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Subject: I'll give it a try...
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This message is sent by user, who preferres to remain anonymous
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an000222@anon.fun.ee

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Hi,

I wrote this story and posted it to a.s.s. However, I'm not too familiar 
with the newsgroup structure, so I didn't know about YOU - the serious 
guys. If you have any use for my first tale, do whatever you want with 
it - if not, then don't

Jessica.




NEW: Tales of Green Fields, Intro&Part I (MF, f mast, alcohol)

Warning:  This story is for adults only.  If you are a legal minor in 
your
area, or if it is forbidden to access 'adults only' material generally, 
you
are not allowed to read it under any circumstances.  This story is also
copyrighted, all legal rights remain with the author. The author grants
permission to post it in usenet usegroups and also grants the right to 
store
copies of this story for private use. However, any intended commercial 
use
requires the author's permission.









Tales of Green Fields


Introduction: Let me introduce myself...

     Hi, my name is Jessica Greenfield. You don't believe me? Well, 
you're
right, I'm not going to tell you my real name. Maybe you've met me 
before or
maybe you might meet me some day. And I really am quite shy - even 
though you
probably won't believe that after you've read my stories. Still, it 
won't be
easy for me to find the right 'balance' between telling you enough so 
you can
enjoy my story and not revealing too much so everybody recognises me 
like a
famous film star.  So where should I start?

     I was born in the nice city of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia, 
some
twenty-three years ago. If you don't know much about the country 'down 
under',
you have to come and visit us some day. I've seen quite a few places on 
our
lovely planet, but I still think Australia has the nicest people. I also 
love
our climate, accent, just everything. I'm a real Aussie girl.

  But I'm probably telling you a lot of stuff you don't really want to 
hear:
I've been following this newsgroup for quite some time now and I should 
write
things like: "I am 5'5", have a perfectly slimmed and trimmed body, long
blonde hair and nice blue eyes, and I was just fingering my hot little 
pussy
when suddenly..." No, thank you very much. If you want that sort of 
stuff,
then I'm afraid you have to read a different article - or fast forward a 
few
lines. Still, I think there might be some people out there who are 
interested
in what I have to say. Since this is the first time I have written 
anything
other than university essays, I would welcome any comments - both 
positive
and negative - at an000222@anon.fun.ee (an anonymous email address which 
lets
me remain mysterious). If there are more 'go ahead' responses than mails
telling me to 'stop posting that crap', you will hear more from me soon.

    Enough small talk - let's get down to business...


Part One: My parents sure know how to party!

  This little 'adventure' happened when I was about thirteen or 
fourteen. And
back then, my body didn't have all the things it has now: My breasts 
were
growing (quite a painful thing at times, I can tell you), but they were 
still
quite small and I didn't see the point of wearing a bra. Thinking back, 
my
body wasn't really well developed at all. I still looked like a kid - 
short
blondish hair that refused to stay in any kind of shape, wearing 
t-shirts and
shorts, quite boring, nothing special. Also, my old photos show that I 
always
had a bruised elbow or knee from playing hockey or riding my bike. And
unfortunately they show quite a lot of 'baby fat' - I have never been
overweight, I just want to say that I didn't really have a very feminine
figure. You get the picture.

  My parents were (and still are, fortunately) very successful 
investment
bankers, and we always had people coming around to our house, most of 
them
talking about lots of money. No, I didn't really grow up to be a spoiled
little brat, my parents managed to prevent that. They always were very
careful how much pocket money they gave me, and even when I was older 
they
made sure I never had more money available than anybody else. Then 
again, it
IS nice to live in a large air-conditioned house, to be able to jump 
into the
swimming pool if you feel like it,...well, I guess I am only a little
spoiled.

  Anyway, sometimes all the people didn't come only to talk about 
business
stuff, a few times each year my parents would throw one of their famous
parties. Really posh stuff, lots of interesting thins to eat and drink, 
nice
music, perfect atmosphere, the whole lot. I was too old to be put to 
bed, but
I was also too young to really enjoy all the mindless talk that was 
going on
around me. None of the others brought their kids, and while I was the 
star of
the party for the first half hour or so, I was getting bored quickly. I
didn't have anyone to talk to, and I didn't know what to do.  In fact, 
my dad
was is responsible for everything that happened afterwards - he helped 
me to
find something to do.

     It was quite late and well beyond my normal bed-time when he walked 
up to
me, holding two glasses of champagne.

  "Well, Jess, you better get used to this stuff. After all, you're 
almost an
adult and should learn what sort of stupid things we do." He handed me 
one of
the glasses.

     "You want me to drink this?" I asked.

  "Of course, you can't taste it just from looking at it."  I had a 
quick
look around. Everybody was talking, laughing and drinking, so nobody 
really
seemed to care about me.

     "Did you ask mom if it's okay?"

     "She probably wouldn't approve, Jess, so this will have to be our 
little
secret. Enough talking - Bottoms up!"

  We clinked our glasses and drank. I still remember the taste - I 
didn't
like the bubbles and I was convinced that champagne tasted like sweaty 
socks.
I must have made quite a face, because my dad laughed and said: "Glad 
you
don't like it - but please try to enjoy the party!"

  He wandered off to talk to some people I didn't know, which left me
standing there with a half-empty champagne glass in my hand. I thought 
to
myself 'might as well finish it' and emptied it. It still tasted like 
old
sports shoes. This was the moment when I began to think: 'So champagne 
is
bad. But what about all the other stuff? Maybe it tastes differently?' 
The
only problem was that neither of my parents would have liked to see 
their
daughter running around and drinking all kinds of alcohol.

     What could I do? My plan was easy: I started playing the 'helpful 
little
hostess', collecting empty (and half-empty) glasses and bottles on a 
tray and
bringing them into the kitchen. I was quite excited when I walked into 
the
kitchen holding the tray. This would be fun...

  The first glass had some red wine in it. Not too bad. The second one
contained white wine. Too sour for my liking (probably of the very dry 
and
very good French kind). The next one was an almost full glass of water - 
or
so I thought. I wanted to get rid of the 'sour' taste from the wine and 
I
took a healthy gulp - and thought I would choke to death. This was hard
stuff, probably vodka. It took some time to recover from coughing and
sputtering, and I awarded a definite 'Fail' to this drink. Damn. My dad 
was
right after all: Adults are stupid, how could anybody voluntarily drink 
this
stuff? Still, I was eager to go on. The last glass contained some fruity
punch - really nice. Not too strong, refreshingly sweet and just - well 
-
nice. And this last drink was reconciliation enough to make me want to 
look
for more.

  While I was collecting the glasses for my second tray, I noticed how 
the
alcohol was beginning to affect me. I felt very warm all of a sudden. 
Well,
warmer than before at least. I was used to heat and warm nights, but 
this
time the heat came from inside. My belly was all warm and sort of 
bubbly, and
my face was very hot. But it was quite dark by then, so none of the 
adults
noticed my glowing cheeks and slightly glassy eyes.

     My whole body felt funny. I got the feeling that the world was 
spinning
around me slightly, and my vision had become a little blurred at the 
edges. My
balance was also affected, but I wasn't stumbling around - I felt loose 
and
carefree, and discovered a new style of walking. I started to sway my 
hips a
little and tried to walk 'properly' at the same time. One could probably 
say
that I discovered how to walk like a woman then.

  While I enjoyed my tipsiness, I was also scared: 'My parents are going 
to
kill me if they see what's going on!', I thought. But there was nothing 
I
could do. I knew I was beginning to get drunk, and there was no way that
would change soon. So I thought 'what the fuck (hey! a dirty word!), I 
might
as well get on with it now, it's too late anyway.' So I continued to 
look for
half-empty glasses...

  I was just about to return to the kitchen with my tray of treasures 
when I
heard some muffled sounds coming from the door.

  A woman said: "Baby, when we get home tonight, I want you to fuck my 
brains
out."

     My face became even redder. This was heavy stuff. I really 
shouldn't be
listening. Then again... The door was open just a little bit, but with 
my
courage fuelled by alcohol, I didn't take long to decide to have a peek.

  A couple was kissing passionately. SHE - a slim brunette in a tight 
brown
dress - was sitting on the kitchen table, her fishnet stocking clad legs
firmly wrapped around his waist. HE was tall, dark and really handsome. 
And
they were Mr and Mrs Miller. I knew them, they came to visit my parents 
all
the time. I couldn't believe a normal couple like the Millers would even
think about words like 'bottom', and there was little Mrs Miller asking 
her
husband to fuck her.

     I needed a stiff drink to steady myself, so I just took one from 
the tray
and drained it in one go. Champagne again, but it didn't taste as bad as 
the
first glass. I put the tray down and continued to peek through the door.

  WOW! He had his hands all over her by now, and I couldn't help but 
wish
that I was in her place. It just wasn't fair. She had a nice husband 
stroking
her hair, kissing her neck and lips, slightly biting her ear and softly
cupping her breasts...this was getting too much for me. I felt myself 
getting
excited, sexually aroused even. I had goose-bumps all over, and while my
little nipples became hard and pushed against my t-shirt, other regions 
of my
body became very soft and sensitive. The feeling of doing something that 
was
a complete 'no-no' increased my excitement even more.

     I had to stop. Do something else to take my mind off sex. Maybe 
another
drink would help me to steady my nerves and regain my composure. There 
was
something mixed with coke which didn't look or smell too bad, and it 
tasted
quite nice as well. Now I could go and...

     "Darling, if you go on like that I'm going to come in my pants 
(pant,
pant)." That was him this time. My eyes flew back to the door.

  A brief thought of hallucinations entered my mind, but the sight 
before my
eyes didn't change even after I had blinked a few times. They were still
sucking each other's tongues, but their hands weren't moving over their
partner's body any more. They were concentrating on more important 
spots: His
fly was clearly open, her right hand was inside his trousers. She was 
rubbing
quite furiously, and he was obviously enjoying it. His eyes were closed, 
his
head thrown back and he was panting and moaning. She had spread her legs 
a
little wider, and his fingers were right in the middle of them. Her 
panties
still dangled on her ankle, but she didn't seem to notice - I wouldn't 
have,
either.

     "Your pussy is so wet..." - "Hmmmmm..." - "Do you want me to rub it 
a
little more?" - "Hmmmmmm..."

  My throat was getting dry again. I needed a drink. Didn't care what it 
was
this time, but it was quite strong as far as I can remember. When I 
returned
to the door, they were still going at it. I steadied myself on the wall 
with
one hand (for some reason, the world was spinning a little more by now), 
and
attempted to readjust my panties which felt a little uncomfortable. 
Okay, I
have to admit that my fingers remained 'down there' a little longer than
necessary.

  She had his penis out now. I had never seen an erect dick and was 
quite
impressed. No, I won't tell you the size, I was never good at estimating 
and
still refuse to measure anything sexual in sheer numbers. Anyway, I was 
very
impressed at the time. I started to rub myself through the fabric of my
pants. Waves of pleasure started to hit me harder and harder. I imagined 
that
I was Mrs Miller, I could almost feel his hands on my body. My heart 
started
beating even faster, and my legs began to feel wobbly. I stopped 
fingering
myself for a little while - but only to return to spying on the couple 
on the
kitchen table.

  He was going to do it! He had placed his hard manhood just in front of 
the
entrance to her vagina. 'Come on, put it in!', I almost cheered out 
loud.

  "Wait," he said. "What if somebody sees us, or what if somebody comes 
into
the kitchen?"

  "I don't care, I really don't fucking care. I need it now, want to 
feel you
inside me right now, so stop that silly talk and do it!"

  And that was just what he did. Soon they were going at it like 
animals,
moaning, grunting, whispering obscenities I didn't understand. And 
enjoying
themselves to the fullest, apparently. But I wasn't complaining. I had
finished the last two drinks on my tray (for a moment I thought 'What if 
one
of those people has some strange disease? I have drunk from so many 
different
glasses tonight...", but that moment was a very short moment indeed), 
and I
had also managed to slip my hand not only inside my trousers, but also 
under
the waistband of my panties. This was beginning to feel pretty good. I
enjoyed feeling my slippery wetness, and loved the multitude of feelings 
that
was coursing through my body.

  I was trying to decide whether to close my eyes and concentrate on my 
need
for sexual release or to keep them open to watch this live porno film a 
few
feet away when they started coming. Both grunted even louder, especially 
Mrs
Miller - she was almost screaming. At the same time, Mr Miller's penis 
was
pistoning blindingly fast in and out of her pussy. I really wished to be 
in
her place and imagined how nice it must feel to have that 'thing' inside 
my
body.

  It was my turn now. My orgasm started right under my toenails, then 
slowly
crept up the inside of my legs until it reached the 'magic spot'. Then I
exploded, I swear, I really did. I still don't know how I survived that 
one,
and I am still wondering how I managed to remain standing. This was 
beyond
heaven, too good to be true, it felt pink and smelled of flowers...

  When I came to, it took me a little while to realise that they were
cleaning and tidying themselves up and getting dressed. They were 
getting
ready to leave the kitchen! And I was still standing there, one hand on 
the
wall, the other one in my pants. Shit, they were going to catch me. 
Unless...

  I jumped and started to run towards the stairs. My mind was clear and 
my
eyes focused all of a sudden, and I started to run up the stairs. Now my 
eyes
weren't that focused anymore, and my brain was going muddy again. But I 
made
it: Just as I reached the top of the stairs, the kitchen door opened and
through my blurry eyes I could see Mr and Mrs Wilson leaving the kitchen 
and
walking arm in arm towards the living room. That was the moment when the
abundance of liquor I had consumed started to hit me like a ton of 
bricks.

  The world was spinning like crazy, I felt like being in a jet plane 
that
was tumbling from the sky. I fell over, and for some reason found that 
very
funny, so I started to giggle. And giggle a little more after that. I 
was
completely pissed (for you Americans out there: Australians and English
people use 'pissed' as a synonym for 'drunk' - some cultural background
knowledge for you here), absolutely wasted, drunk of my sweet little 
arse
(ass for Yankees and the like). And I loved the feeling.

  Somehow I decided I needed a shower to 'cool down' a little, and after
barely ten minutes, I had managed to pull myself up into an 
almost-standing
position. I cursed my dad for not installing hand-rails on the walls, it 
was
hard to find a decent grip on the smooth surface. Fortunately, however, 
I
still knew my way around the house in my drunken state, so I found the
bathroom without too many problems.

  My clothes seemed to fall from my body without my assistance, only my 
shoes
and socks proved problematic. I slipped and almost knocked myself out on 
the
toilet bowl. Fortunately for me, I was really 'feeling no pain', so 
instead
of passing out and being rushed to hospital because of a possibly 
fractured
skull, I just started giggling again. I found the whole situation very 
funny:
Here I was, a kid, a very young teenager at best, bumping my head on the
toilet because I was too pissed to stand up. I was still laughing when I
fumbled with the tap.

  The water was too cold, but that helped to cool me down a bit. Then I
turned it up just a little too hot and jumped, which almost made me fall 
over
again. My next attempt was almost okay, just a tad on the cold side this
time. This wasn't going to work out. I was just getting pretty 
frustrated
when a new idea appeared from somewhere: Why not try a bath instead of a
shower? This way, I would be able to sit down and relax, and slight
imperfections in the water temperature would be cancelled out.

  The water turned out to be just right in the end. It felt so nice, 
just
being able to lie down and 'chill out' in the warm water. My befuddled 
mind
started to replay the scenes I had just witnessed. I still couldn't see
straight, but my memory was very clear. I could almost see the little 
beads
of sweat on their writhing bodies, could almost smell the steamy scent 
of
sex, and almost without realising it I had started to lightly cup my 
breasts,
even squeeze and stroke them a little bit.

  I closed my eyes and let my hands wander freely over my naked body. I 
lost
my sense of reality, pictures from my imagination mingled with the 
feelings
my roaming hands produced all over my body, and led me to places I had 
never
been to before. Before I knew what was going on, I was very much aroused
again. I couldn't believe it! Could 'a few too many' really turn me into 
a
nymphomaniac that needed 'it' once every few minutes? I had to stop this
before things would get completely out of hand.

