4-foot-10 frame.
He looked like shit.
"What's the matter, big brother?"
He took his arms from around me, where they had been ignorantly
rekindling my interest in men in general and him in particular and
said, "Nothin'. How was your date?"
"A bore. What's been bugging you? Love life? School?"
"Sort of both. I dunno. Want something to eat?" He turned toward the
kitchen, those wonderful wide shoulders slumping.
I wanted to grab him by the waist and spin him around and demand an
explanation, but I was afraid to. I watched him shuffle into the
kitchen and dispiritedly begin opening and closing cupboard doors.
"Want some Tide?" he asked and laughed pathetically at his semi-
witticism. Something was desperately wrong. My Phantom Stepbrother had
not immediately seized on his peanut butter-and-jelly? Call the
hospital!
I took matters into my own hands by getting two beers from the fridge,
handing him one and confessing that I really needed to talk about
something. As soon as he heard that, it was like someone turned on a
circuit inside him. His eyes focused on me, he straightened up and led
me by the hand into the TV room.
[The only time the "living room" got used was when we had a lot of
company or someone was staying over...like him.]
"So what's the matter?" he asked, taking a single sip of the beer --
and then putting it down and ignoring it. I gave him some cock-and-
bull story about a guy I thought was cute being a genuine asshole,
concocting the tale as I went and trying to tailor it to what I
guessed was his idea of what a sweet girl from Ohio would have to deal
with in Love and Life. Mostly, though, I was trying to spot something
in my story that he would react to, something that would give me a
hint of what was bugging him.
By three in the morning, I still hadn't gotten a flicker from him. At
some point, I had traded my A-line for my bathrobe and --
[No, I don't remember exactly.]
-- and I was sipping my fourth beer and he still looked like hell.
I decided to give it a shot.
"Dan, what's wrong?"
"Huh?"
"You look like you've just lost your best friend. What's bugging you?"
"...Nothin'."
I shook my head more violently than I'd intended. "If you don't tell
me what's wrong, I'm going to take off my robe, my bra and my panties
right here in front of you!"
[Yeah, well, you have four beers and see a person you love in agony,
and you'll do whatever it takes, too. Okay?]
He stared at me for a minute, a very long minute, and then said,
"Okay, you want to know -- I'll tell you! My girlfriend just dumped me
for a guy with the IQ of asphalt...because he has a red Corvette. I've
been accepted to every college I applied to but can't afford any of
them. I think I'm going to let my student deferment expire."
The first two items were Bad News, but the last one made my eyes bug
out. I stared at him, stunned. Dan was going to subject himself to the
draft? No!
"But -- why?"
"Because it's wrong," he muttered. "It's not fair."
"But the war -- "
[The War was Vietnam, of course. It was just getting into high gear as
a grinding machine.]
"The war is wrong." His eyes were slitted and furious. I hadn't seen
him that mad since he beat up the guys on the porch. "'Sure, he's a
son of a bitch, but he's *our* son of a bitch.' Is that anything like
a good reason to pave a big portion of Asia?" He shook his head. "No.
But the draft is wrong, even wrong-er."
"What if they call you? What'll you do?"
"I don't know. Probably go to jail. But I won't kill to support 'our
son of a bitch.' I can think of a lot of reasons to kill, too many,
but that isn't one of them." He picked up his beer -- flat and warm by
now -- and drained it.
"But guys *are* dying for 'our son of a bitch.' We've got a Gold Star
mother down the block from me."
He was confusing me. "How can you be against it and object to the
draft and -- What are you talking about?"
He gave me that odd smile of his. "And the thing that really scares me
is that I love the guys who go over there and fight, because they're
doing what they think is right. They don't like it, but they do it,
and I love and respect them because I don't know if I'd have the
guts." He stood and stared at me. "I revere the warriors, but I hate
the war. Make any sense?"
I shook my head.
"Not to me, either. Which is one of the things that's bugging me." He
put on a happy face for me. "Don't worry, little Marie; I'll be okay."
I didn't believe him, but I knew there was no point in arguing. And I
wanted nothing more than to just take him in my arms and tell him --
truthfully -- that everything would be Alright. What happened, though,
was that we went to bed -- separately, of course; I'd almost given up
on that count -- and he spent most of his visit making the rounds of
relatives and the night before he left, I met Gary.
I never figured out what it was that made me respond to his pick-up
line. "What's your sign?" How tired can it get? And he wasn't
particularly good-looking, either. He was almost 20, six years older
than me, and had dropped out of high school. He worked for a service
station out on Monroe Street, where he was (I was told) a very good
mechanic. His deepest reading was the sports page and his main hobby,
aside from fixing cars, was weight-lifting.
But he met me at Bargain City, where I was looking at beach towels and
Mom was getting a broom or something, He asked me out, and I agreed
and that was that.
We went out to a pizza-and-beer-and-billiards place near Clay Center.
I was wearing a pair of old jeans and a vest that buttoned up the
front. We danced a lot, and it was nice, and when he kissed me out
back, near the trees, that was nice, too. Nice -- not magic. He
started feeling me up, and I was feeling pretty horny so I went along
with it.
And then it got magical. He always seemed to know exactly how to touch
me, exactly where and when, like he could sense what I wanted just
before I did. Inside of about five minutes, I was soaking wet and hot
enough to glow. I started running my hands over his brawny chest under
his shirt and then rubbed his crotch. He had one big dick, and it was
rock-hard. I unzipped his jeans and pulled them and his shorts down.
His cock was absolutely gorgeous. I guess it was about eight or nine
inches long, but it was thick, too, almost as fat as my wrist. I kind
of bent at the waist and started kissing and sucking it and then
dropped to my knees. I was not letting that nice prick out of my
mouth.
As I sucked his cock, I started digging one hand down into my jeans. I
was really hot! He was resting his hands on my head, just caressing
me, and he wasn't trying to ram his dick into my throat. But I knew he
was awfully turned on, because he kept gasping and moaning.
Then he warned me that he was going to cum, which was considerate of
him. I wanted that big cock inside my hot cunt, but I was pretty sure
that'd happen anyhow, so I just latched on with my lips and sucked and
licked as well as I could.
His dick suddenly swelled up even bigger and then he came. Wow! Did he
ever! Most guys don't cum that much, really -- maybe a teaspoon or
two. Not Gary! His first spurt was huge and long, and it seemed like it
went on forever, like he was pissing cum. I had to swallow and then
there was another blast, just as big! I was surprised and so turned on
by this I thought it was going to make me cum. I swallowed again and
kept sucking him, and he shot three more times, each of them more like
what most guys' first ejaculations are like. And it was thick, too,
with a very smooth consistency -- almost like some kind of gel. I
liked the taste, and I liked the consistency, and that's not always
the case, let me tell you!
By the time he'd finished cumming, some of his semen had leaked out
around my lips. I was kind of dazed and wiped it off on the back of my
hand. I stood, one hand still in my jeans, and grabbed his prick. It
hadn't shrunk much. I started stroking it.
"Dammit, girl, that was great," he whispered.
"C'mon, do something for me," I whined. "I need it!"
He just picked me up and carried me over to where an old wooden
double-swing was hanging off a tree. He set me down on the swing,
pulled my jeans and panties down, got on his knees and started eating
me. He didn't grab my tits first or anything else. Just zip, strip and
eat.
Again -- it was exactly what I was craving, even more than his dick,
at the moment.
Gary wasn't a great pussy-eater, even for a guy, but he was
enthusiastic and attentive. He ate me for a few minutes, sucking on my
clit a little harder than I liked, and after I'd cum a couple of
times, he raised his glistening face and asked if I wanted to fuck,
now.
I was too horny to talk. I grabbed his hair and pulled him up to his
feet. His dick was rock-hard again, already -- goody! Because of the
difference in our sizes, I wondered how we were going to accomplish
this without a bed. Gary, as I discovered, was either experienced in
this locale or very clever. He got me on my knees, leaning over the
back of the swing with my butt sticking out. Then he walked up behind
me and got into position.
