This too soon blossomed and became an idyll of sorts, although there were times when my role in the relationship seemed somewhat less than idyllic. Still, I couldn't complain. Or rather, I just didn't complain, and that amounted to the same thing – tantamount to total surrender. Oddly enough, I never quite understood my own reticence. Except that the idea of complaining usually occurred to me afterward, not when we were together and involved in our secret revels. And somehow – even in the heat of a possible "moment of truth" – I always managed to think of a conveniently logical reason to keep mum and just enjoy the inevitable. Bossy as she might be, how could I criticize a novice like Trish Sawyer for an attitude that derived from simply too much girlish enthusiasm? What if she took it to heart? Wasn't there a precautionary old adage about throwing out the baby with the bathwater?
And so, with only minor changes here and there, the impromptu early development of our intimacy became its steady sex-format, as predictable as a weekly half-hour TV show. Infinitely more exciting though, despite – or because of? – its predictability. I might wonder about getting into a rut, but once my tongue started its slurping swish through that sweet ass-crack, well, there was only joy for me in the happy ending to come. Repetition would erode a little something eventually, I figured – next century maybe – but meanwhile my suck-kiss didn't seem to be losing its thrill.
Out of curiosity, I asked Trish the obvious question: did it always have to be there? Never in front? Only the answer was just as obvious, almost – so easy for her to say – as if she hadn't given it a second thought herself.
"I just knew you liked my ass, that's all. Why? You want to kiss my pussy? I won't mind. I'll let you, it's the least I can do – the way you're always doing things for me, you know? So if you really feel like it sometime…"
I didn't pursue the issue, hesitant to cope with the various complications and uncertainties that apparently lurked just below the surface. I was used to letting her make the decisions anyway; wasn't that the most fun? Besides, there was another reason, a silly one, even a bit embarrassing – the kid was too young, her pussy was too tiny, too bald, just a fuzzy little slit, a peehole, almost devoid of sex. Not my cup of tea. I liked her ass, sure, but in front my desire was for something big, something grand, something only a real woman could offer. Cunt. Huge and hot and hairy, that was the kind of cunt my mouth craved. A real suckable cunt for a sucking mouth. And meanwhile, well, I wasn't exactly deprived of pleasure, not with those cute dimples to kiss and the butt-cheeks to lick and the alluring dark trench in between that seemed to have no other purpose in life but to entice the tongue out of my mouth and turn all these dainty suck-kisses of mine into one long slimy fuck-kiss…
Matters were going through a metamorphosis at home. After years of making a comfortable living, my father had expanded his business and was on the road to riches. I was glad to see him stepping out at night more often, too, dating some floozie in Springfield till all hours of the morning. Or maybe he had more than one, maybe there were three or four, a rotating roster of bosomy consorts for bed and booze. Anyway, the old guy had it coming after all that toil and sweat, and I only wished he would take better care of himself and stay healthy enough to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
They must have been pretty ripe, those fruits – he always reeked of perfume the next day, a different brand each time usually, so I knew he was playing the field. I could tease him about it, sneaking in a mention of the late hours and lack of sleep, but my father was still boss in his own house, a generation older and supposedly that ranch wiser. And while we had always gotten along okay, there was never any real close communication between us. So I just kept my fingers crossed and prayed for his libido to spring a leak – as any dutiful daughter might do.
As far as I was concerned, the extra money didn't mean a great deal. There was talk of sending me to some snooty snob-college after high school, but I nipped that in the bud diplomatically, somewhat averse to higher education in general and social pedigrees in particular. And since I wasn't exactly hooked on elegant gowns and stuff, the new charge accounts were only incidental. Actually, the money became a problem for a while, almost a millstone around my neck, imagine! With a boost in allowance to keep me affluent, there was no reason for my baby-sitting chores anymore, disastrous, a bitter irony – the same wealth that bought my father's floozies might deprive me of mine! And I only had one…
My fat little floozy. Ah, but she was too precious to give up without a struggle, and I finally convinced the old guy that it was good for my morale to earn a few bucks; it made me feel like a useful and independent citizen. And wasn't that fine training for a young girl on the threshold of womanhood, a red-blooded American girl? Oh shit, I really had him snowed. Not that I found it anything to brag about, a daughter conning her father like that – but with so much at stake, what choice was there? If necessary, I would have draped myself in Old Glory and picketed the place, carrying an "Unfair to Loi" poster in one hand and twirling my flashiest silver baton with the other. Guaranteed to melt the hardest conservative heart. But it was already melted by then; virtue had triumphed, the disaster was averted – no shitty allowance boost was going to mess up my sex-life!
Even when the kid's demands became a bit audacious, I found her irresistible, succumbing to her every whim with often reluctant but always increasing fervor. She was particularly fond of putting me through some symbolic little ordeal right under her parents' noses practically, a kind of secret humiliation just between the two of us. I hated it, of course, but was too meek to protest, too eager for the shameful thrill that would already be creeping up on me. And soon we would both tingle with suppressed excitement, an impatience that drew us together in some fiercely erotic embrace the instant they were out the door.
Then, almost a ritual now – by order of Her Chubby Highness! – we would race to her bedroom window and wait for the departing parents to appear down below and look up and wave goodbye. But they weren't waving at me, obviously, so I'd just duck out of sight while she leaned over the windowsill and waved back. Down on my knees I'd go, wildly aroused and yet always a shade queasy at that moment, feeling perverted and terribly depraved, my insides churning with the nausea of self-disgust. But that too would only add to the enravishment as she giggled and went oh waving and at the same time put on an act just for me, a sway of hips, a shake of buttocks, the silent signals for a command performance. And how I performed! It never failed. Crouching there like some obsequious slave, I licked those dimples and heightened my own pleasure by thinking only of hers, burrowing in deep and sending my tongue on its ordained fuck-mission into her asshole. The kind of pleasure associated with my Eloi name, an intoxicating brush with masochism, a headlong rush to marinate my senses in the darkly mysterious ecstasies of sexual degradation…
All went well and good. Except that matters at home had taken a turn for the worse. What a revolting development! My father had run out of floozies and gotten himself married. So all of a sudden I had a stepmother, a tall silver-blonde named Darlene. A high-class floozy, probably, although she was supposed to have been a schoolteacher of some sort. Anyway, she must have married him for his money; what else? I hated the slinky bitch.
At first, admittedly, I could find nothing very offensive in her behavior toward me. Just a general attitude of smug superiority, perhaps. I was even impressed by her beauty, indeed almost envious of it. But all that was mere camouflage; underneath lurked a snake who could spit deadly venom without flashing a fang. Even her eyes made me uncomfortable – peering out of the pallid-wax skin, they were like shiny black coals that never wavered. Anyway, whether it was her doing or mine, we soon became enemies.
Somehow, luckily, both of us managed to cool it when the man of the house was around. Any other time, though, we were at each other's throats, a kind of running hostility that was always on the brink of violence but never seemed to break out. Although she did reach the stage where she tried to browbeat me, threatening to take a belt to my backside if I didn't shape up.
Funny about that, the ire it aroused in me. My own motives and impulses were too deep to understand. I only knew that I was being consumed by unholy fires. Flames of jealousy, flames of hatred, flames of raw emotion. And if I didn't extinguish them soon, there would be trouble. The brink kept drawing closer. And yet, somehow, there was an inexplicable thrill in the danger itself. It was like watching a horror film and feeling myself drawn into the action. If she would just quit acting so bossy! I already had one female boss; who needed another?
It had to happen in the end. The big hassle, the showdown between stepmother and stepdaughter. Mostly my fault, in a way, but I just couldn't keep my temper bottled up. That threat of hers still rankled, the crack about beating my butt with a belt – it must have been on my mind at the time; why else would I have blown my cool like that? There we were, bickering as usual, no worse than any of a dozen similar spats, when suddenly everything just came to a boil inside me and I told her to shut up. Whereupon she snorted in righteous indignation and launched into a lofty tirade about rude young girls who ought to be taught some respect for their elders. And that was when I spoke the magic words.
"Oh, kiss my ass!"
"What did you say? How dare you!" Darlene's face turned a shade of purple. "You brat, you snotty little brat!"
I slapped her then. Hard. Right on the cheek, a full swing of my arm, hard enough to make my hand sting. We were both deathly still for a moment, stunned by the enormity of my deed. And then I whirled and strode away, anxious to get out of range before she started swinging back. But she just stood there, and I was almost up the stairs when her reaction finally came. No return blow, no violence – just the vitriol in her voice:
"I'll remember that. And so will you. Mark my words, young lady, I'll see that you never forget it."
A cold chill gripped me, and I knew right then and there that this house couldn't hold both of us. I packed a bag and dashed off a quick note to my father, telling him not to worry, I'd keep in touch and stay out of trouble and please not to report me to the police as a runaway child – I just had to get away and be by myself for a while. It gave me a pang of regret, but my mind was already made up; it was now or never!
I didn't even slow down to change clothes. Besides, the pleated skirt I was wearing would be less conspicuous than shorts or jeans, safer if not as comfortable, especially this close to home. I'd be riding the local bus into Springfield and then taking another one from the big bus station, far enough to get out on the open road. That would cover my trail a bit, in case my father decided to give chase anyway. And from there on, well, a girl with my legs wouldn't find thumbing a lift difficult. Who looks at thumbs?
Luckily, money was no immediate problem. I had some cash in my dresser drawer, a pretty good nest-egg to carry me through the bus trips and ward off starvation. If necessary, I could always telephone or send a wire and get help from home. My father would never let me down. But I was determined to make it on my own; after all, wasn't that part of running away? Oh, I felt confident, almost brave really, young and strong and ready to face the world. In fact, upon fleeing Chelsea Hill my only rueful thought was of those secret games I'd no longer be playing, the eager little body I'd no longer be caressing. Farewell, my bossy baby lesbian! What a shame to leave that fat little ass languishing for my suck-kisses come Saturday night, pining for my lesbian lips, my sexy lesbian mouth, my hot fucking lesbian tongue; such a pity! But I just couldn't see myself hanging around to face the wrath of a vengeful stepmother.