  I pulled myself up into a nearly standing position (okay, I was still
leaning on the wall, but at least my knees didn't give), half-heartedly 
dried
myself (the towel's rough softness felt too good to be true, but I 
managed to
stop early enough before anything 'serious' happened. I then proceeded 
to
'brush' my teeth (basically I filled my mouth with toothpaste and water 
and
fumbled around with my toothbrush for a minute or two) and my hair 
(which
turned out to be too painful, so I didn't brush my hair at all). I then 
drew
a deep breath, tried to regain my composure a little and prepared myself 
for
the long way (at least twenty steps) to my room.

     The trip proved uneventful. No slips, no fatal falls, no dangerous
staircases or skilfully hidden traps in the carpet. After I had closed 
my
bedroom door behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was okay now. I 
had
survived. I was finished for the night. More or less.

  I fell into my bed. The soft silkiness of the sheets felt too nice on 
my
radiant skin. Also, lying down probably wasn't the best idea. The world 
was
still rotating like mad, but now it was going up and down as well. 
Closing my
eyes didn't help much. Rearranging my position wasn't successful either. 
But
rocking my hips up and down and imagining Mr Miller between my thighs 
was a
step in the right direction. Simulating the sensations his body would 
produce
if it was pressed against mine was another step. My feelings were 
boiling
over. I pressed my blanket between my thighs, threw my arms and legs 
around
it and kissed the fabric passionately. Loud moans of approaching ecstasy
escaped from my mouth, I was again lost in my own little world.

  I wanted to get off again, but soon realised I couldn't. I was almost
there, when my position shifted slightly and I lost the correct amount 
of
pressure in the correct bodily zones. On my next attempt, I rubbed 
myself so
furiously that I got really sore. Frustration was starting to hit me: I 
was
on the right track, but there seemed to be an impenetrable wall blocking 
my
way to freedom. I even tried inserting my finger into orifices where 
nothing
had been before, but the initial tingling sensations were soon replaced 
by
pain.

  These unsatisfying experiments went on for at least three quarters of 
an
hour. I had already decided it just wasn't going to work at all when it
finally did. I was still thinking about having sex with sweet Mr Miller 
for
the umteenth time that night when I decided not to stop 'him' from 
coming
inside me. All this wasn't real and he wasn't really inside, so I 
couldn't
get pregnant either. Sounds stupid, I know, but that was my drunken 
logic at
the time. So 'we' went on. I could feel his spasms approaching, and when 
he
finally began to groan and spurt, that was all I needed.

  I don't remember the exact feelings, but it was really good. 
Everything was
white, the brightness blinded me, the feeling of 100% pure bliss didn't 
seem
to subside for ages...then everything went dark and I passed out to a
dreamless sleep.

                               ***

  I woke up very early the following Saturday morning, at about 6:30. My 
head
didn't hurt, it was killing me. My limbs ached. I still felt very drunk. 
My
tongue felt like a furry mouse inside my mouth. My ears were ringing. I
wanted to pass into darkness again, but that didn't work. Instead I got 
up,
ran towards the bathroom, locked the door and threw up. Then I barfed. 
After
I had done that, I vomited. Then I started again. Oh yeah, I got my 
period as
well.

  I told my parents that I had probably caught some strange stomach bug, 
and
they were really worried. They made me stay in bed for the rest of the
weekend, brought me lots of tea and dry biscuits and gave all kinds of
advice. They even called my grandma and asked for ancient household 
remedies
for upset tummies.

  I only had one thought, which I probably shared with thousands of 
drinkers
around the planet at the time: 'Never again'. And like thousands, even
millions of drinkers I changed my mind not very long after this 
statement.
But that's a different story.

Enough for now - End of Part One.

If you have any wild stories about your own wild parties, please tell 
me!
If you have had similar experiences - I'm listening!
If you shot some wild photos of drunken people doing stupid things - 
show me!
Finally, but most importantly: If you have anything to say about my 
story - I
beg you not to remain silent.
I can be reached at an000222@anon.fun.ee, and I will try to answer all 
mails.

Jessica.




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