The boy's reaction was one of mixed delight, surprise, and disbelief. She wondered why the boy should be so surprised. After all, he had paid his entry fee into her cunt by licking it, kissing it, nibbling on her clit until she had been swimming in a sea of passion so storm tossed she would have cheerfully admitted a bargepole into her seething slit. Now she was just returning the compliment. If it did nothing else, at least this exercise would help her get her mind off all the wonderful ways little John was trying to make her cum again.
She let her lips close rightly around the shank of Albert's flagpole. She felt the great throbbing head of his thrill drill thumping wildly atop her tongue, filling her whole mouth with a warm vibrant maleness as the boy struggled not to cum. She heard him grit his teeth and felt him stiffen with the effort to contain himself.
Meanwhile little John pumped indefatigably, wearing away at her cunt, filling her with a delicious tiredness interrupted occasionally by wild flashes of flaming passion that brought her nearly to the edge of orgasm. She tried not to think about what was going on down below, the lovely in and out, in and out of the thirteen-year-old's fabulous six inches, the passionate dedication of his nonstop game of "telephone" on her firmly upstanding tits.
Instead, she concentrated on the skin flute which Albert had presented for her to play, trying to remember what it reminded her of to have that hot throbbing hammer filling her mouth.
Today seemed to be a day for memories. She hadn't thought about Mr. Hammel and his approach to virginity for years. It was funny. She had always thought she was just a little less interested in sex than most people. After all, she had managed to remain a virgin until she was in her late twenties. And the various abortive experiences during her years as a demi vierge had all retreated into some, limbo where they had moldered in forgotten neglect until this afternoon when her body had finally wrought its vengeance against her and rebelled. Now she was remembering all sorts of things. Like the time after Mr. Hammel.
Reflecting now, she supposed the impresarios must have each possessed his little black book of complaisant mothers of Lolita-ballerinas. In any event, she had never lacked for a job after that month with Mr. Hammel. She remembered Mr. Hughes, lean and tweedy, who had produced the next show she was in. He had opened a new dimension in her life. He had taught her to love the great outdoors.
At first Momma had been doubtful but some secret sign had passed between them and the next thing Ted knew she was being driven out into the country by Mr. