("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`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 - 4
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. In the fourth
Plainsong Jake mets his second lover, courtesy of his
father. (Fm, rom)
***
Part 4: Plainsong 4: What Would You Have Me Do
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.
Reader feedback plays an important role in keeping this
story going. It's not necessarily a pathetic attempt
at validation of my efforts (although I'd be lying if I
said there wasn't at least an element of that
involved), the feedback often sparks other ideas that
keep the creative juices flowing.
All that being said, it's also nice to know your work
has found an appreciative audience. Writing is a
lonely, solitary profession. Getting feedback for what
you've written is the difference between a writer's
literary efforts being masturbation or intercourse.
So 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
***
The story codes for OTR4: What Would You Have Me Do
(MF)
Give Me That Old Time Religion, An Oratorio In Several
Plainsongs By Fowler Gray
The Fourth Plainsong: What Would You Have Me Do
I didn't want to go out with Edna.
Edna Todd was the second of the junior college girls my
father had set me up with. Not that I had anything
overt against Edna. That would have been difficult
because I'd never met her.
Point of fact, I only knew three things about her: 1,
She worked at my father's shop. 2, She was another of
my father's many paramours. 3, She'd, as Dad put it,
"fuck at the drop of a hat and sometimes liked it a
little kinky." I guess counting the "kinky" part that's
four things I knew about Edna.
My problem was a bad case of the losts. My view of the
world and my place in it had been scrambled as
thoroughly as a carton of eggs tossed into a cement
mixer. Over the span of less than a year, I'd got
religion, albeit not a mainstream theology; gained a
potential girlfriend/wife who I hadn't gone out with
yet; discovered my parents were, for differing reasons,
swingers with a taste for exhibitionism and voyeurism,
and with the approval of my mother, lost my virginity
to one of my Dad's lovers.
These events had knocked out the underpinnings of my
life, robbing me of my sense of surety, leaving only
the swirling winds of cognitive dissonance in its
place. Without any sort of an internal compass to guide
me I was, as the Kinks were to sing several years
later, living in mixed up, muddled up, shook up world.
I thought I'd been handling it all rather well in that
Sixties nonjudgmental hang loose, do your own thing
kind of way. Emotions in check, I'd taken everything in
stride, accepted the weird as just another form of
normal, proceeded as though it all made perfect sense
which, of course, it didn't.
In my more rational, non-hormonal driven moments I knew
all of this was seriously twisted, knowledge I buried
deep in order not to have to think about it. Instead I
soldiered on, unwilling to allow anything to put my
relationship with Elle at risk and hoping it would all
eventually be come together for me.
It was way Debbie and I parted that really threw me
into my tailspin.
After being lovers, Debbie had asked, almost begged,
for me to be her friend. The fact I couldn't was
haunting me, as was the realization I was treating her
the same way as my Dad did. But soon I might be able to
begin chaperoned dating with Elle, an exclusive
arrangement that would leave no room for even the most
casual of contact with any other woman.
I'd called Debbie at the shop and tried to explain this
to her only to hear the hurt in her voice as assured me
she understood "...but the other phone's ringing. Gotta
go Jake, maybe we'll see each other around sometime."
At first I was mad at her for making me feel the way I
did. We both went into this with our eyes open, hers
far wider than mine. Just some casual sex with no
strings attached, that's all this was supposed to be
about; it wasn't my fault it turned into more. But it
wasn't her fault either; she hadn't asked me to marry
her, just to be her friend.
I sought advice from my parents about what had happened
with Debbie, an exercise in futility.
With the exception of my mother, my Dad treated women
like facial tissues; disposable after you came in them.
He encouraged me to do the same. I had with Debbie and
at her own request until the night she revealed the
bitter consequences of self-deception to us both.
Dad had a jaded view of the whole thing. "Don't worry
about it Jake," he advised me wryly. "Deb's just
seizing her chance when she can. Can't blame her for
that. Of course, you gave her the perfect opening with
that silly gift of yours. Giving flowers is fine, even
a small inexpensive piece of costume jewelry is OK. But
a book of love poetry, that kinda shit only put
thoughts in her head. She went after you, figuring to
play on your guilt and the fact you wouldn't know any
better.
"It's an age-old scam. At first you're friends, friends
who fuck like minks but still friends. The deeper she
gets her claws into you the closer she gets to her
goal. Shacking up would be the next step and then
before you know it you're standing in front of the
justice of the peace wondering how in the hell you got
there.
"Don't worry about kid, she'll land on her feet just
like the cat she is. Believe me, in a while she'll have
forgotten all about you and be balling someone else.
Hell, I think I'll give her a toss just to help things
on their way."
My father had also warned Edna not to play mind games
with me. "She knows the score. You won't get any 'just
love me for myself' shit out of her but you are going
to get some loving of a type Debbie doesn't like to do.
Just don't give her another damn poetry book. I've got
the perfect gift you can give her"
Mom wasn't any more help, in fact she was harsher than
Dad, reminding me of her view liberated women, with
their independence and insistence they were a man's
equal, if not superior, were perpetuating Eve's error
and bringing great unhappiness on themselves.
"Look at Debbie. She claims to be liberated, freed from
obedience to any master, able to do what she wanted
when she wanted, including in matters of sex. Is it
working for her, this 'liberation' she brags about?
