("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
Give Me That Old Time Religion 3: Rapture Indeed
by Fowler Gray (fowlergray@yahoo.com)
***
Set in the late Sixties "Give Me That Old Time
Religion," or OTR for short, tells the story of how
joining the Agapemone Bethel, where sex is a sacrament,
changes young Jake Gledhill's life. (Fm, 1st)
***
Author Notes: To quench any flames before they start
raging, this is a work of fiction. The author does not
espouse the pseudo-theology contained in this story nor
is he an adherent to its practices.
All of the usual legal disclaimers regarding the laws
of your jurisdiction apply to reading and/or
downloading this story, which pursuant to the Berne
Convention, is copyrighted with all rights reserved by
its author, Fowler Gray, unless explicitly indicated.
Reproduction except for personal use and reposting
without the author's written permission is prohibited.
This story may not be reproduced on any commercial
site.
Please pay attention to the story codes because they
may change with each Plainsong.
A few readers have commented (complained) some chapters
of OTR move too slow and don't have enough sex. If
you're looking for a quick and dirty stroke story (not
that there's anything wrong with those), OTR probably
isn't for you.
As opposed to a short story, OTR is a novella where the
characters will change and evolve. Some chapters will
be slower and have less outright sex than others.
Some of the women who have read OTR have written to
tell me they have been put off by its religious tenets
and seeming misogynism. Again I can only say OTR is a
story about transformation and growth.
While I hope all of you will stick around for the ride,
I'll understand if some of you don't.
Finally, remember Celeste's Blow Job Principle which
states "If a person expects to get a second blow job,
the recipient should make the giver glad to have
performed the first." Think of this story, or any story
on this site, as the written equivalent of the author
giving you head (a handy, gender-neutral phrase
encompassing both cunnilingus and fellatio) and be sure
to say thank you.
Thank yous for and comments on Gimme That Old Time
Religion can be sent to this email address:
fowlergray@yahoo.com
***
Give Me That Old Time Religion,
An Oratorio In Several Plainsongs By Fowler Gray
The Third Plainsong: Rapture Indeed
My fulsome apology to my Dad wasn't a grudging one.
Those "vacation" photos changed a lot in my life, not
the least my understanding of the life my parents led.
Not only had I been wrong, I'd been foolish, viewing
their adult relationship through my young eyes and
thinking I knew all there was to know about how people
should behave and live their lives.
Dad took my apology in stride, simply telling me he was
glad I knew the truth. Neither of us mentioned the
photos; to this day I don't know if Dad knew Mom had
shown them to me or not. After my apology my father
began to plan my first "big date," which is how I found
myself with Debbie Davis in the cargo section of a 1958
Kelly Green Rambler Super Cross Country station wagon,
complete with rust spots, worn upholstery, and sprung
springs.
Dad had given a lot of thought to which of the girls I
should date first.
"Both of 'em wanted to pop your cherry. Hell, I thought
they were gunna to get into a fight over who got first
crack at you. I had to step in to settle it. Since
they're both good lays, I decided Debbie gets the honor
because she has her own car."
Back then for a boy my age, having your own car was a
rare and great luxury, not the necessity it is today.
Only three of my classmates had their own cars, beaters
held together more by rust, Bondo and duct tape than by
metal. The rest of us went back and forth to school by
bus or bike. For some late night activities such as
sports, we had a parent, our own or a friend's, pick us
up after school and take us home. But our basic mode of
transportation involved foot power, either walking or
pedaling.
Occasionally, one of us would be able to borrow the
family car allowing us to tool along the back roads,
feeling like little Apollos in a fiery chariot,
swigging bottles of beer smuggled out of the heavy
waxed cardboard cases of Goebels, Hamms and Schlitz
that littered every back porch in the county; chewing
cuds of Fruit Stripe or Blackjack gum to hide the
telltale fumes, as though our folks had never partaken
of this timeless ritual themselves when they were our
age.
But it was one thing to ride along with your buddies,
or hitch a ride with someone's parents. It was another
for a girl to pick you up for a date. It was the man's
job to provide the transportation, even when he didn't
have any.
"I don't know Dad, it's pretty embarrassing to have
Debbie pick me up. Can't I use our car, just this
once?"
"Not a chance stud. The last thing I want is for the
family car to reek of teenage sex for the rest of the
month. Don't worry about being embarrassed; a good
piece of pussy is worth a little humiliation."
So my fate was sealed; with the acquiescence of both my
parents I was going to lose my virginity, not to the
girl of my dreams, but to someone I'd never even seen,
one of my father's past conquests. Sort of gave a whole
new meaning to "wearing my father's hand-me-downs."
There's no question the whole thing was weird. I'd be
lying if I said it didn't make me queasy. Besides the
strangeness of going out with someone your own father
is fucking and all of the head games that brings on,
including the inevitable comparisons of sexual prowess,
there was the fact my mother knew all about it and
approved. Perverse, but no more perverse than what I'd
already been told or seen if my own eyes.
Besides the Oedipal overtones, I worried about how this
would affect my budding relationship with Elle. It
hadn't gotten that far yet, we were still limited to
talking before and after bethel but I had hopes the
barbe would sanction chaperoned dating after I finished
my instruction.
