(ASS) Marie Chapter Four part one of three parts
FRIAR DAVE
MARIE
By Friar Dave
(copyright, the author)
CHAPTER FOUR
(MARIE04.STY)
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 10-year-old girl and her 11-year-old sister
-- even if the 11-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. 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 25 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 19 inches and my hips were
just about 24 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 were the two girls always getting hit on by high school kids.
Dena was tall, about five-foot-three or -four, for her age 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 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.
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. Debby 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, and my 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 20 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 and him 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 it 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 sore 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, Darlene, was a lot like me in some ways. Darlene 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! Darlene 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 --
[Gangbang. When a girl fucks several guys in succession, that's
pulling a train.]
She was almost 13. She'd done it when she was 12, with a bunch of her
brother's friends.
Her brother, Tod, was a real asshole. He was 15 then. A real
blockhead. About six-foot-two, maybe 220 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 Darlene when she was nine.
Raping her is more like it. If Darlene was twisted, Tod was why.
Sometimes I wondered if she didn't provoke...No. I don't think any
nine-year-old girl knows enough to do that. And I think Darlene may
have been a little off, y'know?
Anyhow, Darlene 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 besides, they had a finished basement
with a pool table and stuff, and her folks were away a lot. 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. Darlene told me he was all messed up -- couldn't
sleep or eat or anything.
Roger was about 27 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 stepbrother; 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. Darlene 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. Darlene 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
Darlene 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.
Darlene 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 70 degrees, but there was a breeze. I wore a light
windbreaker and 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 handsaw 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 -- "
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