From what you told me she doesn't seem very happy with
her life does she? She doesn't reverence the sex act as
a sacrament from God; she uses sex as a way of making
herself necessary to someone."
Perhaps realizing I found her lack of sympathy
distressing, Mom tried to soften the callousness of her
words.
"God does work in mysterious ways, Jake, taking us down
paths we can't understand for his own ends. Sometimes
the road of excess leads to the Palace of Wisdom. We
can only pray these girls' casual promiscuity will
bring them to the Lord in his own good time."
Pushing the envelope, I asked Mom how I was any
different from these promiscuous women. Wasn't I just
having sex for sex's sake, reveling in the physical
pleasure it brought me? What made me any better than
them?
"Search your feelings, Jake. Was it just sex or was it
something more?"
I had to admit to my mother I felt the sacred along
with the profane, the bestowal of God's sacrament, when
Debbie and I made love.
"Then you are different than them, different but not
better. You keep that in mind when you go out with the
next girl your father has lined up for you, or any girl
for that matter. If I ever find you've been
discourteous or contemptuous to someone who shares
herself with you it will go hard on you," she warned me
sternly. "I mean it Jake. They may be doing these
things for all the wrong reasons but they deserve your
respect and compassion."
Begging off of my dates with Edna was out of the
question, said my mom.
"You still need the experience, more than ever after
what happened last time. You have to know its not just
lust that attracts you to Eleanor. You're going out
with this Todd girl and that's it."
Monday night found me peddling my bike to Edna Todd's.
Like me she had no car but she did have a small
efficiency apartment carved out of a turn-of-the-
century Regency home on the edge of the village.
Along the way I worried about what would happen next,
the memory of Debbie foremost in my mind. While that
was a wound I couldn't heal, at least right now, the
last thing I wanted was to injure Edna as well.
As I rode up the street her place came into view, a
white-painted brick three story house, its hip roof
covered with grey-green moss on the side shaded by the
towering oak trees that dotted the property.
The place cried out for some care, the black paint on
the double-hung windows and wooden shutters was
peeling, the chimney on its west side badly in need of
tuck-pointing where the mortar had crumbled away.
Maybe Dad could get a hold of the owner and make him an
offer to do the repairs, give us a chance to work
together and earn some money at the same time.
Cruising up the crushed gravel drive as it gently
curved and dipped its way though the oaks, I pedaled to
the back of the home, parking my bike under the back
stairs. Taking a brown bag out of my bike's saddlebag I
carefully began ascending the stairs, watching for the
loose steps I had been told were there, just one more
thing for Dad and I to fix.
Passing by the landings at the second and third floors,
I reached the end of the steps, a small door offering
access to the space under the attic. Pushing my unease
aside and after a small prayer all would go right, I
knocked on the door.
I might have been troubled by Dad's treatment of his
women but I had to admit he sure could pick them.
Edna Todd was a stunner. She was the very definition of
"willowy," with just enough flesh to keep her from
being bony. Luxuriant red hair framed her elfin face,
pouring down her back to end just below her shoulder
blade. She wore a thin leather necklace, a shiny metal
ankh hanging from it to rest in the hollow of her
throat.
Soft dark brown eyes, framed by a pair of slightly
rounded tetragonal tortoise shell glasses resting on an
upturned button nose, confronted me with a bold and
direct gaze.
This time I remembered my manners from the start,
extending my right hand toward hers, introducing myself
as Jake Gledhill, Leonard's son and asking if she was
Edna.
Smiling warmly, she took my hand in hers. "Hello Jake.
It's a pleasure to meet you but I'm not Edna," her
voice sweet and lyrical.
As I started to apologize for my mistake she laughed.
"It's OK Jake, I'm who you came to see. I just hate the
name Edna. Why my parents saddled me with it I'll
never know. It's not like either of my grandmothers
were named Edna. I'm the first 'Edna' in the whole damn
family. Just call me 'Toddie,' like everyone else and
we'll get along just fine. Come on in and make yourself
at home."
Letting the screen door bang shut behind me, I stepped
in and began to check out the place.
Dad had been too kind when he told me her place was
small. My bedroom at home was almost as big as her
entire apartment and I didn't have to wedge a bathroom,
a kitchen and a table in my room. Because it was
directly under the attic, with four and half-foot walls
running the length of the apartment, the ceiling
pitched sharply, making it impossible to stand up
straight anywhere but the center of the room.
To the right of the entrance door was what passed for a
kitchen, the refrigerator and stove half their normal
size, as though they'd been designed as toys for a
child's playhouse, and a single sink, just big enough
to wash one plate at a time. Two miniscule cupboards
were jammed above the sink. The far end of the room was
curtained off by a folding plastic door, ajar just
enough for me to see a small shower stall and,
thankfully, a full-sized toilet.
A daybed with pink tubular scrollwork was pushed
against one wall, a squat three-drawer chest framing
one end, a rack made of wrought iron pipe, which
substituted for a closet, the other. On the wall
directly across from the daybed was a narrow table,
maybe two, two and a half feet deep and four feet long,
with a pair of folding chairs tucked underneath it.
The only natural light came from a window to the left
of the door and the glass panels in the door itself.
The apartment didn't run the full length of the house,
only to its center, another "efficiency" apartment on
the other side of Toddie's bathroom wall. Just how
efficient her apartment was I couldn't say but there
was no doubting the efficiency of her landlord in
squeezing out every last penny he could from his
building.
