Grabbing the Brass Ring
An Erotic Story
I always thought of myself as unlucky. Maybe what
constitutes "being lucky" is more your perception of what's
happening to you and how you react to it, than external things.
I still thank David for showing me that if you take what
opportunities you are given, recognize them for what they are,
and GRAB them before they're gone, then you CAN grab the brass
ring. It turns out there are many brass rings . . . you just
have to recognize them when the carousel goes by.
Brass rings . . . I don't think they use them any more . . .
perhaps for safety reasons. They were one of the greatest
gimmicks and tricks of salesmanship ever invented. I remember
vividly the very first time . . . .
When I was 11, during the summertime, a carnival came to
town. Cheap food, cheap rides, and more ways to separate kids
and adults from their money almost painlessly. One of these
rides and ways was the carousel or merry-go-round, as us kids
called it. Gaily painted horses going up and down to cheesy
music. Just round and round. How could even a carny hope to
sell tickets to something as boring as that? But somebody
somewhere was a salesman.
I watched for a while; trying to figure where to spend my
meager supply of tickets that my parents being farmers could
afford to buy for me and my brother. It was then that I noticed
all the kids on the merry-go-round leaning WAY out each time they
came around and passed a pole that held a stack of rings like
mini-donuts in some kind of dispenser.
"What," I asked, "is going on?"
My father told me that it was the "brass ring"; and if you
managed to shag one from one of the ponies and held onto it, then
the carny operator would let you ride "for free" as long as you
wanted. Here I thought you just got a free ride.
I spent all 6 tickets trying to get that brass ring. It
wasn't out THAT far. But each time I'd think I almost had it,
the horse I was on would go up or down just enough to make me
miss. Once (about the third ride or ticket) I actually touched
one of the rings.
The ride operator was smart. By letting a few kids ride for
free, he kept a merry-go-round (basically the most boring ride at
the carny) full of kids trying to get the brass ring for
hours . . . this on a ride they probably wouldn't have otherwise
ridden more than once, if they got all the rides "for free".
I never did catch the brass ring; though I had a lot of fun
trying; and the kids in town talked about 'Catching the Brass
Ring' for weeks. I never saw that done on a carny again.
For years, I felt like I did that one time I ALMOST grabbed
the brass ring . . . unlucky; not like those lucky kids who did.
I never saw that I probably had more fun reaching for the ring,
than they did sitting bored going round and round and round
and . . .
1
I always kept wondering, "Why me?" Why did OTHER girls get
the brass ring, the handsome guy, the beautiful face and gorgeous
body; while I got stuck with a handicap that didn't even show so
other people could feel sympathy?
Life, love, and the luck of catching the brass ring was for
me to see others do; never something for me. I never realized
how lucky I was, until that day I went shopping . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
The pain slashed across me like a sharp knife cutting my
heart out; leaving me with a dull aching emptiness where it had
been.
"Oh no, not again!" I told myself; silently hoping that THIS
pain would leave like these emotions sometimes did. Only the
empty ache continued and grew stronger. Oh shit. This was the
very reason I came into town at night . . . to the one
convenience store that remained open until midnight. Long ago
the city had grown far to much for me to bear; and the
conflicting needs of almost a million people tearing me apart.
Here in the country, if I avoided going past the Morton place, I
was able to live with a life almost my own. Nothing had bothered
me this much in almost a year since Mike, the last of the
Daldridge twins, had finally gotten a girlfriend of his own,
under my tutelage. The aching needs of two excruciatingly horny
and somewhat jealous twins had almost torn me apart in the nine
and a half months it took to teach the two teenagers about sex
and how to attract a decent girl, instead of frightening her off
with the sheer intensity of their need for raw sex. It was a
wonder I hadn't gotten knocked-up in those first three weeks
before I brought the raging inferno of the two 13-year-old boys
down to the steady flame that would probably keep the Martin
girls happy and sexually satisfied for years. With that behind
me, I had HOPED to live MY life for at least a few months.
As another ache swept across my mind, I almost fainted from
the wordless aching, wanting, NEEDING, and yes (as usual)
unfulfilled sexual desire. I figured it was the latter that
probably woke the poor guy up and made him realize his loss again
in the middle of the night. Knowing this was small comfort
against the aching void that seemed to swell up until the room
started to fade, and I almost dropped the few necessities I had
gathered.
"Are you OK, Lady?" The warm worried care about ME brought
a measure of sanity back. Earlier I had only been peripherally
aware of the warm bumbling boredom of the clerk; slightly
intermixed with the normal teenaged horniness and a faint wish
hovering in the background that had to do with some kind of
erotic fantasy . . . probably having to do with either his
current girlfriend, or possibly an erotic book he read whenever
he was alone in the store. When I first arrived, I had been
tempted to ferret out the boy's secret stash by the old "hot and
cold" method I was so used to . . . only feeling the hot blush of
embarrassment of a teenager was NOT the sort of thing I usually
sought out . . . unless I was screamingly horny myself. The
affair with the twins had taken so much out of me, it would
probably be another week or two before my body insisted on its
needs instead of somebody else's.
