Some day, if I ever can figure out how, I'm going to find out something that puzzles me. It's this: Here we are in South Sodom, Connecticut, which looks just like everywhere else in the whole country, as far as I can see-same kind of people, same everything, right? I don't think we're any different here, so maybe the question I have is the same all over. The older people all do the same things, and pretend they don't, and you know what things, as well as I do. But most of them seem to really believe kids axe different from themselves. They really think we know nothing at all. And, they get awfully surprised and shocked when one of us gets caught doing something they do every day, as if it were something really unique.
So, my question is very simple, really. Are kids like my generation something new, or are all these grown people lying about that, too? Did people act so differently, back in the dark ages, before I came along?
I had a habit of thinking deep thoughts, that way, all the time. And that little incident with Harold certainly gave me plenty to think about, except that every time I thought about it I got all hot in the crotch and slightly woozy. At least once in the next couple of days I thought about it so hard I nearly wet myself. On the other hand, Harold was obviously doing his best not to recall any such events, and careful not to get into a spot where it might happen again.
That's something else I thought about. I mean, I always understood women were less sexy than men, or at least that they were more moral about it, or something. But I was beginning to think it was another story about the same as the one about storks.
But if there was one thing that was pretty clear, it was that it wasn't going to be easy to get that stud Harold in the saddle again. And now that I'd actually tried it, I could hardly wait for more of it. But as I've already said, most of the males around who could even be thought of as suitable were cagey cats, and you could tell that the thought of that statutory rape stuff was right up front in their heads.
For a while, I seriously considered old Bo, my movie swain, but there were reasons why not. For instance, I could possibly get him alone, but the chances were it would take place in that old Buick of his, and it didn't look comfortable. A second reason was that I was sure, from reading, that Be was probably pretty second rate in the screwing department; young eager types like him just get the thing in an inch or two, give two or three sliding motions, and go off, leaving the female half of the combination in a steamingly unsatisfied state. And third, and most important, Be was a great talker, and before you knew it, my reputation would be pretty much all over town.
One thing about Harold you could count on; he'd never talk about it. If he ever got caught, it wouldn't do a bit of good to go on about the ancient Egyptians, and how brother and sister used to ball as a regular thing. They wouldn't care about any old ancient Egyptians. Nope.
So, that left the idea of getting him into the sack with Dottie, and, since I most certainly wasn't going to get left out, me too.
I knew one thing about Dottie, and I was pretty sure Harold didn't know-that she wasn't a virgin. Of course, her sex life had been pretty microscopic, consisting of one fun filled hour or less in the back of that same Buick belonging to Bo. It had been Bo's friend Sam who had done the deflowering. (By the way, there's a funny word. I used to think there was some sort of daisy stuck in there, when I was around nine, and I looked for it once or twice but never could find it.)
According to Dottie, Sam had been really slick about getting her pants off and her dress up around her neck, and getting her so hot with all sorts of finger-fucking and the like that she couldn't say word one, let alone No. And there she was, with the springs under her going throom, and her ankles out on the window in the back seat, all spread out; so Sam came down like the well-known lion, but after a half hour of getting it in there and twitching, he left like a lamb. With apologies yet-which, from Dottie's account, were richly required.
Dottie had told me all about it, including her present conviction that sex was something of a bust, and probably wasn't worth the trouble. Sam had definitely caused a poor image, all right. As l saw it, it was up to me to reverse the image if possible.
My campaign began fast; I was at Dottie's house after school, and we were mutually be-wailing problems, such as the school grade situation, me with my trouble with math, and Dottie having problems in English. There was nobody else at home, which made it a good time for bright ideas.
I managed to subtly drag the conversation around to the possibility that Dottie's marks were sliding because of psychological problems, end so on. She turned down the record player in the middle of a Doors piece, which meant she really wanted to hear more about her psychological problems, so I pressed on. Maybe her sex life was unfulfilled, I mentioned, off-handedly. She looked a little odd, and asked me whether mine was, since I talked so easily about it.
"Oh, well… " I said, mysteriously. "Hmm. I manage." Which led things around to how I managed. I was prepared for that one, too.
I had ordered the thing by mail weeks before, in fact, long before I managed to get Harold, and if I'd known how nice the real thing is, I'd never have bothered. Not that it wasn't adequate enough as a make-do, and certainly a lot more useful than those ridiculous candles. This thing was a rubber-covered vibrator, shaped like a thick finger, with a little electric motor and everything. Very clever, actually. The instructions said it was intended to massage gums or intimate, difficult to reach, orifices. Well, my gums were in great shape, but my orifices weren't so I tried it out, and it was fine… as a substitute, of course.
I had named it Charles, after an old friend of mine who vibrated a good deal too, and I had Charles right there in my bag, with fresh batteries and all. So, I brought him out.
I must digress, as they say, and mention that we were lounging around Dottie's room more or less fully dressed, the uniform of the day being blue jeans and shirts with the tall out. Dottie, being the spectacularly-brunette type, looks absolutely savage in a white shirt, especially since she has a tan, and besides, she has these perfectly pointed bazooms, twice the size of mine. They push out a white shirt with great effect.
Dottie took a look at Charles, and goggled.
"What a crazy lipstick!" she said.
"This is Charles, and he's no lipstick," I said, with dignity. "He's a boon to fretful females and worried women. Charles is everything a man ought to be but frequently isn't, and I don't have to mention Sam, do I?"
At which Dottie turned very pink, and giggled.
"Frankly, I'm very fond of Charles here," I told her. "But I'm an emancipated woman, and I'm not jealous, so I'll lend him to you. Your glands will get all toned up, and you'll feel like a new girl, you bet."
"What!" Dottie looked as if she were trying to be indignant. But curiosity won. It took a good bit more argument, but in a while, we were peeling our jeans, and undoing our blouses, for a little experimenting with Charles the magical electric dildo.
Dottie was blushing all over by the time she got bare-ass, which looked dandy with her tan; I must say I was just a little green-eyed with envy at those tits, too. I had seen them before, but they seemed to be growing every day.
"Just lie down over here, comfortable," I said, and jumped up next to her, "and let Auntie Honey show you how it's done. Now, here's his little button; he has three speeds, like this… slow." I pushed the button, and Charles uttered a lustful buzz. Dottie, lying on her back, with her naked tummy quivering, closed her eyes and looked scared.
I got right down to the point. I put Charles in among Dottie's thick furry bush, and worked him down to the crack, where her cit was hiding like a pink mouse in a field. I buzzed him against it, and she made a noise, WUH!
"That's his slow speed," I told her. "Now, medium…" I sped him up a bit, and her legs began to spread out, almost of their own accord. I worked Charles around, opening her cuntlips carefully, and popping back for another? visit to the clitoris from time to time, until Dottie was flopping wildly, and gasping, bending up and down in the middle.
"And now, for a sample of the high speed…" I said, and threw Charles into top gear; then I pushed him, buzzing madly, right up her wet, throbbing crack, and deep inside, working him in and out a little. Dottie yowled with joy, and grabbed at my hand, so I relinquished Charles; she pushed him all the way in, bouncing and squealing.
Watching, I was getting pretty hot myself, and I used my fingers, rolling around beside Dottie, and beginning to feel great. Suddenly, Dottie rolled over on top of me, and grabbed at me, along the upper thighs, Charles still buzzing away inside her like a faithful little electric stud; she came down on my opened slit, and her tongue ran down and up, flicking at my clitoris until I started to say, "Ooooogh, oogh!"
Suddenly, Dottie went into orgasmic knots, and poor Charles literally popped out, flying across the room as if he'd been fired from a gun; but as she bounced, she managed to get hold of my cit between her teeth, and nip. I went off like a living bomb myself, and we both rolled off the bed with a crash.
"Ooh!"
"Oh, far out!"
Beth of us lay, gasping, and getting our wits back together. It took awhile, but we managed it finally.
However, Charles, when we located him, was unsprung. He had collided with the wail, and he no longer buzzed on low, middle, or high gear. We dressed hurriedly, Dottie apologizing.
"Perfectly all right," I said. "I could fix him, but I've got something even better at home."
"Better?" Dottie's eyes got saucer-shaped. "How could it be better?"