I remember the first time I felt his cock against my pussy, even now,
and it still makes me wet to think of it. He rubbed that fat knob up
and down and muttered about maybe it would be too small and this would
hurt -- and then he said, "I gotta have you!" His voice was just
dripping with lust, and even if I'd had doubts, I knew I had to have
him, after that.
"Just fuck me!" I said, but it came out like a moan.
Gary held me and that swing in place with one big hand, and with the
other hand he started stuffing his prick into me. As wet and as horny
as I was, it was still a stretch, and I moaned again as I felt it push
into me. When the knob was inside me, I started to cum again, panting
and humping back at him. He grabbed me by the hips and pumped back at
me, going in deeper each time.
I guess he was getting about two-thirds of the way into me when I
really started to cum. What an orgasm! It just seemed endless, ebbing
and flowing a bit but never completely stopping. His dick was rubbing
something inside me that just sent electricity all through my body.
He was really squeezing my hips, too, holding them tighter and tighter
while he fucked me harder and deeper, there under the night sky. I
could feel his wonderful balls smack against me now, and his prick
felt like it was pushing my insides out of shape, and it was
wonderful.
"Cum in me!" I told him. "It's okay! Cum in me!" I really wanted to
feel his load in my cunt.
Almost on command, his cock swelled longer and thicker, really filling
my pussy. He stayed deep in me, just fucking very fast with these
short, tiny strokes. I was cumming like crazy when I felt his first
spurt inside me -- and believe me, I FELT it.
It was a huge load, as if he hadn't cum gallons just a few minutes
before, and it filled my already full cunt and started dripping out
around his cock. He spasmed inside me again, and it was another big
shot, and now I was cumming so hard I could barely think, and his jism
was just drooling out of my cunt onto his balls and my thighs.
He came again and again, jerking me and the swing on his prick. When
he finally stopped cumming inside me, I didn't stop cumming on him. I
couldn't stop cumming until he finally slipped his prick out me.
I was too weak to move yet, so I just knelt there with all this stuff
pouring out of me. I still felt kind of like I was cumming for a few
minutes. He sat next to me on the old swing and pulled me against him.
I was limp and so, finally, was his dick. I just kind of sprawled in
his arms, my back to him, and for the first time he put his hands
under my vest and bra and played with my tits. Well, not played, so
much, as just kind of gentled them, the way you'd pet a scared puppy.
After that, we couldn't get enough of each other. When we couldn't see
each other, we were on the phone, getting each other hot and bothered
-- even masturbating.
It was totally physical. I mean, he was a nice enough guy, but dull --
outside of sex. When we were together alone, we hardly spoke; we just
stripped and fucked. Sometimes we didn't strip, because we were in too
much of a hurry. Sometimes we weren't even alone. He shared an old
house with two other guys, over by Wallbridge. They were all into
weight-training and none of them was exceptionally bright or
ambitious. Many times, Gary and I would be banging away in his room,
and I could hear the television or record player through the closed
door.
The thing that as amazing was his virility. We kept count a couple of
times. He came five times in one session that started at four in the
afternoon and didn't end till eleven that night -- and he was hard all
the time and still hard when he took me home. Gary told me he'd always
gotten hard pretty fast, but never like he did with me. That was fine
by me, because I wanted him hard all the time!
[No, it wasn't so much that. I mean it was great to feel so filled up
by him, and his cock did hit some spot inside me that most don't, and
that made me cum a lot. But it wasn't so much that size thing you guys
always have. It was like a chemical thing, almost. Fero-whatchamacallits --
[Yeah, pheromones. I guess that was it.]
We tried everything, and I do mean everything. Sometimes he would just
hold me in the air with my back to him, his hands on my hips. He was
so big and strong, I could just let myself hang limp, and he would
fuck me back and forth on his cock. And I'd cum. Or I'd sort of crouch
over him, just his cock and my cunt touching, and I'd pump up and down
and squeeze him inside me. And I'd cum. Sometimes I'd hold as still as
I could and just try to milk his prick. And I'd cum.
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