Message-ID: <7898eli$9804151608@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: {Losgud}JDR"My Boyfriend's Back 1"( FF MF MFF cons )[1/3]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to <abuse@anon.nymserver.com>.
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <6h1p9v$r2h$1@sparky.wolfe.net>
JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own
risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes some of the thinking behind the pattern of the
reposts, as well as the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=========================
The following is total fiction. Any resemblance etc. is a product
of your imagination. This work is meant as ADULT entertainment.
If the laws where you sit say you're too young to read this, go
away and turn yourself in to the thought police. Even thinking
about sex is dirty and nasty and will warp your mind forever. Go
watch a movie or play a game that ends with a body count in the
high four figures. Death and destruction are good clean fun.
(c)1997 losgud. Personal use just fine. Archiving okay. Absolutely
NO for-profit use permitted. Reposting without notice is frowned
upon. Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal. Copyright
violations will fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where
the punishment is to discourage repeat offenders. We cut your
fucking hands off!
=========================
F/F FF/M con hum 3some
NOTE: Here's a nice long hot one! Girls just wanna have fun.
No implications meant that women enjoy each other only because
no man is around; nor that the notion only arises when suggested
by pornography. Duh, this is just fiction. The 2nd section
[MB,OHB] is almost an addendum. But it was in mind as I wrote
the first part and I don't think it detracts from the overall
impact. Feel free to view the story w/ or w/o the penile implant.
Enjoy!
=============
MY BOYFRIEND'S BACK
losgud
losgud@hotmail.com
[1/3]
_[My Boyfriend, Behind His Back] [1/2]_
I was pissed off. Pissed off to the max. Or, to put it
another way, I was _maximum_ pissed off. Here it was another
wonderful weekend in the great big city, and I had to be alone.
A city this size has so many incredible virtues that all my friends
back home just drool. They drool at the opportunities, but don't
much care to listen to the whines. Weekends in my hometown
might start about mid-day Thursday, and carry on until Monday
night was threatening to turn into Tuesday morning. But here,
you have to work your ass off the full five days if you hope to
pay the astronomical rent on a tiny little one-bedroom apartment.
The monthly sum which would pay off the mortgage on a big
house back there in about five years.
So the weekends here are nearly sacrosanct. Nearly, that
is. This weekend my boyfriend Stephen was suddenly impressed
into service by his company to fly off for some stupid conference
deep in the heart of the grain states.
As I've said, I was pissed. It really wasn't Stephen's fault,
but nevertheless I kicked his ass into the taxi, after refusing to
tuck a pair of my panties into his pocket. "You can have them
when you peel them away from my hot neglected pussy, you
bastard," were my parting words. I wasn't exactly being fair, but
where in the universe resided fairness in the face of my
weekend's plans suddenly having to get on a fucking airplane to
Iowa? I stormed around the apartment fuming, kicking open the
doors that dared to get in my way. I finally understood why
those little cushions you leave scattered in the corners of your
couch are called _throw_ pillows. At length I calmed down and
began idly contemplating the spoiled evening. Treat myself out
for a sumptuous meal, a really, really expensive one--while
cleaning up earlier in the week I'd found one of Stephen's credit
cards lodged between the sofa cushions. Maybe I could go out
and take in a movie. There was always the possibility of going
out bar-hopping, pick up the original blind date. But besides
being distasteful, the only person that would punish would be
myself. Get a guy that blind drunk, and not much else works
either. I guessed I could always stay home alone and pretend to
be all comfy cozy and woozy.
I was weighing none of my attractive options when Kimbra
called. "Oh Kimbra," I answered, "I'm so glad you called. Uh
huh. No, Stephen had to go fly over the Mississippi River for
some reason. I don't know. To report back that it still flows,
and corn still grows in Iowa. Sure, come on over. I'll get some
dinner in."
I ordered up some delivery from a great Vietnamese place
around the corner, then lay back vaguely fantasizing about a cute
young boat boy who might be persuaded by an extra tip to forget
about his official duties for a little while. Not that I'd ever. The
food arrived before Kimbra, and I opened the door to some
transplanted skag from Alabama who apparently expected the same
treatment. He even came out and said so, after the money and
food had exchanged hands. He was no John Voight, and that
Midnight Cowboy could just ride on back for a wild night in the
barn as far as I was concerned. "No thank you," I closed the
door, "maybe in your next life, though certainly not in mine."
Almost immediately there followed a knock on my door.
Without the preliminary buzz on the intercom from the front door.
I came so close to ignoring it, but then quietly slid up for a
glance out the peephole. It was Kimbra, her face, in that weird
wide squishy way.
She swept into the apartment in her usual fashion, with a
freshly applied scent and her wild flowing hair both billowing as
though she was propelled by a wind machine. She came bearing a
pair of bottles of wine.
"How did you get in downstairs?" I asked.
"You wouldn't believe it. Just as I was needing to come in
this absolutely gorgeous hunk was coming out. I figured he was
your secret lover, but just in case I got all his credentials and
scribbled down every pertinent detail I could think of regarding
you."
This was too uncanny. "You fucking lying slut whore cunt
bitch you!"
"He _reeked_," she rolled her eyes, "of a Vietnamese
kitchen. The lone GI so busy getting gonorrhea even the
helicopters left him behind. He too had to escape communism on a
raft. _Lucky you!_ Glad it's not me."
"If I'd known you were this steeped in evil tonight, I would
never have answered the phone."
"Oh, girlfriend, chill out. So should we eat some French
Indochina cuisine before we indulge in the fine fruit of the
California vines?"
The food was really excellent but we were both finished well
before the supplies of it ran out. Kimbra pushed back first.
"_Enough!_ And not more than enough. I eat a full meal, I
always want to go to sleep. It's too early for that and too late
for a nap. I want to save room for more of this fruity liquid
dessert. Besides, we might want a little snack later during the
movies."
"Movies?" I questioned.
"Yes movies," she made big round googly eyes at me.
"Marvelous 20th century invention that the marvelous 20th
century has shrunken to fit into a small black plastic box. You
know, Denise, you pop it in and it plays. Movies. Surely you
have some around here."
"You don't want to run wild and free and paint the town,
dance all the dances and tease all the guys?" I didn't pose the
question with much enthusiasm.
"Not really. Doesn't sound like you do either."
"So, that's what you feel like doing?" I asked.
"Oh, to be honest, this is a perfect night to cocoon and
spoon."
"So why do you want to waste the time hanging around with
a widow like me? I mean, what about that guy you were seeing?"
Kimbra blew air out between her closed lips. "Oh, _him_. I
apparently snagged him on the way to a masquerade. He's
invisible as far as my eyes care to see."
"What happened?" I asked with genuine concern, because, of
course, these matters are of the gravest concern. "He seemed like
such a _sweet_ guy."
"Oh, he was. But turns out his primary ingredient wasn't
sugar. It was saccharine or some such artificial chemical. You
know, I discovered the little tag at the base of his neck:
_Warning! Use of this product has been known to cause cancer in
laboratory rats._ And he was apparently popping in and out of
the holes of quite a few rats."
"Ooh, yuck."
"Exactly. I'm not _that_ desperate to have a latex membrane
shoved up inside me, no matter how good it feels at the moment.
So I wrote myself a little letter. 'Still having fun? _P.S.: Dump
boyfriend!_'"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Kimbra. I mean, you know. I'm not sorry.
I mean, I am, but I'm not. You know?"
She rolled her eyes and gave her hair a flick, and then
burst out laughing. "_Relax_, Denise. You really are getting it
right. The sentiments _are_ a little bit confusing. At any rate,
it's a big ocean and there's plenty of nice big plump fish, but I
just don't feel like going out trawling tonight. Staying here and
having some wine and chatting and maybe watching a movie, that
sounds like a heaven of a night to me right now."
She picked up her glass and had a sip, then wandered over
to the shelf and started scanning the tapes. I went around the
room lighting candles and turning off the lamps, all of them
except for a row of low-wattage track lights leading down the
hall.
"Huh?" Kimbra said looking at one.
"What? Which one."
"_Riding the Night_. I've heard that's decent. For that
sort of thing. I mean, save your money and wait for it to come
out on video. Better still wait for your girlfriend's boyfriend to
pirate a copy. Have you seen it yet? Is it any good?"
"We-e-ll," I started. "Yea, sort of, I mean, you see, I've
only seen about the first half, which was pretty good, I mean, you
see, Stephen brought it over last weekend, and, uh, well, we
wound up not watching the whole thing but not because it wasn't
good, I mean . . . "
"What you mean is it needs to be rewound because you two
guys suddenly didn't have the time to do anything else but hit
the off button, is that right?" she asked in a sultry tone, casting
a teasing look my way. I didn't really need to answer. "Okay,"
she popped it in, "as good a recommendation as any." She was
right on all counts. The tape did need to be rewound.
"Okay now. One promise from you. I'm leaving if you don't
cheer up. This is supposed to be quality girlfriend time. If
you're going to put on your dreary uniform and salute Major
Mope all evening . . . well, so long, it's been good to know you."
"Well, gee, thanks for the commiseration," I snapped back.
"Oh, _please_, Denise. If you'd just gotten dumped or
something I'd lend you my shoulder until there wasn't a tear left
in your body, I'd rail against every bastard that ever did you
wrong. But face it. You're pissed off because your boyfriend
was forced out of town for the weekend. How do we address
that? I don't want to spend an evening sitting around bitching
about _jobs_. Jobs are like men: _can't live with 'em, can't live
without 'em!_ I mean, was Stephen wearing a smiley face when he
got the news? _Doubter!_ Sure, he's one of the most totally
awesome babes I've ever met. But he's a guy. You _know_ what
was going through that guy brain of his."
I gave a little shrug and took a sip of wine.