What would Elle think if she knew what I was doing?
Would she be as approving of my actions as my mother
was of my father's or would she think I was cheating on
her the way I had thought my Dad was cheating on Mom?
For the next week I didn't get much sleep as
anticipation partnered with apprehension churned though
my thoughts.
Finally my "date" night arrived. Mercifully, my parents
went out to dinner, leaving me alone in the house to
wait for Debbie. We were going to the movies; "Dracula
Has Risen From The Dead" was playing at the Lycenium in
North Jordan. Dad had told me Debbie was quite the fan
of horror movies.
At seventeen boys are not adult, rational beings no
matter how "grown up" we might think we are. We're
governed by the three "I"s of our existence: impulse,
ignorance and irresponsibility, microencephalonic
masses of protoplasm, quivering every time a hormonal
surge triggers another random synaptic flash. When I
finally saw Debbie standing in the door of our home it
unleashed a thunderstorm of synaptic flashes.
Dad was right, my date for the night wasn't bad
looking; in fact she was downright cute; toothsome and
quite eye-catching in all the ways that mattered.
Long bottle-blond hair was parted in the middle of
Debbie's head then gathered into two braids, almost
like a spaniel's ears. Her mouth was a pronounced
Cupid's bow made even more noticeable by the garish red
of her lipstick, deep dimples appearing at each corner
as she smiled at me, revealing large flat white teeth
as though a row of Peppermint Chiclets had been
implanted in her upper gums.
Fleshy but not fat, certainly no sweat hog, Debbie was
wearing a flowered knit pullover, raspberry, pink and
plum on white with a pair of those "Mod" jeans that
were so popular back then, straight legs with a two-
button hip-riding waist and stitched-on bellows
pockets.
Everything was a snug fit. I found myself wondering how
she got into those pants which led me to think about
what was going to happen when I got into those pants, a
line of thought that in turn led to my pants becoming
significantly more snug in the front.
Just as I had been checking her out, Debbie had been
scoping me. The sight of the area around my fly
distending not only made her giggle, it reminded me of
my manners.
With what I hoped was a cool and suave air, I stuck out
my hand and said, "You must be Debbie, I'm Jake. Enter
freely and of your own will."
She moved forward but, instead of taking my hand with
hers, she took my head between her hands, pulled my
face to hers and, as my mouth opened in sheer amazement
at her approach, gave me a deep French kiss.
Breaking of the kiss, she said in a fake Hungarian
accent "Oh, ze children of ze night, vhat sveet music
ve vill make."
Stepping back she gave me her frank first appraisal. "I
guess Lennie was right, I won't have to make you wear a
bag over your head." Then, stepping forward, she ran
the back of her nails over the outline of my chubby.
"That's not a gun in your pocket so I know you're glad
to see me." Then she kissed me again.
By now I was completely off balance. Dad hadn't told me
much about Debbie other than that she was, in his words
"a fun fuck." I don't know what I'd been expecting but
it wasn't someone this forward. In two minutes with
Debbie, I'd gotten more action than I had in four
months with Elle and we hadn't even left the house yet.
As though she was reading my mind, Debbie gave her
tongue one last wiggle in my mouth then withdrew saying
"Time to get into the circus wagon Jake; we've got to
leave now if we're going to make the 7 o'clock show."
Her "circus wagon" was the aforementioned Rambler. As
it bounced its way along our rutted dirt road, Debbie
told me about herself. Her family was just a bit larger
than mine; she had a sister Tami and a brother Greg,
both younger than she was.
Her parents wanted her to be a nurse but "the hell with
that, I can't stand being around sick people," so she
went to junior college to get her associate's degree in
office management. "A little bookkeeping, some typing,
some shorthand. Lennie says I'm really good at taking
'dick'tation."
Working at the shop was just a temporary job, a way of
getting enough scratch together to head out on the open
road. "I won't let any one or anything tie me down.
Won't be working for a paycheck all my life either. The
nine to five thing's OK for now, kind of a drag but I
can stand it for a while. At least I'm not stuck in a
kitchen being a good little homemaker like my Mom."
Loftier things were ahead for Debbie; she was going to
be a painter or maybe a sculptor. She hadn't made up
her mind yet. "I was always good at making things out
of Playdough or clay. My high school art teacher said I
had real talent. So did the Famous Artists School. They
said my drawings showed 'a unique style worthy of
further development," she told me proudly, "but I
didn't have the money for the course."
"I've got that problem licked now. I ran into my old
art teacher last week. Ray said he'd give me private
art lessons if I'd agree to pose nude for him. He's not
fooling me; he just wants a little nookie, which is OK
by me. He was always nice to me in school, nicer than
most of my teachers. I took his class in the first
place because I had a little crush on him. There was
always that rumor about him and the librarian Mrs.
Teper doing it in the stacks on homecoming night. After
we fuck maybe he'll tell me if he nailed her or not."
