Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 195
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Four
ÒYou wouldnÕt!Ó Jill replied. ÒSheÕs only a 13-year-old girl, dear.Ó
ÒAlmost 14,Ó I advised them. My titties had grown even bigger, too,
as if to prove it, and I thrust them proudly at them, and gave them a quick
wiggle just to be naughty. I liked my new breasts. Everywhere I went men
seemed drawn to them, and Sam was no exception. He gazed down at my
tits, my bra doing less than a perfect job of holding them, having been
bought when I was a size smaller.
Sam noticed that my long hair might just block any perverts
watching from the buildingÕs windows and, taking a chance with me, he
placed a finger where the cups of my bra met and pulled it open.
ÒSam!Ó I cried, quite surprised, slapping a hand to my cheek as he
examined my quivering teats.
ÒYou have nice breasts,Ó he said finally, and let go of my bra. It
stung a little as it reconnected with my flesh. Then, taking me by the
hair, without even asking my permission, he pulled me up from my lounge
chair. He stood me in front of him, so that nobody but us could see.
ÒFlurrie,Ó Jill said to me, a knowing look in her eyes. I think she
knew what her husband intended, and welcomed it. ÒIÕve got too much
jello in my panties. Would you please take half of it in yours, so I donÕt
look totally foolish if we are seen going upstairs?Ó
I felt SamÕs hands firmly grasping my small, tanned shoulders. I
was warm, I wanted to swim but I didnÕt want to get my bikini wet.
ÒOkay,Ó I mouthed, not knowing why, feeling silly. With delicate
fingers Jill opened me in front and gently scooped a portion of the jello
out of her bikini panties and into my own. I felt the cold, jiggly slide of
the stuff as it plopped within my opened panties and adhered to the curls
of my pussy, making me bulge just like Jill did. She let go of my
waistline.
ÒCome, letÕs go up,Ó she said, finding a napkin where the jello had
sat, on a table beside her, and wiping her fingers. She rose, Sam let go of
me.
On the elevator up a middle-aged couple rode with us, glancing
curiously at our bikinis. Jill and I, having left our skirts upstairs that we
might have used to cover ourselves, rode with blushing faces, unable to
cover ourselves in front because Sam stood behind us. He held our wrists
pinned to our backs, and used our bodies to hide his own enormous
erection, which actually protruded out the top of his trunks.
I accompanied them to their apartment, though mine was a floor
below theirs. Jill took me inside, thanked me for carrying half of her load.
She took me to their kitchen sink and carefully scooped out, with her
fingers, what sheÕd put in my panties. It was dumped in the sink, and
rinsed away, while Sam watched. His suit bound his balls tightly, which
seemed to have expanded. They bloated within his trunks, which struggled
to keep his hard-on concealed but, failing, permitted the head to stick up,
snake-like, the rest coiled within his trunks, practically ripping them
apart with the force of its arousal.
I in my turn emptied JillÕs new bikini of what Sam had put into it.
ÒThat was a very naughty thing you did, Sam, putting jello in my
swimsuit!Ó Jill scolded him when we were as clean as we could be, the
residue of the jello still clinging to the curls of our deltas. She wagged
her finger at him. ÒWould you like to go out to dinner with us tonight,
dear?Ó Jill asked me.
ÒOkay,Ó I answered. It was becoming my favorite word. It got me
into trouble, though, sometimes, I guessed.
ÒAlright, letÕs take off your bikini then, and weÕll both clean up and
get dressed for it,Ó Jill told me. ÒSam, naughty guy that he is, actually
bought some things for you this morning to wear, hoping youÕd go.
Actually, I helped him, Ôcause I wanted somebody to go with me. I wonÕt
know anyone else there, but Sam will, because some of the girls heÕs
photographed before,Ó she cast a glance at him. Jill was a model, and Sam
was a photographer. From the look that passed between their eyes I saw
her question him, wondered if heÕd laid any of the girls heÕd taken pictures
of. Sam merely grinned, boyishly, a Ôboys will be boysÕ look in his eyes.