2
"No . . . It's OK," I gasped; staggering upright. Somehow
it was refreshing to feel somebody else worrying about ME for a
change. I resolved to come back some night and help the kid
relieve the aching horniness that at present was just a pleasant
reminder of how good sex usually was. The next time I needed it,
and IF the kid was still working that night. He deserved a
reward for caring like that. I felt the worried bubble shrink a
little as I "put my face back on" and tried desperately to NOT
let the kid see the aching loneliness that swept over me like a
wave. "No . . . thanks anyway. I'll be all right in just a
second," I said; while fighting desperately to form my face into
the warm pleasant smile that I knew reassured others. If I
hadn't learned this by the time I was 10, the worries of my
family and yes even friends would have overwhelmed me. Yes, I
had friends. I HAD to have friends; learning early what made
people around me happy; from getting good grades for my mother,
looking sexy yet innocent for my father, (being his "little
princess") and being my big brother's "little sister" who he
could always count on to take HIS side; even taking his
punishments on occasion; with the happiness of my brother getting
out of some feared punishment battling with the sad letdown of my
father or mother, when once again I disappointed them.
I don't know if they found out what I was doing or not; but
one day when I claimed responsibility for another of my brother's
goofs, their sorrow at what I did seemed to grow almost without
bounds until I was weeping in a huddle in the middle of the
floor. I never got punished for that transgression; and never
again did my brother use me for a scapegoat; seeming to ache for
me almost as much as my parents did. Nobody in the family ever
either asked me or told me what happened that day, and I never
asked either of my parents until the day they died; leaving me
and Tom to ache together through almost a week of loss and pain.
The memory of HOW the two of us had helped each other over the
loss was the small comfort that was a barrier to the pain of
losing our parents. Thankfully my brother was a happily married
man; worried about his wife while he was away at the funeral, or
who knows what might have happened to the two of us. As it was,
I had been immeasurably relieved when my period came around three
days after Tom left me alone on the farm.
All this ran through my mind in far less time than it takes
to tell it; while I put on the happy laughing face that so
soothed other people's worries. I felt the boy's concern fade,
and his arousal rise, as a pretty girl smiled at him in a manner
that looked as if she enjoyed his company. Well, I DID; and if
that aching loneliness tearing my soul apart hadn't ripped
through my body again, I would almost have been tempted to take
the kid in the back room and . . . . shit. There I was doing it
again . . . letting some teenager's horny hormones get MY juices
flowing. What was really sad was that if I hadn't had more
urgent problems, he and I WOULD have made use of that back room,
and we BOTH would have had a good time.
3
Still, I managed to give the kid a smile that was almost
erotic; and licked my lips in a manner that genuinely was, before
I left; with a silent promise that I could tell he felt, from the
unexpected hope that swelled up in his chest; almost washing away
the boy's arousal in the sudden hope that a girl (woman) as
pretty as I am, would possibly NOT be turned off by his advances.
(OK . . . I'm not THAT pretty, slightly overweight and a big
nose. To a horny teenaged kid, anything in short skirts and a
female body was pretty.)
How I made it out to the car without slipping my mask, or
giving the kid a kiss that would have led inevitably to sex, I'll
never know; but the aching void in my heart that swept through me
managed to bring a measure of sanity through my lust-induced haze
from the feedback of horny teenager next to equally horny girl.
Damn. I guess I was missing the almost continuous orgy the twins
and I had, far sooner than I had expected. Oh well, at least
THIS kid wasn't a virgin; and had a girlfriend I could return him
to . . . once I taught him a few things that said girlfriend
would forever appreciate.
It was only after I dropped the bags in the car, and the boy
returned inside after "helping me" put them there, that his
diminishing closeness and weakening erection allowed me to pull
myself out of my lust-induced haze before I pulled the boy's
pants down, right there in the parking lot.
Only the sweeping loss and pain of incredible sorrow
reminded me that I had another problem . . . far more serious
than the unresolved horniness of a teenager. The kid would be
all right once I got myself away from him and tomorrow it would
be his girlfriend's "problem."
As I started to pull out, I felt the sensation in my groin
swell momentarily; and knew the boy had found his stash of porno-
mags, and was now busy trying to relieve himself, since he was
alone in the store. I almost felt guilty at leaving him like
that; but firmly reminded myself that the boy had been partially
in that state already, before I entered the store.
The aching void almost caused me to lose control of the
small station-wagon; even though the pain was weaker this time,
it was no less poignant. Shit . . . I was going the wrong
direction!