As a teenager, I couldn't wait for the day I could
leave home and move into my own apartment. Toddie's
cracker box added some caution to my desire.
It was fairly warm in the apartment but, despite the
lack of windows, not overly hot, the shade from the
oaks protecting it from much of the sun's heat. An old
beat-up box fan, its blades moving torpidly, blew air
from the outside toward the other end of the room where
a bathroom exhaust fan sucked it out, the air current
not even strong enough to ripple the wall's
decorations, photos of rock stars cut from magazines.
I was almost through with my examination when I caught
a glimpse of something that was definitely out of place
in the apartment, my gym bag. It was tucked in the
corner of the daybed next to one of the pillows. I knew
it was mine because the name "Jake" was stenciled in
blue letters just below the school's Flying Dutchman
logo, a red and white depiction of an old two-masted
brig under full wind. It was in my closet the last time
I had looked. I didn't have the slightest idea of how
it got here or what it was doing here.
Determined to be cool, I ignored its presence. Instead
I complimented Toddie on having "such a nice place,"
making her snort with amusement.
"You don't have to butter me up. My apartment is so
small the door mat just says 'Wel.'"
Not wanting to be topped, I went into my best Johnny
Carson imitation. "Your apartment is so small, even the
mice are hunchbacked."
"My apartment is so small my closet is a nail."
"Your apartment is so small when the sun comes in
through the window you have to leave."
"My apartment is so small I can use my washcloth for
wall to wall carpeting."
"Your apartment is so small you have to go outside to
change your mind."
"Now you're repeating yourself."
"How about this one then? Your apartment is so small
when you put the key in the lock you stab all the
people inside."
"Much better. My apartment's so small when I walk
through the front door I'm in the back yard."
"Your apartment's so small, Barbie did your interior
decorating."
Throwing up her hands, Toddie surrendered. "Enough
already. I give up. You win. So what's in the sack? A
present for me?"
Reaching inside the bag, I pulled out a fifth of
Southern Comfort, Dad's gift of choice for my date.
"Oh yeah, very nice. Much more practical than a book of
poetry. More effective too. 'Candy is dandy but liquor
is quicker.' There's some Coke and ice in the
refrigerator and some jelly glasses above the sink. Why
don't you make us each a drink while I get out of my
work clothes and into something more comfortable."
With no pretense at modesty, Toddie unbuttoned her blue
chambray shirt unveiling a chest as flat as the Kansas
prairie. Watching me watching her, she grinned. "I
hope you're not a tit man Jake. If you are, well I may
not have a giant pair of juggs but I make up for it in
other ways.
"I don't know how Debbie can stand all that weight
pulling on her all the time," she said as she continued
to undress, pulling off her brown workpants to reveal a
pair of plain cotton panties ala J. C. Penny. "By the
time she's 30 she'll be as hunchbacked as my mice. If
it wasn't for the fact these damn work shirts rub my
nipples raw, I wouldn't wear any bra at all. I mean
it's not like I need one for support or anything.
Besides, my apartment's so small if I had big tits I'd
have to rent the apartment next door too." Leave it to
a woman to always have to have the last word or in this
case the last joke.
Turning her back to me, she bent over to open a drawer,
treating me to the sight of a tight little ass moving
under the cotton fabric. Selected clothes in hand, she
moved to the daybed. "Not that I don't appreciate all
your attention but it was pretty hot in the shop today.
How are those drinks coming?"
Before my time with Debbie, such an inquiry would have
sent me blushing into the other room, embarrassed at
being caught enjoying Toddie's little strip tease act,
stammering out some type of lame apology. But that was
before. Even though I was still troubled by the way it
ended, my affair with Debbie had given me a measure of
self-confidence, even a little bravado.
"You were working so hard at putting on such a
tantalizing show, I didn't want to miss a minute of
it," I bantered, at the same time letting her know I
knew what she was up to.
"Well, the show's over," she responded, "so get us
those drinks and then come sit down."
As I mixed the drinks, Toddie finished dressing,
putting on a avocado green and white pullover with a
matching pair of shorts. Standing in front of her, our
drinks in my hand, I casually asked her to move my gym
bag to the floor so I could sit down.
"Sure Jake, the floor OK?"
"For now."
Moving my bag, the black plastic bracelets around her
right wrist sounding like a baby's rattle, I noticed
Toddie's fingers didn't match the rest of her body.
Short and thick but with sharp edges, the bright red
polish was chipped away in most places, the remaining
patches making her nails look like they had the
measles. The most striking anomaly was her right index
finger, which was missing the entire first joint.
"Camping accident," she said matter of factly. "Chopped
it off with a hatchet at Camp Crooked Tree when I was a
Brownie. I was cutting down some branches to build a
lean-to. They never did find it, probably made a nice
little snack for some scavenger. The camp leader made a
big fuss over it though, paid all the medical bills and
even refunded the camp fee.
"Got a camp joke for you. Know when a Cub Scout becomes
a man?" I shook my head no. "When he eats his first
Brownie." As I chuckled, she took a sip of her drink.
"Pretty good Jake. Most guys put in too much alcohol; I
guess they want to get me drunk as quick as they can.
You've got the mixture just right. Are you moonlighting
as a bartender nights or is this just a natural
talent?"
I explained I'd been making drinks for my parents and
their friends since I was 10.