Jill helped me out of my suit. She filled the kitchen sink with
water, a few bubbles, and put our suits in to soak so theyÕd be ready to go
for our next swim. A trip through the washing machine would have ripped
them to shreds, they were too delicate for that. It was one of the reasons
we just sunbathed in them. Swimming in the pool too vigorously might
have stressed them, and chlorine was supposed to be bad for them. They
were more fashion than practical, made of opaque silk, with elastic run
through at the edges to help them stay on, but tied with drawstrings, as if
we were gift-wrapped in them.
Naked, with Sam drooling over us, we casually tossed our long manes
of hair and trooped off to the shower. Sam watched our rolling bottoms.
JillÕs was full-grown, she was 19, a bride for three months now. Mine, of
course, was underaged in size, still childish in its shape, but with nice
violin curves to my hips, not yet as wide as they might be, but pretty,
with girlish cheeks behind that I swayed purposefully to catch SamÕs eye.
It was thrilling to be seen by him! IÕd not been naked since Abandon
Gardens, and I felt a kind of sweet relish possess me as I traipsed through
the cool air of their apartment to the shower.
Jill insisted on locking the bathroom door, so Sam would stay out. It
was just she and I, and we took turns showering. It was all quite
discreet, two girls washing up after P.E., it seemed to me. I was glad for
it. The night beckoned with enough mysteries, I donÕt think I could have
handled an afternoon threesome. It would have been too much, too soon. I
needed to get to know my new friends just a little better first, I thought,
and they respected my wishes, sensing them even before I did. Still, as I
sat in the bathroom, making up my face after my shower, while Jill took
her turn, I couldnÕt help but squeeze my thighs together and wish, you
know, that somehow Sam might insist on breaking down our bathroom
door. But he was the perfect gentleman. When we exited at last, he took
his turn, though he did not lock the door behind him.
Jill and I dressed together. The first thing I put on, her helping me,
were black lace gloves that tied at my wrists. She undid the rawhide
collar around my neck, cutting it off, saying that was my past life and it
was over now. She did not put any new collar on me, though. I was to be
free, my own girl. Together she and I put on long sheer black stockings.
We fastened them with the straps, which dangled down from our bellies,
which we ringed with slim black garter belts. The belts were fringed
with lace. The straps had little pink bows on them where they attached to
our stockings.
I slipped on a g-string. Jill said IÕd be grateful for it later, and put
one on herself. Lastly we both shimmied into the most liquid of dresses,
with spaghetti straps, open backs, and decollete fronts that barely rose
above the level of our breasts. Obviously we were a little too ÒshowyÓ to
be seen like this on the street, so Jill fetched a cape and tossed it over my
bare shoulders. It was just long enough to cover the tips of my breasts,
which wiggled freely in my gown. She tied the cape neatly in front. It
was black like my dress, and my stockings. The cape had a hood on it and
she pulled it up over my long golden hair, tucking it inside.
ÒThere! A picture of innocence!Ó Jill said admiringly. I gazed at
myself in a mirror. Indeed, I looked like a little schoolgirl off to some
formal party which, of course, is exactly what I was headed off too,
though not one where the grownups would ignore me. Jill put on a red
satin jacket, with long sleeves, over her sleeveless gown. Her gown was
dark blue, while mine was midnight black. My arms were bare under the
cape, and stuck out all white and frail where the cape stopped, looking
like porcelain limbs.
Sam, who must have dressed himself in the bathroom, or just
outside of it, stepped into their bedroom and greeted Jill and I. He was
ready to go! He wore an elegant suit, looking absolutely smashing, and I
saw he still had the bulge in his trousers.
Sam gazed at me in a friendly way, but then turned his attention to
his wife. ÒNow you know what youÕll come home with,Ó he said to her
seriously.
ÒOh dear,Ó she replied, looking taken aback. ÒCanÕt you, you know,
reason with them?Ó
ÒA tattoo,Ó he said firmly. ÒAll the girls will be getting one.Ó
I shot a gaze toward Jill. I wasnÕt about to get myself tattooed!
ÒDonÕt worry,Ó Sam said to me, dismissively. ÒYouÕre only 13. I
wonÕt have trouble talking them out of tattooing you. But Jill here is a
married woman.Ó
ÒWhere will it be done?Ó Jill asked. Her eyes were apprehensive.
ÒOn the inside of your vulva, on the inner lip, a little heart,Ó Sam
replied. ÒNobody will be able to see it but me. And any other man you go
to bed with... It will show him that youÕre mine, that you belong to me.
And maybe then he wonÕt fuck you.Ó
ÒLike you donÕt fuck those girls you photograph?Ó she asked coldly.
Sam said nothing. Slowly he moved closer to us. Jill a tear forming
in her eye, daubed it at last with her finger.
ÒOkay,Ó she said simply. I stood shivering, frightened yet excited at
the prospect of going out, to RioÕs best restaurant! But under such queer
circumstances, no? Sam was such a stud. He kissed Jill, then me. He
offered to fix her a drink to calm her. She agreed. We both found chairs
for ourselves, primly crossed our legs, and waited while our Man of the
Hour made drinks for both of us. She gulped hers down, when it was
brought. I just sipped mine. I didnÕt like liquor too much, yet. It made me
dizzy.
Jill seemed ready when at last she stood. She took my hand and I
stood up beside her. Sam gazed out past the closed curtain of their
bedroom and told Jill to bring her umbrella, there was a light rain outside,
mingling with the rays of the setting sun.
Jill put her arm protectively around me when we exited the building,
and lofted her umbrella over me, to keep me from getting wet. It mostly
shielded her too, but me more, as if I was worth more, special, a loved and
protected pet. Sam strode behind, oblivious to the rain, though I had no
doubt heÕd have held their umbrella and shielded Jill with it if theyÕd been
alone together. But she wanted company, on a momentous night like this,
even if it was just a junior girl like myself. They were Ôon assignment,Õ
both from New York, in unfamiliar waters, though Sam had made the
acquaintance of a few of the local gals he was going to take Jill to eat
with tonight. Not all of them were from Brazil, some were in from Russia,
or France, a collection of females and their boyfriends, or managers, I was
told, all intermingling as they worked to get the photos necessary for the
upcoming fashion season.
ÒTwo girls are here for Sports Illustrated,Ó Jill told me brightly on
the way over, as we rode in the limo, the rain spattering the smoked glass
of our windows. ÒYou might try that someday. Already you have the figure
for it!Ó I smiled sheepishly. She liked complimenting my figure. I sat
between her and Sam. Jill seemed happy to have me separating her from
him, considering what heÕd have done to her tonight, after dinner.
MY 2ND BEST FRIEND
Yesterday I discussed my best friend and today IÕm going to discuss
my second best friend. My second best friend is my butthole. There are
many, many laws in America but they have yet to pass a law banning the
butthole. So it is time for us men to put our buttholes to good use. ItÕs
practically the only weapon (and the only pleasure) we have left to us.
First off, to make good use of your butthole, youÕve got to eat a lot
of beans. I personally have found that P.D. WilsonÕs Gourmet Southern
Beans (Fancy Variety) are the stinkiest beans of all. But donÕt worry--
theyÕre stinky when they come out, not when they go in.
You might think I invented using the butthole as a weapon. But, alas,
I canÕt think of everything. It was told to me by a guy on the bus. His
name was Percival Underwear. IÕll call him P.U. for short.
hj: So you use your BUTTHOLE as a weapon?
p.u.: Indeed! IÕm insane so they wonÕt let me carry a gun, but they canÕt
stop me from carrying my butthole around!
hj: How do you attack people with your butthole? I mean, itÕs a hole.
p.u.: Well, see, itÕs like this. Girls have never liked me too much. Now,
itÕs no fun being disliked for no reason. I mean, sure, my penis never grew
beyond two inches, but they donÕt know that just by looking at me. IÕd
have to drop my pants for them to know that. Yet girls will barely look at
me!
hj: How about women?
p.u. IÕve never gotten up to the women level. IÕm still trying to meet a
girl.
h.j. Oh, okay.
p.u. So, anyway, I was figuring, ÒGee, I didnÕt get a Ph.d in Olfaction in
1983 for nothing, did I? Surely there must be SOME way I could put it to
use. (Heck, It doesnÕt even entitle me to unemployment benefits.) But I
finally hit on the butthole idea. HereÕs how it works.