God, was I tempted to keep on driving to the house; letting
distance take me far away from the horrible hurt I felt. It was
for that very reason I had remained on the farm after Mom and Dad
died; ignoring my brother's pleas to come with him and spend time
with his wife and family. (No, I KNEW I could have made things
work out there; getting Becky to accept me as a partner in bed
with my big brother; while Marci already loved me. By now I had
become an expert at managing far more difficult situations than a
loving menage-a-troi with my sister-in-law. No . . . I just
couldn't stand to be that close to town and the problems and
aches and pains of several hundred people NEEDING help that only
I could give. It is too much. I had tried it once, and only my
desperate pleas to my brother had gotten Tom to rescue me from
the hospital where I ended up; as the hurts of people watching
others hurt almost killed me.
4
Never again would I visit a hospital . . . even if I cut my
arm off. The pain alone of worried nurses and doctors about ME
had been almost unbearable; let alone the pain of feeling
somebody lose a lifelong companion of years. No, I would sooner
die in pain myself, than feel others lose friends and loved ones
over and over again. God, I was SO tempted to keep on driving
until the ache in my soul faded to just background loss, and
eventually got lost in the 10 miles or so to the farm. Only I
couldn't.
I know this is hard to understand . . . but have you ever
had a scab you just HAD to pick? It hurt like Billy-Oh; and you
could feel the pain of the sore opening up to reveal an open welt
that was as bad or worse than the original. But you just HAD to
continue; knowing that if you didn't, the scab would just fester
and bother you forever. Far better to open it up, than let it
alone. This was something like that, only far worse. Only once
had I run away from helping somebody in pain like that . . .
never again. The guilt I felt afterwards was almost enough to
drive ME to the despairing solution the young girl had chosen.
It was only my grandfather who had recognized my problem and who
had the ability and knowledge to rescue me . . . finally
returning the debt he felt he owed me for crawling naked into his
bed that night after Grandma's death, when nothing but a female
body sleeping next to him could bring any comfort at all. Two
days later I had smiled up at the old man; fighting desperately
to keep him from knowing the incredible pain I felt at losing my
virginity; striving with all my might to make it seem like it was
ME wanting him inside my body, not just a girl reacting to the
horniness the man felt at being denied sex for over two months,
after having it almost every day for 40 years.
After that, it had been almost as hard to comfort Grandpa,
when he felt the incredible guilt at taking his own 6-year-old
granddaughter's virginity. It had taken everything I had to
smile at my grandfather, and lie with my entire body and soul;
reassuring the man that it was I who wanted sex far more than he
had; not his weakness in defiling an innocent little girl. Only
I really had no choice in the matter. Just knowing and feeling
how much Grandpa needed real sex that night, with his prick
buried to the hilt in a vagina and his arms holding and cuddling
someone he loved, left me no choice but to offer my body for him
to use. He never asked; in fact objecting to the very idea; but
I can be VERY persistent and quite effective at getting my way.
Knowing how the person you're talking to feels at every instant
can give you incredible leverage at getting what you want. And
at that time what I wanted . . . no, what I NEEDED, was to have
my grandfather feeling good about life again. Like always I
succeeded; though (also like almost always) at considerable cost
to myself. I didn't care. By the time six weeks had passed
Grandpa was feeling like a man again; seeming to think his little
granddaughter was just losing interest in sex, not in him, as our
relationship slowly tapered off into a more normal
grandparent/grandchild affair.
5
After two months, we never had sex together again; and
strangely Grandpa never missed it; having started three new
friendships with older women, while I seethed internally as my
body ached for the pleasures I had finally gotten to receive out
of sex just barely before it became time to stop. I knew that if
I HAD continued our relationship as lovers, guilt at fucking his
own granddaughter would have finally overwhelmed both of us . . .
no matter how good it felt physically.
This time it was Grandpa who crawled into MY bed; holding
and cuddling me through the whimpers and tears of losing someone
I knew I could have saved . . .
Grandpa never said a word, and never condemned me; just
providing warmth, comfort, and reassurance that I was NOT evil
for letting Karen take her own life, when she would have fought
me tooth and nail to get away. Having that pain of her misery in
my head was NOT something I was obligated to feel.
By the time I recovered after being wrapped in the warm
understanding of my grandfather, I knew that while he was right,
and it was NOT my fault Karen died, that never again would I be
able to walk away from helping somebody in so much pain . . . no
matter how much it hurt me to be there. Grandpa (as far as I
know) was the only person who ever understood what was going on.
I guess that's why we did NOT have sex that night; even though
both his body and mine reacted to the naked feel of his skin
against mine, and his swollen erection poking between my legs.
It would have been OH so easy to relieve the sexual tension we
both felt by scootching just a little forward, so his prick would
slide into my (by then) 13 year old cunny and slide up and down
until we both got the release our bodies craved. Only my mind
didn't really crave sex . . . only cuddling and comfort; and I
knew how guilty Grandpa would feel in the morning if we had.