I could have told her, but I'm clever, I am. Charles' demise fitted my plans perfectly.
"My Uncle George's going to be gone all weekend," I told her. "You come over, around nine-thirty, and I'll show you."
"How about your brother?" she asked. "Won't he be there?"
Won't he though, I thought. But I shook my head.
I happened to know Harold's plans to the letter, and where he was spending the evening, though he thought it was a secret. He was attending a lecture, at the YMCA, on guess what. Yes. S-E-X.
He was probably trying to find out what it was all about, as if any man could ever know that. It was probably due to his conscience, and I'm ever so glad I don't have one.
At any rate, Dottie showed up promptly and I led her upstairs.
"First thing we do," I told her, "is take a bath."
"But why?" he said. "Not that It wouldn't feel Dice… I'm awfully warm." She was damp, as a matter of fact. She had probably been unable to stop envisioning the mysterious whatzit that was better than Charles, and had gotten herself into a real work-up.
I simply looked mysterious, and we showered together. I took the opportunities offered, to tickle and pep her up a lot, because I knew there might be problems. Afterward, I wrapped each of us in a big towel and we went into Harold's room. She sat down on the bed, looking around with that kind of paralyzed curiosity about a boy's room that a girl gets; I dug into Harold's secret biding place, and came up with a whole library, as well as something else.
"Aha," I said. My brother's stash, a couple of dozen neatly rolled marijuana ciggies, something else that he didn't know I knew all about. I fetched out a lovely big joint.
"Let's turn on first," I said, and Dottie reluctantly agreed after a bit of lecturing about how it was perfectly safe. We dragged on the joint, and flipped through Harold's great collection of pictures and words; out of the corner of my eye, I could practically see Dot-tie starting to come to a slow, rolling boil, as she read on.
I glanced at the clock, and it was just about that time.
"Psst!" I said. "Quick, turn out the light!"
I had the girl hypnotized, I think, she was so quick about it, and asked hardly any foolish questions, and the pot had definitely taken effect, all right. She sat there in the dark, next to me, hunched up and giggling quietly, till I held my hand over her mouth. Harold was thumping up the stairs.
The sex lecture had blown his mind completely, as I thought it would; he went straight into the bathroom without passing through the bedroom, as I had hoped. From the sounds, he shucked his clothes in a single swoop, and jumped into the cold shower, per instructions of the YMCA expert. This was supposed to control the passions, according to their notions. Ha ha.. Cold showers just warm me up, as a matter of fact; but so do warm ones, and not bathing at all is a gas, too.
In a half a minute, Harold came right into the room, rubbing his head with a towel; he took a suspicious sniff, detecting the pot, and switched on the light. There he stood, pink, scrubbed and stark naked, with his tool cooled and limp, and there, on his bachelor bed, sat two-count em, TWO-naked chicks, gigglingly, ready for anything. Tableau!
He simple didn't move, except in one place. There, to refute the YMCA lecture, he rose, fast. His dingdong went up at 45 degrees, and stood, swaying but ready, looking like a bowsprit on an old sidling vessel, and putting out vibrations that were obviously destroying Dottie's mind.
"Lookie!" Dottie said, her mouth open, staring at it.
"Marvy," I said. "Wizard. Hey, Harold baby, what else can you do?"
"What's going on?" he finally managed to ask.
"What's coming off, you mean," I said, and made a snatch, removing Dottie's towel and my own. When those magnificent jugs of hers popped out and pointed at him, he simply goggled helplessly, and stared some more. His cock seemed to add at least an inch, at the sight.
Dottie giggled, wildly, and I did too.
"You get us both," I said, between giggles. "But you have to start somewhere, hurry up!"
"Uck!" he said. "I mean, you… you've got to be kidding."
"No, she isn't," Dottie said, with surprising firmness. "I want to…" and she paused, and added, less certainly, "I think"
"If he won't play, we can always repair Charles," I told her, which sent her into a fit of wild laughter. I was infected, and we put our arms around each other, rocking back and forth, laughing hysterically. Harold, as confused as he could get, came toward us; I don't know what he had in mind, possibly having us both committed to a funny farm, or what… but there he was, within easy reach, and we reached.