"That's one of the great things about women's lib,"
Debbie chattered on without waiting for a reply. "We're
empowered now, not under a man's thumb. I can do what
I want to do, be who I want to be, sleep with who I
want to sleep with, go where I want to go. It's my
decision, not some man calling the shots for me.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not a man hater. Shit, I love
men. I love men's bodies. Each man I'm with is
different; I'm a traveler in a new land every time I
fuck some fresh. I adore the feel of them slipping
inside me, coaxing me to my orgasm. But I won't let a
man own me. I'm independent."
As Debbie was talking, we were pulling into the parking
lot at Beal's IGA just across from the theatre. Before
I could get out of the car to open her door, Debbie
grabbed my arm, holding me inside the car.
"I don't want to get too heavy and I don't want you to
either. This isn't a serious thing we've got going
here. Just a little light fun and entertainment.
There's no commitment here; I'm not looking for a
boyfriend. I don't want you falling in love with me
just because I popped your cherry. Lennie's told me all
about you and Elle. I think that's sweet, not for me
but still sweet. Just enjoy tonight and go with the
flow. It's only sex Jake, nothing more. OK?"
I smiled in what I hoped was a sophisticated way but
was more than likely a sickly leer. "I'm cool with
where you're coming from. We're just a couple of people
getting their kicks where they can."
She smiled back, a far more sensuous smile than mine.
"I like that Jake, I like that a lot. I like you too.
But we better get inside now. The movie should just
about be starting."
The tickets for the show were $1.25 each, five hours
worth of work since I only got to keep half of my
dollar an hour minimum wage. By the time I added in
candy, popcorn and soda, plus hamburgers and malts
after the movie at Sugar Joe's more than a week's pay
would be gone. On the other hand so would my virginity,
a more than an even trade.
The movie was pretty good, scary in some places, sexy
in others. The best part of the movie was all the
attractive women in low-cut bodices and nightgowns
waiting breathlessly for Dracula's bite then writhing
in ecstasy as he sucked their blood. The best part of
being at the movie was Debbie, even though she did
nothing but tease me.
The theatre was almost full. By the time we got there,
all the good seats had been taken including every one
in "make-out row." So we found ourselves sitting about
five rows back from the screen in the last two seats
off the right hand aisle, right up against the wall.
Just as the picture started I plopped my arm over
Debbie's shoulders to be in position to cop a feel or
two during the movie only to have her lean away from
me. "Behave yourself, Jake. There'll be plenty of time
for this later. We're here to watch the movie not put
on a PDA."
But what was good for the gander wasn't good for the
goose. Debbie was merciless all though the movie,
leaning over to blow in my ear and whisper things like
"Are you going to bite me tonight Jake, make me squirm
like she is? I've got better things for you to suck on
than my neck."
At times Debbie would use her left hand, hidden from
view by the seat back, to rub my crotch. "Are you going
to stake me with that big thing of yours, hammer it
into me until I scream," she'd ask me in a voice too
soft to be heard by anyone else. Once, just once, she
guided my hand to between her legs, "I'm so wet Jake,
just thinking about tonight; what we're going to do to
each other."
It seemed like an eternity until the house lights came
up. Even after they did we were almost the last couple
to exit the theatre, waiting for the throbbing hard-on
I'd had throughout the movie to subside.
Finally we were outside. Taking Debbie's hand in mine,
a maneuver she didn't object to, I began to walk with
her down to Sugar Joe's, talking about the movie along
the way. Because we were so late leaving the show, we
were at the back of the line for a booth.
"Jake, do we really want to waste time tonight waiting
for a shoe leather burger from here when there are much
better things we could be munching on," she asked
ostentatiously licking her lips as she looked at my
belt buckle. Five minutes later we were on the road,
speeding toward McClure's Orchards.
In a rural community there's no shortage of places to
go to make out or even go all the way. Admiral Groom's
Park had a small watchtower, accessible through a
trapdoor in the floor. If you knew how to get there,
the back gate to Sullivan's Sod Farm was usually left
unchained. There were always the assorted farm fields
of corn, wheat and alfalfa that dotted the county. But
the best locations for sexual mischief were always the
orchards. Easy to get to, you could drive a car well
back off the road. The frequent spraying of the fruit
trees meant you could roll down the car windows or even
get out of the car without worrying about being
besieged by biting insects.
McClure's was the best of the orchard passion pits,
isolated with no houses around; it was furthest away
from town of any of them. The 20-minute ride out there
discouraged joy riders looking for a chance to "shine"
couples making out.
As Debbie's circus wagon made its way down a two-track
trail, I began feel my gut churn and not just from the
greasy popcorn. It was four years before the Joy of
Sex made its way to bookstores but there were some sex
manuals available by mail, delivered in plain brown
paper wrappers.
These always had a pseudo-intellectual/psychological
introduction by someone with a Ph.D. after his name,
explaining how the book was "of paramount importance in
reaching an understanding of the problems which
confront the neurotic as well as the normal individual
in today's society."
They usually quoted one of the raunchier passages from
the Canterbury Tales or a small section from Fanny
Hill. These contrivances allowed them to argue in court
the book wasn't obscene; it had literary merit or at
least some redeeming social value.
The week before my date, Dad had given me one of these
books, "The Secrets of A Successful Marriage." After
the usual introduction plus a single chapter on the
value of listening to your mate and being helpful
around the home, the remainder of the book was a "how-
to" sex manual, crude anatomical drawings on the left
hand page, clinical instructions interspersed with
lurid prose describing the results of following those
instructions on the right.
I tried to memorize every page of that book, the same
way a boy scout would memorize his survival manual
before his first wilderness hike. Women were more than
two breasts and a vagina. I should pay attention to her
entire body. Some women's breasts were super-sensitive.
I should stroke and caress them, not squeeze them like
oranges. Whenever I touched a woman's vagina I had to
make sure my finger was wet. I should work up to
touching her clit. My mind was awhirl reviewing all the
hints and instructions.
The book told me when I went down on a woman I should
make my lips into an "O" and suck her gently, watching
her face all the while for her reaction; although how I
was supposed watch her face at night in a car with no
lights on, my face mashed between her legs the book
didn't say.
Most of all don't jump her bones right away. It was
important to take our time, work up to it; better for
both of us that way.
My fear was all I had to guide me was my fantasies,
which would be absolutely useless, and book learning
from a pretty shitty book. In a few minutes I was going
to have to do the deed with an experienced woman, not
just an experienced woman but also one who had been
repeatedly fucked by my own father. Inside I was
shaking like a bowl of Jell-O in an earthquake with the
minor temblors running their course across my skin.
I'll always bless Debbie for she did that night. She
knew I was uncomfortable, uncertain about how to start,
nervous about not measuring up or being thought a spazz
and so she took control.
"Boy that was some movie wasn't it? I thought I was
going to jump out of my skin when they found that
woman's body hanging in the church bell in place of the
clapper. From then it just got more suspenseful. I'm
still all tense from being so scared. Jake, do you
think you could give me a little massage, maybe rub
some of the knots out of me?"
As Debbie opened the tailgate of the station wagon to
let us into the back, "No sense in crawling all over
the seats," she said. I couldn't help noticing the
cargo area was covered with a thick, puffy comforter
and that there were several different sized pillows in
one corner as well. Debbie had come prepared. As she
got in she kicked off her shoes, letting her bare feet
swing back and forth in the gentle night breeze, I
followed suit taking off both my shoes and socks.
Leaving the tailgate open, Debbie lay down on her
stomach, her head pointed the front of the car and
cushioned on a pillow. She had spread her legs just
enough to allow me to kneel between them. I could feel
her thighs rubbing against mine as I began to rub her
shoulders. Here at least my shaking hands would be an
advantage, sort of human magic fingers without the need
to keep putting in quarters.
After a few minutes Debbie lifted her head, asking me
to massage her a little harder. "I'm not made of fine
china, Jake. I won't break. If you hurt me I'll let you
know." I began pressing more forcibly.
"That feels a little better Jake," she told me, "but
it's still too soft. Maybe if we took my top off?"
She didn't have to ask twice. As I reached under her
torso to tug her flowered pullover off, my hands
brushed against her hanging tits. "Shame on you Jake,
copping a feel like that," she said coquettishly. "If
I didn't know better I'd think you wanted to do more
than rub my back."
Settling back down on the comforter, she gave a
contented sigh as I returned to my task, the feel of
her warm slick flesh against my fingers sending a
tingle down my spine, one that quickly rushed to the
far tip of my cock.
Emboldened by her response, I began to work my fingers
underneath the back clasp of her bra. It was tough
going, the clasp slapping back against her every time
my fingers returned to her bare skin.
"That does hurt, Jake. I think we need to unhook my
bra, otherwise I'm going to have a big welt there in
the morning. While we're at it let's just take the
whole thing off, the straps were digging into my
shoulders anyway."
Mouth dry, I returned to my task, basking in the little
murmurs of enjoyment that reached my ears.
"My legs are really, really sore. You wouldn't mind
rubbing them for me too would you? I'll have to get out
of the car to take my jeans off though, they're too
tight just to wriggle out of in here."
As I sat transfixed on the edge of the tailgate, Debbie
stood facing me, slowly removing her jeans. God, she
looked beautiful as she revealed herself to me, Astarte
under the stars, her enticing body dappled by moon glow
and shadows.
"Jake, I feel awfully silly. Here I am in nothing but
my panties while you've got everything on but your
shoes and socks. It isn't fair. Maybe you should take
some of your clothes off. Better yet, stand up and let
me take them off for you."
Now our roles were reversed. I stood, arms over my
head, as Debbie peeled off my shirt and undershirt then
had me sit as she pulled my pants down over my legs,
revealing a pair of white undershorts just slightly
less soggy than Snyder's swamp.
All pretenses were abandoned as she placed my hands on
her heavy full breasts. Hungry as a newborn babe, I
leaned over taking first one then the other into my
mouth, softly running my tongue over each magnificent
globe. As I suckled, she reached up to untie the bows
holding her hair. A quick shake of her head caused to
her spaniel ears to transform into long flowing
tresses, easily reaching the middle of her back.