That was the last time we ever shared a bed together; and Grandpa
died peacefully in his sleep almost 10 years after that; barely
two years before my parents did. I guess we both knew the
trouble a 60+ year old man and a 13 year old girl could get into
by having unprotected intercourse when the girl was between
periods. But it STILL was oh so tempting. Later it had been
Grandpa who had supplied prophylactics, when he found me and Tom
two years later sleeping in together, with my brother's thick
prick buried to the hilt in my body; holding in the sperm the
older boy had ejaculated inside me while I relieved the
teenager's aching horniness so he could learn to approach girls
without being so achingly horny he made a complete ass out of
himself like most teenagers do at that age. For three years my
brother used my body to relieve his sexual tensions, while I
pretended it was only sex to me, and thus nothing wrong for him
to ejaculate his seed in his own sister . . . as long as we
didn't get emotionally involved. One of the hardest things I
ever did was to wish my brother happiness on his wedding night to
my best friend; pretending that I was only losing a bed-partner,
not the man I loved. Still, the joy those two shared, both at
the wedding and years later, made the pretense well worth the
slight ache in MY heart.
6
Many times since then, both Tom and Janet had invited me to
join them, the way we had so many times as teenagers. I'm proud
to say I only gave into the temptation three times. Any more and
I would have become a permanent fixture at my brother's house;
and he already had a loving wife and two daughters. He didn't
need the extra burden of a horny sister who lived other people's
nightmares waking him and the others up with the screams and
fears of the 200+ people who lived near enough for me to
empathize with. I couldn't do that to the family I loved so much
I almost thought of it as my own. Oh to have the freedom to love
and be loved . . . to have just one man to care for instead of
every poor soul with a "need" that happened by. To feel MY
husband's seed squirting wildly into my womb, getting me pregnant
with my lover's baby, instead of cheating nature by taking the
despised birth-control pills that kept me from conceiving with a
man I couldn't love . . . who would only be a "charity case" to
me; barely remembered two days after I sent the poor slob on
sexually satisfied and more able to face the world of women who
didn't feel men's NEED for sex the way I did. Thank goodness my
techniques for dropping men gracefully had developed as fully as
my teaching techniques for showing men how to interest women.
Several times I've been tempted to write the definitive book on
how to seduce and how to gain and retain a woman. Only I'm too
busy giving hands-on lessons to ever write it down. Besides, a
considerable part of it is in body-language which must be almost
felt and physically shown personally to be truly effective. By
now I could have a man panting after my body in 10 seconds after
meeting him (if I so wished) and studiously ignoring me, with sex
the last thing on his mine 20 seconds after that . . . just by
body language, and how I reacted to him. Without my "talent" men
rarely even half succeeded the way I could; but were usually able
to succeed far better after only one or two subliminal messages
of me leading him through the motions.
"Talent" huh? I smiled bitterly as I spun the car around;
barely missing the honking sedan that whizzed by seconds later.
I knew I was cutting it fine; but my reflexes at 26 are still
good enough that I knew it would be OK. The blaring red anger
from the woman in the maroon car momentarily overrode the sick
queasy feeling in my stomach that was fighting my sadness and
sorrow at an uncontrollable loss.
Queasy feeling in my stomach? Oh God! I had thought I had
hours to spare . . . many minutes at least. Shit!
Cursing madly, I raced the car back the way I came; fighting
the despair that made me want to pull over and just STOP
feeling . . . like I had with Karen so many years earlier. Only
now, not being a just barely teenaged girl, I knew it was HIS
despair I was fighting, not my own. I grit my teeth and drove
until the pain started getting weaker again; then ignoring the
rubber-loss on my tires I executed yet another illegal U-turn.
Back to the intersection and turn right; only knowing I had a
50/50 chance. Wrong way!
7
This was the third time in two years I had performed this
life or death game of "hot and cold". I was getting pretty good
at it by now. Leaving streaks of rubber that I would regret
later across some poor woman's flower bed, I performed an up-one-
curb, down-and-up-the-other U-turn; and proceeded back the other
way. Close now . . . very close. The knot in my stomach was
getting tighter . . . whether from excitement, fear, or . . . I
didn't dare let that notion creep into the despair I felt; almost
forcing myself to be angry at people who took the easy way out.
Only it was SO tempting to do just that . . . to let go . . . let
the man die. He didn't want to live; why should I force him to?
It would be SO easy to just lie here and let him sleep . . .
sleep, SO peaceful . . . why worry about a man you didn't even
know?
Damnit! Grabbing a hatpin I had put into my purse two
months ago, I jabbed myself right in the thigh. Right where it
hurt like Billy-Oh, but where the meat of the thigh would take
minimal damage. I would NOT fall asleep. I would NOT give up!
Weeping, I almost crawled to the door of the small house, almost
a trailer, and pounded on the door. The misery was so close I
had no doubt this WAS the correct one. "Open up," I begged.
"Help me . . . Please!"
There is one thing that even men in the depths of despair
will hear; and that's a woman pleading for help. If this had
been a woman, I would have had to try a crueler attack; banking
on a woman's need to protect a child.