We dragged the poor boy down like lionesses leaping on their prey, and had him on his back between us before you could say boo. He was completely helpless; Dottie knelt over him, holding his shoulders, while I had his legs. Only his penis managed to remain as upright as ever, waving away.
"This is silly!" he said, trying to get loose.
"Yep," I told him. "Ooh, Dottie, look at that thing! Can we hang a flag on it?"
"If we had a…" Dottie said, and leaned over to grab at the upstanding mast; those unbelievable jugs of hers hung right over Harold's popping eyeballs, and I felt his temperature going up a degree a minute.
I let one leg go, and used the palm of my hand to pat his dong so it swung wildly; Dot-tie got right into the spirit of the thing right away, and we began a lively round of ping pong, batting it lightly to and fro. Every so often l added a quick fillip to his balls, which were swinging as if they were a double pendulum. He howled with a combination of indignation and frustration, snapping at those swinging fits over his face like a barracuda.
"Now he wants to play," Dottie said, "Are we in the mood, Honey, or shall we torture him some mere?"
"Ooh, am I ever in the mood!" I said. "But let's torture him some more, anyway."
"But nice torture," Dottie said. "We won't wreck him, will we?"
"Try this," I said, and started giving small; wet, fast kisses up his thighs, along the inside, which made him buck like a bronco, especially after I got to his crotch. I took his balls between my teeth, and held them, flicking my tongue, which made him really make a noise or two. In the meantime, Dottie had followed my method, working her way down, peck-kisses along his shoulder, into the armpit, and onward. She had reached his bellybutton about the same time I had reached his bails, and his nose was rammed into her bellybutton as well. He really leaped about at this combination, and I nearly snapped his jewels off; so I let go for a second.
"He's getting away!" I said. "Hold him, Dottie!"
She rose up a bit, and got herself into a comfortable seat, spread legged across Harold's head; only his chin showed, with her curly black pubic hair around it like a beard.
"My, you look great with a beard, Harold," I giggled, and renewed my attentions to his upstanding dong.
For his part, he must have suddenly realized his position, and decided to take such advantage as he could, because Dottie straightened out her legs, and assumed one of those expressions. She looked positively paralyzed with pleasure, her mouth wide open and her eyes dosed, as she squealed, "Oooh, golly he… he's biting, oh, lovely!"
I grabbed at his cock with my hand, gently rubbing it up and down, and took the tip in my mouth, sucking. I was fairly boiling, myself, but I held back, not wanting to go too fast. I wanted Harold to last the course.
"Omigod!" Dottie said, and fell over on her back, kicking. Harold sat up, his eyes rolling and his tongue half out of his mouth, and I compassionately let go of his dingdong. He tried whipping around with the obvious intention of getting into the available Dottie, but I was too fast for him. He had assumed a sitting position, legs down off the bed, as he came around, and I made a quick spring, and landed on his lap, legs spread out, facing him. His cock squeezed right up inside the opening of my cunt, hot, wet, and quivering; the tip touched my clitoris, rubbing deliciously. I grabbed his waist and bounced, uttering wild wails of pleasure.
"Cripes!" he said, and gobbled at my fit, wriggling his hips cooperatively, while Dottie sat up and watched, giggling with wild abandon.
"Oh, wow!" I cried, as the tingle got better and better. I let his cock slide all the way in, and wriggled my hips too, just once or twice; then, with a deep breath, I slid off, regretfully.
"Got… to… divvy fair!" I said. "Whoops, no you don't!" as he tried to pull me back. "Next!"
I put a hand on his chest and pushed, and he was over on his back again; Dottie, quick to catch on, swung over him, on all fours, facing him. She let her luscious bobbies bounce on his nose, squealing with joy, and then, slowly, she lowered her hips to impale herself on his up thrusting wangeroo.
But old Harold-boy wasn't in any slow-moving mood, by now; he brought his hips up, and grabbed her bottom, pulling her down hard, and from the gasp she let out, I knew it had really sunk in all the way.
"Hoo, boy!" he gasped, one hand on her tight round rear, the other squeezing one of the jugs. His eyes rolled at me. "Wow, Honey… wha… who…"
"Gogogo, whee!" Dottie was crying out. "Oh, god, screw!"
Which Harold was doing, well and truly.
"Gluh!" Harold said, and bent up into the air, Dottie pinned up there on his up thrusting pole and flapping madly with arms and legs out, her eyes rolling, coming like a locomotive. "Ooogh!" she said, and fell off, still kicking, as Harold's released cock shot a small jet of hot cream out and up.
"I bet you thought… you were… all through," I said, flinging myself at him, and encircling his wet, hot rod with my lips. I sucked heartily, and dug my fingers into his groin, to encourage him. Ah! It was rising a bit, the blood beginning to pulse in it, and I worked harder at it.
"Oh, cripes!" Harold said, as I thrust an inquiring finger behind him, and ran it up into his rear a bit. It was supposed to work, according to that book of his, and by golly, it did. His cock expanded, nearly choking me; I released it, slid upward like an amorous cobra… that's the way the book put it… and managed to get it between my legs. I sat up, and squeezed down, and now he was inside me, throbbing and pumping.
Yanking him over, I rolled on my back, and lifted my bottom to get it in there even deeper, while Harold pumped it in and out as hard as he could. It took him a bit longer this time, which was lovely, as far as I was concerned; I came once, and nearly blew up, and the second time, and squealing wildly, tried for a third. There seemed to be some extra hands somewhere, and I discovered Dottie was helping out, or observing with interest… it was hard to tell which. She had an arm under my rear, and another one around my front, and she was lifting, squeezing my breasts, and laughing wildly.
"Aaagh!" Harold yelled, and went off, a lovely wet hot jet squirting way up inside. But enjoying it as I was, I was still trying for number three; I rolled free of him, heaving around and grabbing in a kookie way, and caught Dottie, who wrapped up with me in a head-and-tail arrangement. I felt her mouth busy down there in my little pink slit, her tongue diddling away; and I could hardly do less. I was shorter than she was, so I had to stretch just a bit, but I managed to do it. I got my tongue inside her, and lapped swiftly, and as expertly as I could, considering my confused condition.
Number three happened just then; it was like a small atomic bomb, more or less. From the shriek that Dotty let out, I knew she had done it too, and we collapsed, gasping, over Harold, who was utterly and completely shot to hell.
Now, there are lots of things I don't understand, and men are the first things on the list. I mean, if you listen to the average male-type citizen, you'll get the impression that he feels perfectly capable of coping with six or eight chicks at a time, dashing from one to the next, dipping his wick like a crazy candle maker, right? One chick is simple not enough to cope with such a stud, no, not at all. Two chicks, why, that's barely sufficient to keep him in practice.
Oh, sure. And, there was Harold, a big healthy boy, all sacked out, even -after Dot-tie and I recovered completely. Of course, if we had waited indefinitely, he might have started taking an interest again, but a girl hasn't got all night, not usually.
Dottie and I discussed the subject at length, but we just couldn't seem to come up with a reasonable answer.
"It's your fault, you know," Dottie told me, pouting. "I like it now, and I wouldn't have, if I hadn't tried it. But I've got a feeling Harold isn't going to be up to one of us, let alone two. Maybe we ought to toss for him."
"We did," I said, thinking hard. "All the tossing that would help any."
"Gee!" Dottie said. "Funny, funny. But I keep thinking you were right. My psychology needs men. I bet my marks are going to get better next week."
"Maybe we can get Harold alone again before they go down again," I told her.
"Golly, Honey, do you think we're nymphomaniacs?" Dottie asked, with a worried look. "I mean, I keep wondering if maybe we couldn't… uh, try a different fellow."
"Two or three different fellows, I said. "Hey! How about that? Who, for instance?"
There was a sort of deafening silence. We were stuck.
Either we'd have to trap one, as we had trapped Harold, or no go. The town males were an elusive and scary lot, or else immature. In other words, we would have to extend our hunting range, and lie about our ages, too. But both of us had come to some fairly definite conclusions about one thing. We like balling, and we liked it lots and lots; and if there was any way we could possibly get enough of it, we would.