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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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Tookey
by BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)
***
One of the byproducts of writing stories of early
memories is finding a memory that was almost lost in
the mist of time! In some disordered, clang association,
a dim memory stimulates yet a dimmer recall. And so it
ricochets on and unbidden, out drops a small gem. Or so
it seemed to me. (mf, youths, cousin, mast, inc)
***
My parents were both well educated, upper-middle-class
professionals who had, for the most part, succeeded at
much in life. Still, they remained human beings and were
troubled with their own relationship issues from time to
time. I was vaguely aware that they were having one of
their "spats" and that my visiting my aunt's place in
the country was perhaps less for my enjoyment than it
was for their convenience. That was all right with me,
for as a fifteen-year-old boy, I was looking forward to
the vacation and the greater freedom I knew I'd have on
my aunt's farm.
My aunt Mary, my mother's younger sister, had lived a
completely different life than Mom. As attractive and
intelligent, she'd not been driven by any personal
gadfly to "do well at life." She had stayed on her
parent's farm, married young and had a large family. Her
near-do-well husband had suffered the fatal consequences
of chronic alcoholism and died young from a massive
gastrointestinal bleed.
The household ran well, governed by a curious set of
firm, even rigid guide lines that operated hand-in-hand
with a certain relaxed, laissez-faire attitude. My
aunt's family had nearly equal boys and girls, but
several of the girls were clustered together in age,
right around my own.
My time on the farm is better described as a "working
vacation," for there were lots of routine chores to be
finished each day which, when coupled to the seasonal
planting-harvesting cycle, were time-consuming. We kids
were expected to do our part and were often thrown into
close working proximity by these agricultural demands.
Consequently, I enjoyed an accelerated intimacy with the
cousins who were my age... girls, as it turned out.
In retrospect, my interest in things sexual dated back
to age five or so. I didn't know that it was sexual. I
didn't know what sex was. What I did know was that I was
interested in girls. Or more correctly, I was interested
in girls' bodies. I knew it was forbidden and that made
it all the more sexy. By age nine or ten I certainly
knew about sex.
By age twelve my interests and desires had progressed
that, in recognition of my late physical development, I
was alarmed that the other boys could get off and I
couldn't... yet. But by age fourteen or fifteen, the
testosterone storm has just started. Riding the up slope
of ascendency of my bursting horniness, I was almost
beside myself with the proximity of my female cousins.
Over the years, I had some sexual contact or another
with each of my cousins, but I'd like to tell you of one
that I hold as particularly poignant and erotic.
Her nick name was Tookey. She was sweet, fair and even
tempered. Just a few years or so before, she'd been a
stick of a little girl who was permitted to wear only
her little-girl white underpants when we went to the
swimming hole. I retain an image of her, blond hair
streaming as she emerged from the water, no breasts, and
wet, translucent panties. The darker outline of her
female slit was so prominent that even then, I felt a
sexual lurch.
Suddenly, Tookey was no longer a little girl. Seemingly
overnight, her hips had broadened and her breasts were
mature. Her older sisters all wore bras but she
rebelled. Hyper aware as I was of those things, I
constantly maneuvered to watch her breasts sway beneath
her T-shirt or to delight in the tumescence of her
nipples.
Her nipples were remarkable. Stimulated by mood,
temperature or contact, they'd spring out, prominent and
hard, visible often through relatively concealing
clothes. I was taken with Tookey and taken with her
breasts. It may have been her innocence or perhaps her
demure personality, but it was not apparent to me that
she even noted my interest. She remained open and free
around me, never turning away or holding her shirt to
her chest.
When we'd work together, I'd frequently have the
opportunity to look down the front of her shirt, or, if
a button-front shirt, to see the under swell of her
breasts as the shirt gaped open. Because she was only
thirteen at the time and certainly an innocent, I
restricted my licentious actions. I looked but I didn't
touch... at least then.
It makes sense to me now that she was a sexual time-bomb
and my attention had added fuel to the embers, but at
the time, things seemed to develop explosively out of
nowhere. Late one Sunday evening, the house was
uncharacteristically quiet.
Most of the family was away and we three, Tookey, me and
her little brother, Tommy were fooling around on the
living room couch. Secure in the knowledge of our
unaccustomed privacy, we were "cutting up"... wrestling
and shrieking, as they were against me, trying to pin me
and win my submission.
Remember, I was a sexually aware kid who left little to
chance. To the contrary, it had become my mission to
contrive those situations where I might be rewarded with
a peek or a touch. So it was the more remarkable that
without my scheming, I suddenly found myself in an
intense sexual situation not of my making.
In our couch wrestling, I was truly trying to fend them
off. I've no recall of just how it came to be, but I
suddenly became aware that the toes of my bare foot were
in Tookey's crotch. She was wearing jeans as I recall
and they may have been hand-me-downs, for they were
sufficiently baggy, that I found my foot sliding around
in the loose crotch.
Tommy was sitting on my chest and shouting to Tookey to
help him, for he'd become aware that she had stopped
fighting. I was aware of the same thing, but unlike
Tommy, I thought I knew why she'd stopped. My toes were
sinking into the very wet crotch of her jeans and
pushing the fabric into her pussy. Craning my neck, I
looked around Tommy's small body to see what Tookey's
reaction was to this blatant toe caress.
I'll never forget her face. Her eyes were hooded and her
mouth was half open, almost slack, as she stared back at
me. Her blond hair had fallen across her face in
disarray. She wet her lips - I remember that well- and
looked at me, leaning back on her haunches, her feet
tucked under thighs, her legs open and my foot crammed
into her crotch. There was no pretense. At that moment I
knew that she knew.