"Please," I whimpered. I could feel the man's worry inside;
and knew I wouldn't have to resort to sterner physical methods.
Once he answered the door, it would be all over.
"Please," I sobbed, "help me please."
The door opened a crack; and a young man peered out. I
should have known. The man didn't do justice to the pictures of
the young couple shown in the newspapers; as his eyes were black
and bruised; red nose and eyes just showed that the man had been
crying for what must have been days; while his hair obviously
hadn't been combed in a week. He looked almost as bad as I felt.
"PLEASE let me in," I ignored his, "Sorry Miss, I just can't
help right now," and glanced over my shoulder as if a gang of
bikers were after me. No living man could have resisted that
plea. "I'm sorry Miss," he said, "but you'll just have to get
somebody else to help and go. I can't help you right now."
"YES YOU CAN," I said fiercely; catching a glimpse of the
same paper I had seen two days earlier, showing, "Young newlywed
killed in violent accident. Cindy Marin, was traveling I-90 this
morning, with her husband David, when their car collided with a
semi that was stopped at an intersection in the fog."
Enough information to help!
"Cindy would never forgive you," I said. "Now come here!"
David looked at me with first shock; then tears started
streaming down his face in streams that matched many that had
obviously run there many times earlier. "How do YOU know what
Cindy would say," he mumbled. I could feel anger at me for
interfering, replacing the misery. "It's MY life," he said, "and
she's DEAD!"
8
I ignored his protests. "Where's the ipecac?" I asked.
Somehow I knew he had it. If not, then there were other
alternatives . . . none of which were as satisfactory. "In the
closet," he said; collapsing back into despair. If I was going
to save him, David no longer had the will to fight me.
"Where?" I asked; almost forcing the man along, as I grabbed
a bottle of milk on the way past the refrigerator. By now I was
an accomplished practitioner of poison-control. After Karen, I
had forced myself to learn. My bag in the car was packed with
many things (like ipecac) but the time had been too short to grab
it out of the rear. NEXT time it would be on the front seat with
me.
Syrup of ipecac is VERY messy in its results. Especially if
followed with the almost half a gallon of milk I forced the man
to swallow afterwards. Milk all over the floor, the seat, the
throw-rug . . . very little actually went into the toilet itself;
as he was throwing up before we reached it. Still, far better
than having his stomach pumped and explaining THAT to the
neighbors. I vomited in the sink myself in sympathy; forcing
myself to swallow gulp after gulp of milk, just to have something
to throw up each time his stomach gave another heave. By the
time my stomach stopped doing the flip-flops, I knew the man
wasn't going to die.
Grabbing a towel, I wiped him up; fighting the incredible
drowsiness that stole over me. I figured about three sleeping
pills had dissolved before I managed to get the rest of the 20 or
30 he had swallowed out. In 10 minutes you wouldn't be able to
wake him with a brass band. Ten minutes later I would have had
to call the police and ambulance to save him . . . risking his
reputation and privacy, and my secret. I still felt guilty I
hadn't acted sooner.
David collapsed on the bed and managed to get the shirt off.
I was left managing his pants and shoes. It was like undressing
a log; but finally I finished with him completely naked before I
pulled the covers over him and left. By now I knew the drill
completely.
I was just heading out the bedroom door when the pain and
misery and sleepiness shut off like a light; and I only felt
slightly miserable and a headache that wouldn't go away. David
was asleep.
I grabbed a handful of aspirin from the medicine cabinet
where the syrup of ipecac had resided; and downed three of them
with the last of the milk. At 160 pounds, I knew that an extra
aspirin wouldn't hurt over the recommended dosage of two for a
woman of 90 pounds. Yes, I'm slightly overweight.
Aw, who am I kidding? I'm a fat hog, and know it. I
stopped to look at the picture of the beautiful bride David had
married; and almost cried with envy. Almost. SHE was dead; and
would never, ever again, know David's loving arms around her;
while I . . . I had David for the night.
9
I went out to the car, picked up my bag, and returned;
locking both car and house doors. Then, taking great care to
brush, gargle, and straighten my hair, I returned to the bedroom
and climbed in with the handsome young man. I figured two hours
at the most, from previous experience. Might as well get some
sleep myself.
I was wrong. It was over three. The combination of
sleeping pills and lack of sleep kept the memory of his loss out
of the man's head for a blessedly long time, before he suddenly
started sniffling, and I felt my stomach drop with the knowledge
of irreparable loss.
"Cindy," he sobbed into the shoulder I turned into his;
adjusting my body automatically to his. "Oh Cindy, Cindy, Cindy,
I love you so."
"Shhh," I hushed him. "Cindy knows that. You told her many
times before she died, didn't you?"
I felt the sorrow rise and then break; as he realized I was
there; clutching my body to his in a hug that felt like it would
break my back; while an almost snapping sensation of release told
me he realized he was NOT alone but had somebody to share the
misery with. Somebody to hold and cuddle in the lonely night,
somebody who CARED for Cindy and him too. I let my tears join
his, as we hugged and cuddled close, while he wet my shoulder and
the pillow beneath it. For once he did NOT have the emptiness of
sleeping alone that had driven him to the despair of the sleeping
pills. I knew that if I left now, David would make it somehow.
Still, I wouldn't be happy until the primary treatment was
complete. Besides, I had MY needs too; and I wasn't about to
miss out on the fun part. David fell asleep about 10 minutes
later; still face-to-face and cuddling.
About two hours after that, we both woke up for a second, I
gave him a loving kiss, and we both slid back to sleep; this time
in "spoon fashion" with his arms cupped comfortably around mine.
I was tempted to slide down a little and fit his slightly swollen
prick into my hot little hole; but knew better. Time enough for
that later. As I said earlier, I knew the drill by heart now.
It was about 4:00 in the morning; and the sun was just
barely beginning to brighten the sky, when I felt the stirring of
a penis between my legs and automatically adjusted myself so we
were both fucking in that dreaming half-awake state you get when
you first wake up.
It was only after almost 10 minutes of delicious sex, that
David became aware that he was fucking a woman whom he had barely
met the night before, without even knowing her name. "Ohmigod!"
I could feel the embarrassment washing over him in waves. Still
he didn't pull out; just pushing in hard so his prick didn't
spasm out of control and fill my body with sperm.
"Uh . . . I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically. I could
tell he wasn't really,
"It's OK, I don't mind," I reassured him. I could feel his
relief wash over him in a wave, as he believed me. (I can be
VERY convincing.)
10
"I'm going to cum . . .," he warned me. I could tell he was
close. While I could feel his excitement; it was STILL a great
disappointment to me that I couldn't FEEL what he felt . . . only
his emotions. The tight feel of a woman's vagina sucking your
peter would be forever just out of my grasp. On the other hand,
the feel of a MAN inside me, probably felt as good to me as it
did to him.
"It's OK, I'm no the pill," I reassured him, while rolling
over on my back in the classical missionary invitation to fuck.
"You can cum in me all you want to." With this I reached down;
and with a gasp we both felt the man's prick sheathe itself into
my body. God did that feel good. It was rare that I got to fuck
a man as handsome as David; the men needing help at sex not
usually being your average dream-boat. Shortly we were doing the
classical missionary "bump and grind" while I encouraged David to
let himself go . . . to not worry about me; as I would cum when
he did.
I could feel David's disbelief; as he tried to hold off long
enough for me to climax. Only *I* knew I couldn't until he did.
"Please," I whimpered, "cum in me . . . please. I need your cum
in me so bad."
I've never had a man able to resist that "little girl"
pleading for him to cum inside me combined with the pleading look
and clasping cunny, what man COULD resist?
"Oh God, I can't help it," he moaned; sinking into me to the
hilt.
It wasn't the physical stimulation that got me off (it
almost never is). It was feeling HIM tense up; then the
involuntary spasms of his body that started mine in sympathy.
Knowing my handsome young lover was cumming inside me, squirting
his potent seed in thick white jets against my womb, was what I
needed to get ME off. While I understand that most couples very
rarely if ever have simultaneous orgasms, it's almost as rare for
me NOT too. Feeling my lover climax inside me both with my body
and his is too erotic for mine to resist. I came noisily;
milking each precious drop of my lover's seed into my body where
it belonged. God did that feel good. For the first time in
almost a week I came properly . . . with a real MAN belching his
potent seed at my womb where it belonged. When the person was a
man like David though, I almost wished I wasn't on the pill.
Still, for a fat old broad to steal a handsome young man like
David, by carrying his baby, just wasn't fair. I knew I could
even trap him into thinking he loved me with other methods. Only
then I wouldn't be honest with myself. I told myself to enjoy
what I was getting, and not worry about what was coming. The
thick white spurts of a man's seed in my body was something I
could enjoy for now, as David really did need this sex from me,
almost as much as I needed it from him.
"Oh Cindy, Cindy, Cindy," he moaned in my ear during the
final jerks, "I'm SO sorry."
"It's OK," I soothed him. "Cindy understands."
11
I felt the final release inside him, as David believed me,
and let his wife's ghost finally go. "Thanks, uh . . . ." I
felt his embarrassment at not knowing my name. "You don't HAVE
to know my name," I told him. "I'll be gone shortly; and you
won't have to remember me at all, if you don't want to." I knew
that now that he had spent himself inside me, and the terrible
need of missing not only his wife, but the wonderful sex with her
was relieved, he could now see the woman he had just made love
to. I am NOT a beauty-queen. No, I'm not exactly ugly; but I'm
far from being the "dish" that Cindy had been. With slightly
buck-teeth, an oversized nose, and over 40 pounds overweight, the
only men who would be interested in having sex with me are either
teenagers with hormones giving them redundant overflow of the
hornies . . . or men like David who were suffering from neglect.
While in either case, both the man and I could have fun without
either regretting it, neither case was the basis for building a
long-term relationship, or even more than a one-night stand. I
could feel the gratitude welling within David's mind and body;
and the satiated feel of his sexual completion. Better to go now
while he still felt grateful; and thus remain a fond but fading
memory. Men as handsome or well off as HIM just didn't fall for
girls like me. I had found that out painfully many years ago.
Feeling disgust after this wonderful interlude would forever
spoil the small pleasure that was my reward for the pain I had
felt the night before. Even now, I could feel a small ache of
missing something precious pushing delicately at the back of my
mind; and knew that David would later remember and miss his
bride . . . though never again with the ache and sorrow that had
driven him over the edge this time. From past experience I knew
that within a year, or two at most, David would be proudly
squiring around a girl probably at least as pretty and vivacious
as his dead Cindy; and possibly even prettier. Girls like me
need not apply. On the other hand, if he really WANTED to know
(and it seems he did) then no reason to be rude. David WAS a
nice guy, too. I could see why a looker like Cindy had latched
onto him.
"Marcia," I said. "Marcia Bainbridge. You've probably
heard of me in town." An easy guess, in a town of barely over
3000. Who knows? Maybe we could even be friends after
this . . . I would like that, I decided.
"I'd better be going now," I apologized. "Sorry for
disturbing you last night, but I really needed help. I just had
to get away. Everything should be OK now . . . so uh . . .
thanks . . . for everything." I looked pointedly at the rumpled
bed as I said this.
I could feel the heat of his embarrassment in my ears, even
before I saw it in his. "Thank YOU," he replied. God, even a
nice guy. Most men who found a fat ugly broad in their beds
would just be in a hurry to get them out the door. David
actually seemed to WANT me to remain . . . and yes, I could tell
that he did. Still, time to go. If he DID like me, like it
seems he did, I didn't want either gratitude or sympathy getting
in the way of our friendship.
12
Maybe in a week or two . . . or possibly in a year or so,
after he found another wife, we could be friends and remember
this night with fondness. In the meantime I'd better go before
we both got too maudlin. I could feel a maudlin spell coming
on . . . whether from me or David I didn't know or care.
"Uh . . . thanks," I repeated; gathering up my bag and heading
for the door. "For everything," I added.
I could feel the storm brewing . . . Anger? Frustration? I
knew I had better leave quickly before it was too late . . . but
it already was.
"So that's the way it is," he said coldly. My mind was
swamped with conflicting emotions . . . anger, heat, horniness?,
aching loss, wild hope, and others I couldn't identify. Over all
was a grim determination about something that almost covered
completely the other emotions. "You're just going to come in
here, save my life from misery so profound that it had no bottom,
give me loving, healing sex, and then leave . . . just like that.
Is that it?"
I nodded; crying now. Damn. I had HOPED to be gone before
he could blame me for the misery he had felt the night before and
worse yet, my seeing him so vulnerable and helpless. Men are SO
scared of people, especially women, seeing them helpless. There
went my hope of us ever being friends.
Well, I was right, and I was wrong . . . we never were just
friends after that. I know YOU can see what's coming; but for
all my empathy, I swear I never did.
"Yes," I said; stumbling almost blindly to the door. The
incredible loss I felt at losing his friendship was making me
weep before I could even get the door open. Damn. I had SO
hoped we could have been friends after that wonderful thing we
had enjoyed together that morning. I almost felt my heart break
like it had with Karen, at once again losing something that had
become almost impossibly precious to me in only a few hours. WHY
or why did it hurt so?
"You are NOT getting away that easy," he snarled; slapping
the door shut in my face. It was then I realized how out-of-
place his words were from the feelings washing over me. And it
was then I realized that the intense feeling of loss weren't
mine, but HIS. Shit again. Here I had thought I had eased his
pain . . . for a little while at least. Now I was trapped; and
next time he would see fully just how ugly and fat and miserable
I was.
"Please," I whimpered, "let me go . . . before it's too
late."
"No," He said firmly; pulling me up and looking me in the
eye. "I won't . . . not ever. Cindy taught me you COULD grab
the brass-ring, if you just stretched hard enough and far enough,
and didn't let the chance slip through your fingers. I'm not
letting you go unless you can look me in the eye and tell me
truthfully you don't want me."
"I . . . I . . . I don't . . ." I couldn't finish saying
it.
13
Wordlessly David picked me up and carried me back to bed,
where we both cuddled and sobbed into each other's arms for what
must have been hours. I know part of my sorrow was missing ever
meeting a girl like Cindy who could help make such a wonderful
man like this. She must have been incredible; not only
beautiful, but loving and smart and truly caring about David.
How could I ever replace her? I couldn't.
After that hug/cuddle/cry, we both got up, washed together
as if we had been married for years, and went out to eat. Then
we went back to bed; and didn't get up for close to two days.
During that time we mostly slept; sometimes made love, and
occasionally just cuddled together or watched TV without moving
from each others' arms. By the time starvation drove us out to
eat again (David didn't have a thing left in the house) I knew
this was NOT just a "one night stand" or even just a fling to
help David get over the loss of his wife. By then we were tied
permanently in a manner it's hard to describe.
We got married two months later (as soon a Tom could make
the arrangements; as he wanted to give his little sister away in
Dad's place).
Before I could say yes, I had to tell David about the
terrible handicap I had; and how he might find me some night
"comforting" a drunken bum who NEEDED me more than he did at that
moment. I was scared shitless he would leave when he found out.
Only it seems my big brother has a big mouth, and had already
told him; warning David what he was getting into. Here I hadn't
even known that Tom even suspected. No wonder he was always so
willing to have me join him and Becky in bed. The pervert. I
still get the hots just thinking about what my horny big brother
had been offering.
It's been ten years since that day. Ten wonderful years;
and we're celebrating our 10th anniversary tomorrow. Our 6 year
old daughter and 4 year old son make me realize now that I had
been missing far more than I thought back in those days.
The kids? When I went off the pill about 3 years after we
got married, David, Tom, Becky and I planned everything for a
month's vacation out at the farm. For slightly over three weeks
I never had to go into town. Each of the other three took turns
getting any needed groceries.
For some reason, Cindy looks just like her namesake; and is
the light of my life. A golden-haired, blue-eyed little goddess
who brings cheer to any room she is in. I figure she's an
angel's gift to both of us. While David is light-skinned and so
am I, We're both somewhat green-eyed . . . though my brother has
blue eyes, and so did my uncle who died before I was born.
Still, Cindy shows no sign of the big nose her little brother
has, that's almost a family trademark. The little girl is going
to break hearts, just like her stepmother did. Thomas (named
after guess who?) not only acts like his namesake; but is almost
the spitting image of his uncle too; the result of a second
"vacation" with all four of us holed up on the farm. I'm back on
the pill now . . . probably permanently, When you have
perfection, why try for more? Besides, it's hard to keep me away
permanently from those I know need me . . . even 10 miles out of
town.
14
The first time David came home and found me "comforting"
Terry (you remember the kid at the convenience store?) after the
kid lost his girlfriend to a senior fullback, I was scared the
roof would fall in. Only David (true to his word) was more
worried about ME after he slipped out so he wouldn't be noticed;
than angry at my "cheating" on him. When we got up in the middle
of the night to take little Mandy Peterson to the hospital, when
none of her family even knew she had any trouble, I guess that
made a "true believer" out of my husband . . . no, not of my
star-crossed, almost curse of a "talent"; but of the fact that I
COULD help those who others couldn't. He never says a word when
I get up . . . sometimes in the middle of a meal or even the
middle of the night. He always asks if I want him to drive me;
but never objects on those times when I say I have to go alone.
Even on the one time I came home almost completely naked, whip
marks on my body, and cum matting my head, pubic hair, and even
eyelashes; while a bruise gave me a black eye for a week, he
never pried; simply holding me as I whimpered and sobbed into his
arms. How could I tell him that this was the ONLY way I could
get the Jacob's boys to let Terry and Sandy go, without anybody
getting raped or seriously damaged . . . only by volunteering for
the two boys' need, and to take the place of the two kids who got
caught where they didn't belong, could I ease the pain of all
four. It took me almost two months before I managed to calm down
the older of the two Jacob's kids to where he could feel enough
to actually ASK a girl to go out with him, instead of feeling
like the only way to get in a girl's panties was to rip them off.
Believe it or not, both boys are happily married; and Mike
(the older one) is expecting a baby any day now. How two clods
like that ever trapped two nice girls like that, I'll never know.
Once I swear I saw whip marks on one of the girls, but I can't be
sure. Somehow I suspect both boys found submissive girls who
LIKE the sort of treatment I got that night. Only I've never
seen any of them with bruises like I had that day.
Thankfully our town is NOT a constant hotbed of pain and
need; with teenagers fighting with siblings, while some boys just
ACHE with the need for sex. I'm probably responsible for more
lost virginities in this town than any ten girls in the
cheerleading squad . . . and I don't just mean boys, either.
Nowadays my "emergency pack" always contains a full gross of
prophylactics as you never know when some kids might get too
carried away. I've probably been responsible for the prevention
of as many incestuous pregnancies as I have virginities lost.
The gross of rubbers rarely last a week without having to be
replaced. I wonder what Marge (the druggist) thinks each time I
pick up another gross or two; as she knows full well I'm on the
pill.
Yes, looking at the tables being prepared for our 10th
anniversary, I guess David's previous wife Cindy was right . . .
You CAN grab the brass ring . . . if you reach out hard and far
enough, and don't let it go by when you have it in your hands.
15