I moved my mouth from her left nipple to the little
hollow at the base of Debbie's throat, applying just
the slightest pressure against her skin, exhaling soft
wafts of air, all the while running my hands along her
ribs and back. Then upward again until our lips met,
our mouths covering each other, both breathing the same
moist air, both moaning deep in our throats, feeling
each other's desire yet wanting more.
Debbie took the initiative. Pushing against me, she
leveraged us apart. "I'm going to suck you now Jake,"
she told me. "I want you to come in my mouth. Don't
worry about lasting; don't worry about pleasing me;
don't worry about anything but enjoying the blow job
I'm about to give you."
Her hands encircled my hips and, as she sank to the
ground, pulled my underwear down with her, revealing
not a blue steeler erection but a soft, shrunken
schlong. If it wouldn't have added to my already
overwhelming mortification, I'd have broken out in
tears.
Again Debbie rose to the occasion, even if, for the
time being, I couldn't. After sheparding me to the
tailgate, she sat down beside me rubbing my shoulders
almost exactly as my Mom did.
"Don't be upset Jake; this happens to everyone. You're
just nervous about tonight but everything will be all
right lover, just trust Momma Debbie," she said giving
me a comforting smile.
Feeling the deep blush that stained my face, I nodded.
"This happens to guys all the time. They don't like to
admit it. They sure won't talk about it with their
friends but you're not the first to lose his hard-on
and you won't be the last."
Moving softly, her hands began to stroke my lower
abdomen coming close to but not touching my dick. As
our mouths merged and our tongues dueled, she pressed
her bare flesh against mine. I could feel her breasts
flatten against my chest, our nipples hard as pebbles.
As she licked her way down my torso, I began running my
fingers through Debbie's hair. When her head drew level
with my cock, I could feel myself becoming engorged, my
drooping member straightening in anticipation of what
was to come.
Like a cat marking territory, Debbie started to rub her
cheeks against my thighs; quick furtive licks to my
glans swabbing off the moisture gathering there. Then,
using a hand on each of my thighs to steady herself,
Debbie went down on me.
"Debbie went down on me;" what a crude undescriptive
term for such a wondrous life affirming act. Slowly
and deliberately her lips enveloped my cock, gently
sliding down its pulsing tube; the strange tactile
sensation of the flat of her tongue along its underside
drawing involuntary whimpers from my throat. Ascending
back up my pole she opened her mouth slightly, using
her hot thick saliva to mark her way.
When she reached the tip I began to thrust forward,
only to have her shake her head in negation.
Momentarily removing me from her mouth she instructed
me that she would do all the moving. "Just stand still,
if you can," she said, resuming her oral ministrations.
Legs quivering, I bit my upper lip to prevent myself
from shoving my dick deep into her throat. It felt so
good, making me desire so much more. The woman was a
she-devil; moving faster, moving slower, abandoning my
dick to lave my balls then returning to tease my cock
tip with the point of her tongue; always keeping me on
teetering on the knife edge of orgasm.
Suddenly it was just too much. My balls began to
contract, my dick to pulse uncontrollably; my time of
crisis was on me.
An inarticulate warning caused Debbie to tighten the
seal of her lips around the circumference of my cock as
I spilled my seed into her waiting mouth, slumping
against her as wave after wave of sperm fled my body.
Disconnected from the moment, I floated in a
netherworld of slaked lust; apprehensions of inadequacy
banished replaced by a sense of realized potential.
All of my past fantasies had been a dress rehearsal for
this night and other nights to come.
Returning to the present I reached down and helped
Debbie rise to her feet, my dick as limp as a dishrag,
my face aglow with unexpressed gratitude. I knew better
to say thanks as though my date was a shop girl and I
was her customer. Still, I wanted to say something to
indicate how I felt.
Before she could speak I told Debbie how wonderful it
had been, careful to distinguish the act from the
person. We were now lovers but I didn't want to raise
any fears I was falling in love with her. Instead,
resolved to let my actions indicate my gratefulness, I
started off by simply holding her, arms wrapped around
her back.
Tilting her face, my mouth hovered over hers until her
lips parted. We kissed deeply, her mouth salty and
slick, the remnants of popcorn and cum flavoring our
oral embrace, our hands running across each other's
bodies like the blind searching for a sign in Braille.
Slowly we made our way back into the wagon, careful not
to break our mutual caress. Somewhere along the way
Debbie had shed her panties, the dark thicket of fur
between her legs contrasting with her blonde tresses.
Avoiding Debbie's direct approach to lovemaking, I
begin a more oblique and unhurried campaign of
discovery, reveling in my exploration of her body. I
knew my first time making love would be clumsy and
maladroit; more to be tolerated than enjoyed and that
it didn't matter. Debbie's acceptance of my virgin
efforts, as ham-handed as they might be, gave me the
serenity to proceed without fear of ridicule.
Her breasts felt like warm yeasty bread dough against
my hands, their gumdrop nipples rubbery in my mouth as
I sucked, gently scraping the edge of my teeth against
their nubby surface. Her hands clung to my head as I
licked the brackish sweat from between her breasts and
the ribcage they rested on.
Removing her hands, I turned them upward, running my
open mouth over the flat of her wrists, feeling the
blood in her veins flutter and pulse against my tongue.