For the next several minutes, without speaking, we
continued the charade. Pretending to wrestle, but
contriving only to maintain our sexual contact, Tookey
and I, unplanned, carried out a salient deception to
mask our activities from Tommy.
As if to hold my legs down, she lifted up a moment and
then sat on my foot as she leaned over, her hand
"holding" my knees. Her jeans were sodden. She was so
wet. No stranger to the musk of a girl's excited pussy,
I recognized the scent of her arousal. Cripes, the room
was rank with pussy juice and my toe sank further into
her pussy.
I wanted Tommy to go away, to disappear. I wished him
exile on Mars, or worse, to the cow shed! But of course,
he was there to stay. This was his fight and he wasn't
leaving, so I was limited. Yet, I wanted to cup Tookey's
breasts. Oh, I didn't want to cop a feel, to brush up
against them "accidentally." I wanted the extra thrill
of her awareness if not her permission.
Heaving Tommy easily off my chest, I rearranged our
bodies. Tommy was easy, for his tactic was unrelenting
frontal assault. I had only to steer him. Gesturing to
Tookey to pile on, I made room for her to attack my
flank. Holding Tommy with my left arm, I looked Tookey
in the eye as I reached out and caressed her braless
breast through her T-shirt. That stratagem last only
moments. The arrival of my aunt in the kitchen from
somewhere signaled the abrupt end of our "interaction."
I went to bed in a state of heightened arousal. My
teenage hard-on was almost painful and my concern for
mythical blue-balls necessitated my jacking off twice.
Once before going to sleep and again in the early
morning. (Ah, those were the days!)
It was never my custom to sleep in, even on those Sunday
mornings when it was permitted. Lying under the covers
in my small attic bed, I was slowly stroking my half-
hard dick, remembering with acuteness the images of the
previous night, wondering how I might precipitate that
scene again. I heard someone open the attic door and
come up the steps. The girls' room was adjacent to mine
so I was only half aware of someone approaching my door.
It opened and Tookey stuck her head in to announce,
"Billy, time to get up."
It would not have been unusual for her to wake me on a
week day, particularly if we had a job to do together,
but this was Sunday. Her wakeup call was a thinly veiled
ploy, I decided. I feigned sleeping. (Tough to do with
an erection.)
She came into the room and walked over to my bed. I was
surprised, for the girls were not allowed in our room,
more for our assumed privacy than propriety I suspect.
Tookey was a blond, but she was no air head. If she were
coming into my room, I was certain she knew it was safe,
that the rest of the family was occupied in some way.
Stopping at the foot of my bed near the attic window,
she reached down and shook my foot under the covers,
"Billy, time to get up." Guilty of overacting, I feigned
a slow awakening, bending one knee and pulling the
covers off my left foot as I lifted my head and rubbed
my eyes.
"It's Sunday. Why do I have to wake up? I want to wallow
for a while. What're you doing anyway?"
Not answering right away, Tookey sat on the end of the
bed, well away from my hands, with her left knee bend
and on the bed and her right foot on the floor. Sitting
on the bed was not usual behavior... part of the rigid
code of behaviors and strange, given the close contact
we experienced while working together on the farm. So I
recognized some tacit sign that it was okay to proceed
with last night's play.
Sitting up, I reached for her and she jumped up and out
of reach.
"Oh, no," was all she said.
I fell back in bed, surrendering to her conditions.
Patting the covers, I invited her to sit again.
Still, no conversation. She assumed the identical
posture, sitting with one leg on the floor and the other
on the bed, legs apart and near my left foot. Now my mom
didn't raise no dummies. I got the nonverbal message
right away. Raising my left knee and allowing the covers
to slide back on my thigh, I rested my foot between her
thighs and made some inconsequential comment that
escapes me now. Attempting to carry on some inane, one-
sided conversation, I began to trace small circles on
the inside of her thigh close to her pant leg.
I felt like a snake hypnotizing a bird. We fell silent.
I became aware of the total absence of the usual
household sounds. Perhaps they'd all gone to church. I
didn't know and at that moment I didn't care. I
continued to run my toe up and down her leg for several
minutes, watching her face. Again, I saw the
transformation for an innocent farm girl to a sexually-
aroused woman. Her eyes remained open and focused on
some middle distance beyond me. Her eyelids drooped and
her lips parted in that slack-mouthed state of
disconnected arousal.
There was a yellow-jackets' mud nest outside my window.
The only sound I heard aside from our breathing, was the
hum of their flight. Emboldened by her passivity, I ran
my toe up under her pants leg and tried to insert it
into her crotch, but it was too tight and she wasn't
going to help me, I was sure of that. Falling back on a
repeat of last night's performance, I rested my foot
right on her open crotch and slowly rubbed her. Tookey
was a secretor. In short time her crotch was visibly
wet. However, they were too tight to permit an entry of
my toe into her pussy, so I contented myself with
rubbing her crotch (as I secretly rubbed my dick under
the covers).
After a few minutes, Tookey closed her eyes and screwed
up her face as if she were in pain, and gasping, let out
a long, muffled moan. She was cuming, I was certain,
although I'd never actually seen a girl cum before. She
wasn't alone.
In the natural order of things, we stopped and a few
moments later, still without talking, she got up and
left.
That identical behavior was to repeat itself over the
weeks, without change. She'd never let me touch her
crotch with my hands nor change the dance in any manner.
When we were working and I'd try to cop a feel, she'd
shy away and whisper, "Billy! Stop that! This instant!"
Without ever speaking of the rules of engagement, we'd
come to this extraordinarily erotic and frustratingly
limited mode of masturbation which was never to change.
Now, years later, I occasionally think of her and wonder
how she'd become, what her married and sex life had
become. The memory remains green and terribly sensual.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 66