LetÕs say you see some girl. You know when you ask her if she wants
to go on a date with you sheÕll just say Ôno,Õ right?
h.j. Right.
p.u. So have your butthole all prepared. The minute she says Ôno,Õ cut a big
fart. Sure, it will give her a reason for not going out with you, but at
least now (thanks to the beans) thereÕs a REASON she wonÕt go out with
you. ItÕs not just pure, outright, perfidious rejection. She has a logical
reason not to go with you. YouÕd stink up the bus, youÕd stink up the movie
theatre, and youÕd stink up the bus on the way home to her house, and youÕd
stink up her bedroom.
Now letÕs look at the grocery line. LetÕs say thereÕs some yuppie
mother and her daughter standing in line at the grocery. What you do is
you get in line behind them. Now, if you just stood there staring at this
womanÕs beautiful daughter, youÕd get in trouble. Who needs that? So, cut
a big, loud fart. YouÕll have the whole line to yourself, youÕll get out ahead
of the store ahead of them, and youÕll even be able to say, maybe even to
the daughter, ÒIÕm sorry, miss. I didnÕt mean to fart in your face.Ó Even if
her dad is standing there he wonÕt necessarily mind if you speak to his
daughter, if youÕve just cut a fart in her face and are apologizing to her.
Otherwise heÕd probably call you a pervert and break your ass if you tried
to talk to her.
Now letÕs take ChildrenÕs Story Hour at the library. This is always a
big-time feminist sort of thing. They read stories about guys like me and
call us ÔstrangersÕ and stuff. And of course if you sat there during story
hour looking at all the cute little girls, youÕd get in trouble. So let them
win. Face AWAY from all those darling little girls. But guess what is
facing TOWARD them?
h.j. I have no idea.
p.u. My butthole!
h.j. Uh-oh.
p.u. ThatÕs right. And of course I can hear the story as the librarian is
reading it. Just as they get to the feminist climax, where the man is
confronted and taken off to the prison and buttfucked, guess what
happens?
h.j. IÕm afraid to...
p.u. Yes, I let a big, gigantic, ear-splitting, humongous, P.D. WilsonÕs Fancy
Beans fart.
h.j. Fascinating...
So anyway that was my interview with him. After that he sort of
went into spasms telling me about how he then has to be polite and turn
around and apologize to all the little girls at the childrenÕs story hour.
And of course heÕs always reading an Oprah Winfrey book when this
happens so he looks very holy and moral and the whole thing looks like a
complete accident. I wouldnÕt endorse or recommend the more outrageous
parts of p.u.Õs strategy, but consider this: YouÕre in your car. Your kids are
causing a commotion, fighting over their boogers and stuff. Why get
angry? Simply say, ÒKids, if you donÕt settle down, IÕm going to let a
gigantic fart.Ó TheyÕll probably put you to the test once, and make you do
it. And you might not be able to get away with it if your wifeÕs along. But
once youÕve PROVEN to your kids that you can let big farts (with the help
of P.D.Õs beans) theyÕll behave. Sure, they might tell everyone in the
neighborhood that youÕre a big fart(er), but whatÕs that compared to a car
ride blessed with peace and quiet? Your children will be the goodest
children in the neighborhood, because theyÕll know a big adult like dad can
outfart them any day of the week.
So now you see why my trusty butthole is my 2nd best friend. It
keeps my enemies at bay, leaving me plenty of free time to enjoy my 1st
best friend!
AND IN THE END...
ANOTHER GREAT AMERICAN
ÒHenry Darger... has a fair claim to be one of the most curiously
original artists in American history. ...Now Darger is until April 27th
the subject of ÔThe Unreality of BeingÕ, an exhibition at New YorkÕs
Museum of American Folk Art.
Ò...[Darger created] a mass of single-space typewriting and more
than 300 paintings of ÔThe Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is Known
as the Realms of the UnrealÕ.
ÒThe saga... tells the story of the heroic Vivians, seven plucky
pre-pubescent sisters.
Ò...To illustrate his story, Darger copied pictures of little girls
from catalogues, advertisements and coloring books, endlessly varied
versions of which he then inserted into lyrically coloured landscapes.
ÒOften naked... the girls of DargerÕs disturbed and disturbing
world are subjected to violence...Ó
- The Economist, February 8, 1997, pgs. 92-93.
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-END OF 195 EMISSION