I kissed her arms, bit on her earlobes as my hands
stroked the sides of her ribs, finally coming to rest
on the outer edges of her thighs.
Nuzzling against the side of her neck I made my first
tentative approach to her vagina, fingers threading
their way through her bush to brush against her mons,
teasing around the edges of her clit, filling with
self-satisfaction when her breath caught in the back of
her throat.
As her legs opened in welcome, I began to glide my lips
down Debbie's torso, leaving a snail's trail of saliva
behind me, an impatient desire growing the further
south I descended.
As I reached Adam's altar the scent of Debbie's arousal
filled my nose, not fishy or unpleasant but pungent
none the less, spicy and earthy at the same time. All
lessons forgotten and with far more eagerness than
expertise I buried my face deep into her cunt,
determined to return the favor and eat Debbie until she
came.
"Whoa, go easy, stud," Debbie told me raising her head
from the pillow. "I'm sensitive down there. Don't act
like you're a staving man at an all you can eat
buffet."
Under the direction of my carnal muse I pulled back
using the tip of my tongue to coax the sticky lips of
her pussy apart. The comforter was already soaked with
the juice flooding out of her; I wouldn't have to worry
about wetting my fingers. Lapping with long slow
strokes, I savored the taste of her, a spicy sharp
flavor of cinnamon and clove with just a hint of musk.
Following Debbie's instructions, I placed two fingers
inside her. The walls of her cunt were slick and
moist, like clay edging the banks of a creek. While I
blew softly into her, my thumb rubbed circles around
her clit, careful to massage the edges without pressing
too hard.
At her command I put my tongue on her clit, vibrating
back and forth like a hummingbird's wing, the aroma of
her arousal reaching me even with my nose buried deep
in her public hair. She let out a small gasp as I
breathed into her, swooping my tongue around and over
her, plunging it further into the dark circular opening
at the center of her being.
Her body began to convulse, tiny waves of pleasure
rolling though her. Her breathing turning faster and
shallower, matching itself to the lingual exertions of
my tongue. Raising her hips up she grabbed my head,
forcing it tighter against her cunt, her words drowned
out by the noise of the blood surging in my head.
I flicked and sucked and pistoned with my fingers, the
rhythm hard and fast driving Debbie ever closer to the
edge. She pushed wildly against me as the first buzz of
her orgasm hit, bucking and twitching so hard our
fleshy connection was severed. Then she fell back to
the comforter, silent except for the sound of her
breath whistling from her lungs.
As we lay nestled together my head pillowed on her
breasts, a passage from the Song of Songs came into my
mind.
"Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon
my garden that the spice thereof may flow out. Let my
beloved come into his garden, to the beds of spice, the
well of living waters and eat his pleasant fruits and
feedeth among the lilies."
"That was nice Jake, really nice," Debbie told me, her
voice relaxed and languid in the aftermath of her
orgasm. "Are you sure you've never done this before,"
she teased. "You're a natural born cuntlapper." As
she spoke, her hand wandered down to embrace my dick,
now proudly hard and upright.
"Give me time to catch my breath and we'll see if we
can't put this hard-on of yours to good use," she
promised, softly stroking up and down my rod. "That
protein shake you gave me was tasty but now I need this
stuffed deep inside me."
I made love to Debbie as masterfully as Clapton plays
his guitar, making her claw the sky and scream out my
name over and over as multiple orgasms wrung every
ounce of desire from her quaking body, leaving her a
limp but well satisfied woman.
OK, so it wasn't exactly like that. But it was close,
well, close if you switch me with Debbie, leave out the
whole screaming of the name thing (I didn't scream,
just sort of moaned loudly and then only once), and
reduce those multiple orgasms down to a singleton. In
fairness though, I was limp and well satisfied when it
was over.
Pleased by Debbie's exaggerated praise of my
cunnilingual skills, I nibbled my way back to her
pussy, suckling on her clit like a just dropped calf,
savoring her tangy secretions as they gushed across my
taste buds. When she was aroused, Debbie overflowed her
banks like the Oletangy River at flood crest.
She wasn't the only one who was aroused. If I didn't
get inside her soon, I'd be emulating Onan instead of
Solomon.
Self-control slipping, I pushed her legs further apart,
sliding my way up her body. Melding my lips with hers,
I felt my dick throbbing, her mound brushing against
mine as my rod blindly sought entrance to her grotto.
"Stop Jake," Debbie said, tearing her mouth away. "Not
like this. Let me get on top."
Performing an inelegant pirouette we switched places.
The roof of the wagon was too low to allow Debbie to
sit completely up, forcing her into a squatting
position over me. "Hold on to my hips, Jake," she
grunted, one hand reaching underneath her curled legs
to grab my cock, the other balancing her descent.
Shivers running from my scalp to my sweaty feet, I felt
her guide me, settling slowly until she was resting on
top of me, my dick fully sheathed in her center.
This was rapture. The warm satiny feel of her cunt
muscles contracting and relaxing against my dick. The
way they milked my shaft as she rose and fell, little
grunts of exertion escaping her lips in counterpoint to
her movements. The feeling of those elongated breasts
hanging like Zucca gourds against my palms, nipples
solid as diamonds. The sweep of her hair against me
sending little jolts of electricity through my skin
with each feathery caress.
I thought I'd reached Eden when I entered Debbie's
mouth, now I knew I had only been on the outskirts of
the Garden.
Thrusting upward I buried myself deeper into her,
grinding against her heat, pushing may crotch against
her pelvic bone, all politeness and decorum burnt away
in the raging fire of passion.
My vision narrowed. Jungle drums began to beat in my
head as my body rocked with hers in a motion as ancient
as time, our smooth gliding rhythm disrupted by the
urgency of our needs, replaced by something more
primeval and primitive, a duel of thrust and
counterthrust one step removed from combat.
Falling forward, she pinned my wrists with her hands,
her groin tight against mine. Teeth gnawed at my lower
lip, drawing blood, adding the taste of copper and iron
to the night's melange of tastes. Her breath hot
against my throat, she began to chant "almost there,
almost there, almost there." I fought to keep cadence,
plunging in and out as fast as I could, knowing that I
had only a few moments left.
Pressure grew in my loins, heavy and insistent,
demanding to be released, to spill out as nature
intended instead of in my fist. Just as I thought I
couldn't restrain my explosion any longer Debbie ceased
to move, frozen in orgasm. Moaning out her name, I
began to convulse inside her, baptizing her womb with
my spending, consummating my first time with a woman,
gifting Debbie Davis my virginity.
With each pulse of sperm that shot from my prick a
feeling of lightheadedness grew in me until it seemed
my body was floating in the clouds. As the intensity of
my orgasm diminished my flesh grew heavier and I
descended back to earth, my senses slowly returning to
normal. The barbe was right, what had just transpired
in the back of Debbie's Rambler wagon was a sacrament
from God.
"Oh god, Jake that was great," Debbie said, her sweaty
body mashed against mine. "My toes curled so hard I
thought they'd break." Even though I knew Debbie was
embellishing my performance, I couldn't help but break
into a big smile. I may not have been a master
cocksman but at least I'd avoided any truly
embarrassing missteps.
An audible pop marking the moment of our post-coital
separation, Debbie rolled off to one side, resting her
head on my shoulder. "So don't keep a poor girl in
suspense, was it good for you too?"
I felt more than saw Debbie's goofy grin as she asked
me this question. Trying to keep the moment light, I
responded in my most serious tone, "Believe me Debbie,
I can honestly say that was the best fuck I've ever
had."
"You filthy beast," she screeched comically, "that's
the only fuck you've ever had. You're going to pay for
that comment." Shaping her hands into claws she
attacked, tickling me unmercifully, her peals of
laughter merging with mine as we finished our evening
in joyous play, showing each other that what had just
happened "was no big thing."
On the way home the scent of our rutting was so thick
you could almost scoop in up in your hand. Dad was
right in not loaning me the family car; it would have
taken a dozen bottles of Airwick to clear out that
smell.
I had more "dates" with Debbie, practical courses in
sex education, the very thing my mother said I needed.
Debbie enjoyed tutoring me in the art of making love to
a woman, patiently giving me instructions to improve my
amateurish techniques. Each date was fun even if some
where vaguely clinical, but not one of them ever
equaled that first soul-stirring time we made love.
We didn't only fuck on our dates; we talked. Talking
with Debbie was like buying one of those grab bags at
the five and ten, you never really knew what you were
going to get or how long it would last. Hummingbirds
hovered longer around a single blossom than she did on
a single topic. Sometimes it seemed as though she
wasn't really talking to me but rather using me as a
sounding board to get in touch with herself.
Far from the light and inconsequential chats we started
out with, portions of our later talks often were
contemplative and penetrating, honest conversations
without guile or pretense; revealing those bits and
piece of our true selves we kept hidden from view. I
discovered a different Debbie Davis existed underneath
the free spirit, sexually liberated woman persona she
showed to the world.
"I'm not stupid," Debbie said one evening out of the
blue. We had just finished making love for the second
time that Saturday night and were lying together on our
backs on a blanket in the middle of one of Sullivan's
sod fields, gathering enough energy to get dressed and
go back into town.
"Guys are using me, I know that. They've heard all the
gossip and when they see my big tits, all they can
think about is jumping my bones. I'm not really a
person to them, just a easy way to get off. They're not
interested in me for me; they're interested in me for
how I can make them feel. I don't mean you or Lennie.
Shit, you two treat me the nicest of anyone in town.
I'm talking about those other needy jerks."
Eyes focused on the stars, she continued her monologue
in a matter of fact voice as though she was discussing
the weather instead of making so personal a revelation.
"Christ knows I'd like it to be different, to have
someone think of me as more than the town pump but
that's not going to happen here. I've made my bed,
hell a lot of beds and I'll sleep in them. And I won't
fool myself about what it means.
"No matter what sweet nothings they whisper in my ear,
how loudly they tell me they love me while we're
humping, I know they don't mean it. I don't fool
myself, once they come, hell they won't really think
about me again until the next time they want to get
their rocks off. But you know that's fine 'cause I'm
using them too. Sometimes when they stick their dick in
me, it's like I've been shot up with Novocain and I can
forget how plain and ordinary and boring life in this
small town is."
Rolling over she looked at me keenly, her red lipstick
made a deep black by the shadows playing over her face.
"This place sucks ass. As big a shithole as it is they
should put a toilet seat over it. I've got to get out
of here Jake. I can be more than I am now but only if I
can blow this pop stand.
"I've got a reputation and no one here's going to look
beyond it. There's no room for me to grow here and I've
got plenty of growing to do. Right now I'm just the
butterfly trapped inside the cocoon but when I spread
my wings, look out world."
That night, staring at an unlit ceiling instead of the
stars, Debbie's words rolled in my head like thunder.
I'd never thought much about living in a small town
before, figuring my life would be an echo of my
father's. I'd get some kind of job in one of the
businesses around the county, marry Elle, buy a small
house and raise a few kids.
It's not like I had any real marketable skills. I
sucked at math, and was only so-so in science. Sure, I
was good at debate and forensics but where would that
get me? Mr. Shoemaker, who owned our village newspaper,
The Harbinger, said I had a flair for journalism but
then again, his was a family-run business so there was
no job for me there. The thing I was best at was
reading. I could devour three or four books a night but
who would pay me to read?
College was out of the question. We had no money and
my grades were nowhere near good enough to get a
scholarship. I needed to resign myself to being another
one of those people who were born, lived and died in
the same town.
Still, Debbie started me wondering that night. I
thought about some of the families I grew up with,
people I knew, and how I'd watched them whither on the
vine.
Charlie Mackie, a three-sport star in high school, the
best athlete ever to play on a Flying Dutchman team,
sure to be a pro one day. Tore up his knee the first
day of spring practice at college. Charlie's the school
janitor now, drives a school bus now instead of a
Cadillac.
Betsy Walker, won more than 20 beauty pageants around
the state, aimed to be a professional model. Dean
Musgrave knocked her up the night of the senior prom.
Now she does nails at the beauty parlor.
Jimmy French, president of the 4-H club, science whiz.
His second year in vet school big brother Al ran into a
tree on Tin Bath Road, running from the cops at night,
lights out because he had a case of beer in his car.
Jimmy took over the farm, vet school abandoned.
How many times had I seen hope curdle into resentment
as someone discovered their dreams of glory would never
be realized, their potential would never be fulfilled?
And when those visions failed to solidify, was there a
collective turning to the one type of fantasy that
could be achieved?
Maybe all the frequent liaisons weren't just about
enjoying casual sex. Maybe they were a means of escape
from the drabness of life, a respite from the terrible
knowledge our options were limited, not by a lack of
talent but by fate. All of this community fucking that
was going on, these displays of lust, the rampant
carnality disconnected from any real relationship were
happening not because people were oversexed but to hide
our inner fear and pain.
Or were they, as the bethel taught, truly a way to God?
Lying there with far more questions than answers, I
tossed and turned through most of the night.
The night after our final date Debbie scarred my soul.
Standing on the front porch after we had returned from
McClure's, I gave Debbie a copy Kahlil Gibran's The
Prophet. It hadn't been easy to obtain. I had to
special order it through the village library and I'd
been afraid it wouldn't arrive in time. On the flyleaf
I'd inscribed a passage from the book:
"And in the sweetness of friendship let there be
laughter, and the sharing of pleasures. For in the dew
of little things the heart finds its morning and is
refreshed." Beneath the quote I had written, "Thank
you for the morning. In appreciation and friendship
always, Jake."
Debbie was artificially animated while unwrapping the
book, making suitable noises of unspecific gratitude
while doing so. When she opened its cover and read the
dedication she fell silent and unmoving, leading me to
believe I'd really blown it.
There we stood, frozen in place like a frame of film
that had jumped its sprockets. I can't say how long we
were still; time seemed to have stopped as we each
digested the gift's meaning.
Suddenly the film restarted, Debbie throwing her arms
around me, hugging me so tight I was afraid she'd
bruise a rib, her face buried in the junction of my
neck and shoulder. A kiss followed. Not the deep,
sensual kiss that so enlivened our lovemaking, but a
soft chaste kiss, her lips made salty by a few tears
rolling down her cheeks.
Breaking off our embrace, she averted her eyes from
mine. Speaking slowly she reminded me of what she had
said on our first night; that she didn't want me to
fall in love with her just because we'd fucked.
In a wistful tone I had never heard her use before she
said "And I still don't, I don't. But Jake we can still
be friends and as a friend you could love me just a
little, not a lot but a little and not because we
fucked but because of who I am. It'd be nice to have a
friend who'd love me a little for just me and not my
pussy."
A sad smile on her face, she kissed me goodbye and
drove away in her green Rambler wagon, leaving me
standing on the porch, a sense of loss coloring my
psyche.
My mother told me when innocence leaves, wisdom begins
to take its place. The Bible told me the price of
wisdom was above rubies. But as the taillights on the
circus wagon dimmed in the distance one question kept
running through my mind.
Was gaining my wisdom at the expense of others too high
a price to pay?
***
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 46