"Well, you've got a real talent for it," she said
taking another swallow. I followed suit, the caramel
taste of the Southern Comfort softening the sharpness
of the Coke.
"I don't know very much about you Jake, other than what
your dad told me and I know you don't know anything
about me other than what your dad told you which you
should take with a mountain of salt. Lennie's a dear
but he never lets the truth stand in the way of a good
story."
With a final gulp she finished her drink, holding the
glass out to me. "Drink the rest of yours then make us
both a fresh one. When you get back we're going to
play a little game called "Spanish Inquisition" to help
us get to know each other better. It's a simple game.
We just take turns asking each other questions and
giving one-minute answers. I'll be the timekeeper.
We're each on our honor to tell the truth. Can I trust
you to tell the truth Jake?"
What the hell, I thought to myself. What can it hurt;
after all I won't be seeing her again once I start
dating Elle. "You can if I can."
"Fair enough," she said her eyes crinkling merrily.
"I'll start you off with a simple question while you're
getting those refills. What do you like to do for
fun," she asked her eyes turning to her watch attached
to her left wrist by an inch and a half wide leather
band.
"Read, go to the movies. I write a little, fish and
hunt some. I like fishing better than hunting. In
spring when the floods come I like to canoe down the
drainage ditches. It's exciting and scary to go through
those big metal culverts not knowing if they're blocked
with brush or not, whether or not you'll make it out
the other side or drown in the dark. In winter I go
snow camping on the weekends. But mainly I read. What
do you do for fun?"
"You mean besides fuck," she asked provocatively. "I
like to tell dirty jokes; working on the shop floor you
learn to be one of the guys if you want to get along. I
like swimming, hiking in the woods. I'm into astrology.
Listen to the radio. I don't read much, just rock
magazines. I'm not a big movie fan, they're OK but
there's better ways to spend a couple of hours in the
dark. What's your favorite subject in school?"
"Journalism. What was yours?"
"Shop and auto mechanics, I was the only girl in my
school they let take those courses, all the others took
home economics. But Jake, you can't just parrot my
questions back to me, you have to come up with some on
your own," she chided me. "What was the best day of
your life and why?"
"Gezz, Toddie, I haven't lived that long."
"No fair stalling. Answer the question."
"The day my debate team beat St. Bonaventure in the
regional finals last year. They were a bunch of stuck-
up rich private school kids who knew they were better
than anyone else. They even had a regular debate class
with a full-time teacher. We just had Mr. Homn for a
few hours after school. They went home and we wound up
finishing third in the state." I was surprised at the
distaste I felt for those rich little pricks even now;
the satisfaction I still got from beating them like a
drum warming my heart. "What's your favorite season,"
I asked her, still keeping the questions fairly
impersonal.
"Spring, when everything and everyone seems to get a
fresh start on life. What'd you get away with in school
you've still never told anyone about?"
"A friend and I broke into the school. He stole the
janitor's key and I made a copy of it at the hardware
store I work in. It was a real commando job. We dressed
all in black including black ski masks and black
gloves. Once we were in we went to the science lab and
freed all the frogs they were going to dissect in
biology the next day, must have been more than a
hundred of them. It was pretty funny; we left little
ladders made of pins and string on the edge of the
tanks along with a note from the Amphibian Liberation
Movement. Let them all go in the creek behind the
school. They never did figure who did it or how we got
in."
Toddie got a real kick out of my tale; laughing so hard
she spilled some of her drink on the daybed. After we
got it blotted up I asked her, "What's your favorite
clean joke?"
"Clean not dirty huh? OK I'm up to the challenge. Man
says to his doctor, 'I can't sleep. Every time I lay on
my left I hear 'The Green, Green Grass of Home' and
when I lay on my right, I hear 'Delilah.' The doctor
says 'I'm afraid you have a case of Tom Jones Fever.'
Guy asks the doctor, 'Tom Jones Fever? Is that common?'
Doc tells him, 'Well, It's not unusual.' So what's your
best dirty joke?"
I thought for a moment.
"A Catholic teenager goes to confession, and after
confessing to an affair with a girl is told by the
priest he can't be forgiven unless he reveals who the
girl is. 'I promised not to tell!' the boy says. 'Was
it Mary Patricia, the butcher's daughter?' the priest
asks. 'No, and I said I wouldn't tell.' 'Was it Mary
Elizabeth, the printer's daughter?' 'No, and I still
won't tell!' 'Was it Mary Francis, the baker's
daughter?' '"No,' says the boy. 'I'm sorry, son,' says
the priest, 'I have no choice but to ban you for six
months.' Outside, the boy's friends ask what happened.
'Well,' he says, 'I got kicked out of mass, but Father
gave me three good leads.'"
"I knew we'd get around to sex eventually." Toddie
joked. "Next question?"
"What's your family like?"
"My dad's a long-distance truck driver, not around home
much, maybe a week out of a month although not all at
the same time. Mom works part-time at the Topps in
Marion. She's a shelf stocker, sometimes a cashier when
it's really busy. Rita's my older sister. She's a
beautician over in Lumstead. Married with three kids,
ugly little buggers every one of them. Her husband's an
assistant night manager in the party store there. My
brother Chaz is living in an ashram in California
trying to find himself. We don't get together much, not
what you could call a close family. Now it's my turn to
repeat a question. I know your dad real well. What's
your mom like and what's she think of all this?
Remember, we promised to be honest with each other."
I felt like a butterfly in a net, the killing jar in
sight. The questions were starting to get serious now.
"Come on, come on. I can't be that hard to answer. One
minute, go."
"Mom loves her family, loves Dad even though she knows
she's sleeping around. She works hard, keeps the place
together. Wants me to be a success and to save you a
question, she knows I'm here and she's Ok with it. Says
I need the experience." I didn't mention my mother's
very active sex life, figuring it's not a lie if you
don't say anything.
"Far out. My mom pretends she doesn't know about my sex
life. I'm still a virgin as far as she's concerned."
Still stinging a bit from the question about my mother
I decided to up the ante. "What's the three most
important things I should know about you?"
Now it was Toddie's turn to hesitate. Chewing her lip
she answered, "One, I'm not Debbie. I'm happy with who
I am. Two, I like my job. I've wanted to be a mechanic
all my life and I'm a pretty good one. Three, if we hit
it off I might not mind having you for a friend.
Believe it or not, I do have male friends I don't sleep
with. But if you can't because of Elle I'll
understand."
As the questions continued the level in the Southern
Comfort bottle drew lower. We weren't getting drunk
but we where getting a little buzz, one that led us to
be a little more forward in our questions and
unconcerned about our answers.
"What's the most embarrassing thing that ever happened
to you while you were having sex," Toddie wanted to
know.
That one was easy. "My mom walked in on me while I was
spanking the monkey."
"You've got to be kidding me," Toddie said in
disbelief.
"Nope, not only was I jacking off, I was shooting my
wad just as she came in, everything in plain sight
including the fountain of jism from Old Faithful."
Toddie roared in amusement. "Christ, that must have
been terrible. What'd you do?"
"Yeah it was terrible, I felt like a pervert, just
wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. Had to
settle for hiding under the covers. She was cool about
it though. Told me everyone does it, including her.
Brought me a washcloth to clean up with then started
putting a box of tissues next to my bed each night,
said it'd save on washing sheets."
Face bright with laughter, Toddie replied, "That's
pretty bad all right but I can top it."
"I'd like to see you try," I said, intrigued at what
would possibly be worse than my ordeal.
"I'd been dating a guy for about a month, a really
vanilla type when it came to sex. Anything but the
missionary position was debauchery incarnate. It took
four dates before I could get him to let me blow him.
He never would eat me. Anyhow, I got him drunk and
convinced him to give it to me up the old Hershey
Highway.
"There we were at his place; I'm bent over the edge of
the bed, feet on the floor, my hands and arms holding
me off the mattress. He's buried deep in my ass, just
pounding away like a jackhammer, yelling 'Oh god, oh
god, you're so tight, it's so good. Fuck, fuck, fuck.'
I mean he was an animal; hands on my hips, pulling me
back on his dick as he thrust forward, his pubes
scratching against my ass. Really getting into it, pun
intended." She stopped, partly to take a drink, mainly
to keep me in suspense.
"I'm getting near my climax when I totally lost control
and cut one. Not just a little one, a real blue flamer.
Sounded like Gabriel's trumpet and smelled like
something crawled up my ass and died. Didn't go away
either, hung around in the air like Los Angeles smog.
About as thick too. Poor Steve didn't just get a whiff;
he got a whole lungful. Started coughing and choking,
lost his balance and fell right on top of me."
As Toddie told her tale, I was laughing so hard tears
were coming out of my eyes.
"He weighed about 180-185 pounds so when he collapsed
on me he drove me hard against the bed."
"Oh god, no," I managed to wheeze out between gasps for
breath.
"Oh god yeah," she said. "The force of my hitting the
edge of the bed made me erupt again, just as bad as the
first one, maybe with even more force since his cock
came out of me when we fell. Now not only are we both
choking, he's a dead weight on top of me and it's
getting to where I can't breath. Just in time to keep
me from passing out, he pulls himself off me, runs over
to the wastepaper basket and pukes his guts out.
Between my farts and his vomiting, I'm having trouble
keeping my dinner down as well. Talk about a mood
killer, the whole thing was really disgusting."
Hooked, I asked Toddie what happened next.
"After we opened all the windows, turned on every fan
he had and sprayed the bedroom with a full can of
Lysol, we got dressed and he took me home. Didn't say
a word to me all the time we were in the car. Wouldn't
even look at me. I told you he was pretty square; he'd
always get out and open the car door for me. This time
he just let me get out of the car myself. As soon as I
shut the door he took off and I never did hear from him
again."
"What a bastard," I said, meaning it.
"Aw, you can't really blame him. After my performance
he probably thought I was a succubus sent by Satan to
steal his immortal soul. There was no question about my
smelling of brimstone. Still his loss in your gain."
"How so?"
"I was so embarrassed I went over to the woman's clinic
over in Robinson County and they taught me all about
how to keep that from happening again. There's these
little pills the druggist sells for gas, I just take a
couple of those and I'm much less explosive."
The secret of what Toddie did that Debbie didn't was
out in the open now. She took it in all three of her
holes.
"I don't know about you but I'm getting a little buzz
from the drinks," she admitted. "Two more questions
each and then we'll go for a walk along the creek.
It's your turn."
Since the subject had been brought up, "Do you really
like anal sex? Doesn't it hurt?" It wasn't just
prurient interest, I really was curious.
"Yes, I really like anal sex; sometimes I come the
hardest with a guy's cock up my butt. Once you get used
to it, it doesn't hurt, although it can be a little
uncomfortable sometimes. You need to be with someone
who either already knows how to do it or who'll listen
to you while you tell them how to do it. You know how
they say 'size doesn't matter?' It does with butt
fucking. You don't want 'em too long or too thick,
those will hurt. I don't let any really big cocks
anywhere near my ass. And you've got to make sure to
use a lot of lubrication."
A wicked gleam in her eye, she asked me her next
question. "What's so special about this Elle girl
you're willing to become a member of the church, swear
off other women, even the ones who'll let you jump
their bones and all just for her? Lennie tells me you
haven't even copped a feel from her. Says you two
haven't even gone on a date yet and when you do you'll
be chaperoned. Why her and not someone else? I'll even
give you two minutes on this one."
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
"Jake, you can't answer my question with a question."
"Come on Toddie, play along. Do you believe in love at
first sight?"
"Nope. Lust at first sight sure. Love at first sight,
nah. Doesn't happen."
"That's cool. I don't believe in love at first sight
either, so what I'm going to say is going sound really
stupid. Elle calls to me. I feel a connection there
even though I don't know what it is or where it will
lead. When I get to know her she might turn out to be
the love of my life or she might turn out to be a total
bitch. Could be something in between where we date for
a little while, maybe even make love a couple of times
and decide we're not right for each other.
"I'm only 17," I said talking to myself as much as I
was talking to Toddie. "I've got my whole life ahead
of me. What does it hurt me to take a few months to
find out if there can be something between Elle and me?
So I jump through a few hoops; so we're not alone the
first few times we date.
"There's a scene in Casablanca where Rick tells Ilsa if
she's not on the plane for Lisbon with Victor she'll
regret it; 'maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but
soon and for the rest of your life?' I don't want to go
through the rest of my life wondering what might have
happened with Elle and regretting I let a few
inconveniences kept me from finding out. It's not such
big a deal because at the end of all this I'll know."
"I guess when you put it that way, it's not that dumb,"
Toddie said thoughtfully. "At least you'd always have
Paris."
"I thought you said you weren't a big movie fan?"
"Puhleez, who hasn't seen Casablanca. They show it on
the Million Dollar Movie at least once a month. I'll
let you ask two more questions and then we'll get out
of here and go for a walk."
"What's my gym bag doing here?"
"That's too easy. Lennie gave it to me. There's some
clothes and a fresh toothbrush in it."
"No, not how it got here or what's in it. Why is it
here?"
A sly, satisfied smile on her lips, Toddie said, "It's
still too easy. It's here so you can spend the whole
weekend with me.
"Come on Jake," she urged. "One more question and we'll
cut out of here."
"But it's your turn?"
"Nah, I've learned enough for now. Beside, we'll have
the next two days to talk won't we? So what's your last
question?"
"Why me?"
Stumped, Toddie looked at me in confusion. "What do
you mean 'why me?'"
"You asked why I'm willing to do what I do to have a
chance with Elle. I'm asking you why you're willing to
be with me. You've never met me before this so it's not
like we were friends who were attracted to each other.
I'm not anybody's idea of a dream date. I'm not
handsome, maybe I'm not bad looking in a slightly goofy
sort of way, but I'm not handsome. I'm not very
muscular, and for sure not an athlete. I don't come
from a rich family. Don't have a car. Hell, you name
any desirable characteristic and I'm pretty much a
'not.' Plus I'm what, three, fours years younger than
you."
Draining the last of my drink, I continued. "And look
at you. You're flat out gorgeous," only to have Toddie
hit me with a pillow."
"Watch it with those flat cracks. We can't all be cows
like Debbie." Dense as I was, I was getting the
distinct impression Toddie didn't like Debbie.
"If it bothers you so much, stuff a pair of water
balloons under your blouse."
"Nah, I'd use Jell-O," she joked. "It'd be more
lifelike when it jiggled."
"See that's what I mean. You're attractive; you're
funny, you're smart. Any guy who spent even a few
minutes with you would want more. So what do you want
with a gangly pimple-faced high school senior? I know
why I want to be with you. Why are you willing to be
with me?"
Her answer was a bitter one to hear, leaving me with a
feeling like I'd been drinking sour milk.
"Because Lennie asked me to."
Of all the answers she could have given me, that one
was the worst. Not that I didn't know that was why I
was there but for her to come right out and tell me ...
well it was tough to take.
"Jake, if you didn't want the truth you shouldn't have
asked the question," she gently scolded me. "There's a
reason the game's called 'Spanish Inquisition.' Besides
you're wrong about a lot of things."
"Like what," I asked morosely.
"Let's go for that stroll," she said, tugging me up
from the daybed. "The fresh air'll do us both some
good."
As we walked across the sunny meadow, its patches of
wildflowers adding splashes of bright colors to the
otherwise monotonous green pallet, Toddie took pleasure
in outlining my errors.
She had met me before in a roundabout sort of way. I'd
picked up Dad's lunch once by mistake. Since I hated
liverwurst, I'd gone to the shop to trade for my lunch.
Toddie had seen me then and I'd seen her, not that I'd
recognize her since she was in her full welding gear
with the mask down when I came by.
Since then she'd seen me around town a few times and
thought I was "sort of cute in a sweet sort of way."
She also knew more about me than I realized because
"Lennie's always talking about you, what's going on in
your life. He's proud of you but he's been pretty
concerned about this whole religious kick you're on,
worried you were going to 'let his hard-on for this
girl he met in church fuck up his life. Poor bastard's
wearing his passion for her like a hair shirt.' At
least that's how Toddie said he put it.
"He thought if you got laid a few times, you'd forget
all about Elle or at least decide you didn't have to go
through with all of this 'holy roller horseshit' just
to get your wick dipped. You already know Debbie and I
have both slept with Lennie. He thinks we're easy and
maybe we are but that doesn't make us Jezebels. I mean
is there some sort of hidden virtue in being difficult?
You get the munchies and you eat. You get horny and you
screw. In both cases, problem solved. What makes one
different from the other?
"I'll tell you this Jake, it's damn unfair. I have an
active sex life with multiple lovers and I'm a cheap
slut. You do the same and you're a big stud." Toddie
caught herself and apologized, telling me she'd gotten
"a little off-track but the kind of crap just makes me
so damn mad."
I told her I agreed; my question didn't mean I saw her
as a slut. I was only trying to piece things together,
seeking to understand women and what drives them.
Tickled by my naivety, she told me "Women aren't meant
to be understood Jake; they're meant to be loved.
We're creatures of mystery, that's part of our allure.
Oh, you can try and figure us out but once you think
you've got it we'll change just to confuse you."
We'd entered the small forest bounding Pickett Creek
during Toddie's lecture, the early stands of oak, ash
and maple along the edge of the field quickly giving
way to cedars, tamaracks and ferns as we got deeper
into the woods. I took Toddie's hand to help her pick
her way though the bog that outlined this section of
the creek. The ground here could be tricky; one wrong
step and you'd be sinking in the spongy black muck.
The swampland provided the best access to the creek,
especially if you were wearing shorts as we were.
Other areas might be easier to walk on but they were
harder to walk though as they were usually thick with
itch weed and sharp thorny brambles.
Once I'd sliced myself open on the brambles then
compounded my problem by stupidly hiking not only
though the itch weed but also the poison ivy that
flourished in the dryer ground. It's not an experience
I'd wish on anyone I cared for.
As we walked I was surprised how good Toddie's hand
felt in mine, nothing sexual, just a sense of
correctness as though somehow it belonged there, its
warmth mingling with mine, our fingers entwined, her
shortened finger rubbing against my palm.
Navigating our way to the creek, we put our
conversation on hold replacing it with short spurts of
advice and instructions on where to find the best
footing. Things were fine until, just a short
distance from the creek, the moss on a downed cedar we
were traversing gave way under her left foot, causing
Toddie to lose her balance and pitch toward the ground.
As she toppled I grabbed at her, trying my best to keep
her from falling. I was only semi-successful; managing
to steady her enough to prevent her dropping face first
into the mire but losing my own balance in the process,
both of us plunging to mid-calf in the dark goop.
"Shit, I hate it when that happens," she said good-
naturedly. "I hope there's no leeches."
Repressing a shudder at the thought of a leech swelling
to the size of a peanut shell on a meal of my blood, I
wrapped my hands around Toddie's thin waist and lifted
her up and back on to the tree, both of her EZ slip-on
tennis shoes easily slipping off her feet to remain
buried in the muck. A quick glance showed her legs were
free of any vampiric swamp creatures.
Telling her to stay on the tree, I pulled her shoes out
of the clinging mud then walked the rest of the way to
the creek. Bending down I washed her shoes, carefully
checking for any little bloodsuckers hidden inside.
After Toddie's footwear was as clean as I could get it,
I walked back though the bog, thankful I wore tied
shoes that stayed on.
Toddie had been watching me with a curious look on her
face. "Hold on to these," I said, returning her wayward
shoes to her. "No, don't put 'em on, just spread your
legs as wide apart as you can and hold still."
I turned my back on Toddie and squatted as low as I
could. "Sorry I don't have a cloak I can throw over
the mud. I guess I'll just have to do. Hop on and I'll
carry you to the creek."
She didn't hesitate for a minute. "My hero," she
vamped, swinging her surprisingly strong legs over my
shoulders, her crossed feet locking them in place.
I gave a little grunt as I stood up, not because Toddie
was heavy, she wasn't, but because of the force with
which she grabbed my hair.
"Easy there huh," I asked. "I don't want to be bald
before I'm 20."
"Really, and here I thought you wanted to be 'balled'
as soon as possible," she replied, wriggling like a
baby in a basinet until she found her balance.
As I carried her to the creek, Toddie began to rub her
crotch against the back of my neck. "Keep that up." I
warned, "and we're both going to be back down in the
muck."
"Why Jake, you're too much of a gentleman to throw me
down and take advantage of me here aren't you," she
asked deliberately misunderstanding me. "You really
don't want to have your way with me in this smelly goo
do you? Wouldn't the bed in my apartment be better?" I
shifted my balance to the left, eliciting a small
screech from Toddie as she tightened her grasp of my
hair.
"Behave or you're leech bait."
"Meanie," she pouted, her dry humping of my neck
momentarily suspended. "Just when it was getting
interesting too."
Stepping into the creek I again knelt down, allowing
Toddie to slide off into the running water, watching as
it carried the mud on my sneakers and legs downstream.
My gallantry was rewarded with a small kiss from
Toddie, nothing blatantly sensual and no tongue; just a
soft sweet sample of future delights.
The bed of Pickett Creek's was a combination of gravel
and sand, the depth of the creek varying but almost
never getting more than four foot in depth. Toddie and
I waded upstream, the knee-deep water rippling around
our legs, small rainbow-hued minnows darting in and out
of our path.
Before too long we reached a deadfall spanning the
width of the creek, an old swamp oak blown over by some
long-forgotten storm, its limbless bole wide enough to
sit on comfortably and high enough above the creek to
allow our feet to dangle just below its surface.
Surrounded by a cloud of mosquitoes being kept at bay
by the liberal quantity of repellent we'd applied
before we set out, we went back to our paused
conversation.
"Why does it bother you we're together because Lennie
set it up?"
Suddenly, it was important to me Toddie understood how
I felt, even if it meant I'd be riding my bike home
that evening.
"I love my dad but I don't want to be him. He thinks
he's looking out for me, that he's helping me to 'be a
real man.' But a real man wouldn't be anyone's puppet,
dancing every time someone pulls his strings. A real
man would find his own way; make his own decisions.
"And I want to be more than a piece of meat, a human
dildo my dad loans out to his girlfriends to get some
experience. Maybe that's too much to ask," I said, my
voice tapering off as I wondered if I'd crossed the
line, trying to read her face without much success.
For a few moments Toddie looked at me in total silence.
Then she laughed.
"My god, and to think you men call us touchy and
sensitive," she chided me with amusement. "Just listen
to yourself, whining because your Dad set up a date for
you. Poor young boy has to waste his time with an old
dried up hag like me. Well, boo hoo and cry me a
river."
She gave me a straight-arm punch that left my bicep
throbbing.
"And what's with this human dildo nonsense? I never
said I was going to have sex with you. What kind of a
girl do you think I am anyway? You want a sure thing,
go see Debbie."
Again I tried to read her face with the same result as
before.
'You're kidding me right," I asked my stammer just a
knife's edge away from breaking loose. "I asked you why
you were willing to sleep with me and you said it was
because my Dad asked you."
"No Jake, that's not what you asked me," she said
firmly. "You asked me why I was willing to be with you.
If you were using 'be with me' as a code for 'fuck me,"
you should have given me the secret decoder ring so I'd
know what you meant. I told Lennie you could stay with
me for the weekend. If you thought that was some sort
of carte blanche for sex, that's your interpretation,
not mine."
Caught in another of those sudden relationship
mudslides, the once firm ground under my feet turning
more treacherous than the bog we'd fallen in earlier, I
frantically reconsidered our previous conversations.
We'd talked about sex. Toddie hadn't been shy, going so
far as to tell me about her adventures in rectal
loving. She'd been flirty, enticing my interest and
stoking my arousal, but never once had she actually
said we were going to screw. I just made an assumption
based on what Dad had told me and on my experience with
Debbie, forgetting that "assume" was an acronym for
"Actions Seldom Supported Under Meticulous
Examination."
For the briefest moment I wondered if Toddie was just a
cocktease who got her kicks from giving guys like me
blue balls; ashamed of myself even as the notion flew
through my brain. Here I'd just been bitching about not
wanting to being treated like a piece of meat, yet was
I really treating her any different with my
expectations of bedding her like a feudal lord
exercising his right of droit de seigneur? So much for
showing respect. I deserved her scorn and any abuse she
cared to pile on to me.
Humbled, distraught, embarrassed, I stumbled and
mumbled my way though an apology; although, unlike my
mother had with me, I didn't kneel down in front of
Toddie while I requested her forgiveness.
"Jesus, I'm sorry Toddie. I'm an ass, an immature
idiot. I suppose that's what I get for believing my old
man's stories. No, that's not fair blaming any of this
on him," I said in an unsteady voice, hoping she could
sense my sincerity. "It's all my fault. I should have
known better and you sure as hell deserve better. It's
just, just..."
"Just what," she asked, not unkindly.
Swallowing hard, I replied, "Just I thought you were
going to sleep with me?"
"Let's not make any mistakes here. You still haven't
given me my decoder ring. By sleep with you I presume
you mean have wild, passionate sex with you; that'd
we'd suck and fuck and I'd let you screw me in the ass.
That is what you mean isn't it?"
Sheepishly I answered with a simple yes, and then
continued with my act of contrition, explaining now
that she'd made it plain to me we weren't going to fuck
I was "cool with it."
Ignoring my apology, Toddie again took my hand in hers,
each silken stroke of her fingertips against my skin
brushing away some of the tension I felt.
"Did you hear the one about a man driving down a road,"
she said. "A woman's driving down the same road from
the opposite direction. As they pass each other, the
woman leans out the window and yells, "PIG!" The man
immediately leans out his window and yells, "BITCH!"
They each continue on their way, and as the man rounds
a curve, he crashes into a huge pig in the middle of
the road and dies. The moral of the story is 'If only
men would listen.'"
"Jake," she told me, a decidedly wicked smile on her
face. "You've really got to improve your listening
skills. I never said we weren't going to fuck."
OK, now I knew for sure she was screwing with my head,
doing that whole enigma wrapped inside a conundrum
thing women seem to love. This time though I didn't
take the bait, just sat patiently enjoying the feel of
her hand caressing mine, patiently waiting for her to
continue.
"But you're going to have to work for it Jake. I won't
just fuck you, you're going to have to seduce me to get
any loving."
***
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 46