"Oh like right you don't." Kimbra cast her voice down low,
"_Well, goddamn, no pussy this weekend, and next weekend she'll
probably be on the rag_."
I exploded in laughter. The wine nearly shot out my nose!
Kimbra joined in chorus, "Now am I right, or am I right?"
"You're right, and you're right. I probably will be on the
rag! Welcome to Blow Job City! I'll be climbing the walls with
horniness, and he'll be all," I pitched low, "_Oh no, that's okay
honey,_ I _can wait, no, really, I don't want to wind up ruining
your sheets or anything_."
It was Kimbra's turn at scalding the nasal membranes.
Finally she recovered. "Okay, okay, so you're pissed off _and_
horny. Why don't you make like the yellow pages, let your
fingers do the walking."
"That's what I do all week long, Kimbra. Weekends are
supposed to be special."
"What?" she shot me a wicked look, "you don't have a
bedside companion."
"Huh?"
"_Ah-hem!_ Mr. Reliable. Pull out your Dirty Weekend
Dildo. Flip the switch on that old vibramagic orgasmatron!"
"Oh, no," I shook my head, "that's not for me. Plastic,
latex, rubber, I just don't like it. Okay, once upon a time, with
this _huge_ king kong thing. It was the color of the _flesh_
crayon. Sort of like a loaf of puffy white bread. Okay to ingest
and it sure filled me up, but it got me nowhere. I mean, I need a
little visual stimulation, but everytime I opened my eyes it was to
the sight of the evil alien monster trying to impregnate me. I
couldn't get beyond _good god girl, you're messin' around with a
dong!_
"Well, I knew this gal who swore by cucumbers, baked in
the oven at a very low heat. Not too mushy. And of course let it
cool down a bit."
"Kimbra! I'm flesh and blood. I don't want to have sex
with a vegetable. Grr-rr. I want _meat_."
"Okay, a nice thick salami, _whatever_."
"I don't _do_ pork."
"I understand they are doing wonderful things with turkey
these days."
"Kimbra, you just don't understand."
"Sure I do, Denise. You're a very picky eater."
"You're missing the whole point."
"I admit sometimes I do. But right now I'd say you're the
one _missing_ the whole _point_."
There was that burning sensation spreading from my lips up
my cheeks. I was hoping the lighting was low enough my blush
would go unnoticed. Kimbra can get on a roll where any sense of
mercy is a scrap of trash out blowing along the gutter. It exists,
but not in the room where she sits. I leaned over to the side
table and lit a couple of scented candles, hoping, I suppose, to
hide the primary evidence of my other blush, rising up from my
other lips to my other cheeks. Damn I was horny. My poor blood
was so confused it didn't know where to go. Rushing this way
and that. There definitely wasn't enough left to keep my brain at
full function. I had to calm down. I tried to pay attention to the
movie, but it was nothing but a screen full of flickering lights,
shouting loud noises. I vaguely recognized the pair of protagonists.
Then it segued into a flashback, a tedious courtroom scene that was
apparently injected at the last minute in an attempt to make the
whole premise of the movie plausible. It was long and stilted and
so very dull that I'd decided to rip off Stephen's clothes and molest
him instead.
"So Denise, when exactly did you last get some? With
Stephen or not you don't have to say."
"_Kimbra!_" I protested, "it's always with Stephen. Last
weekend," I admitted.
"Oh you poor thing. Saturday? Sunday?"
"We-e-ll, gee, um, both."
"_We-e-ll_ indeed. What are you complaining about? Twice
within a week."
"Actually . . . "
"Actually what?"
"O-o-h . . ." I rushed through it, "three times Saturday,
and twice on Sunday and another time I'm not technically sure of
because I wasn't paying attention to the clock."
"_Girl!_ Oh you poor _deprived_ thing. Jollies, yes or no?"
"With Stephen, always. Almost always. Usually, you know,
_multiple_."
In the low light Kimbra's eyes were full moons shining at
me. "Shit. No wonder you're aching. You've gotten too used to
the too good stuff."
"I _know_," I fairly groaned.
By then there was a grand swell of music and a fade-out
shot of a man and a woman, looking a bit battered and dirty,
staring at each other with unconcealed if stylized lust. The
credits started rolling.
"Is this the end? that's the end? how did it end?" Kimbra
burst in staccato.
"_One guess!_ Ms. Good and Mr. Good defeated all evil and
have themselves for rewards. But before they can drive off in
the sunset for a quick shower before you-know-what they have to
find a taxi because all the other cars got blown up along the
way."
"So that's the sequel then? Ooh, scary! Two hours of
standing around all ready for the real action, but no way to get
there. _Hailing a Cab_. I think I'll skip that one. Just thinking
about it is going to give me nightmares."
I was looking all around us for the remote, when right as
the film finished I saw that I'd left it on top of the television.
=========================
End Part 1 of 3
=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under "Author" name:
LUSHGOD@HOTNOMAIL.COM
=============
MY BOYFRIEND'S BACK
losgud
Part One
-30-
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |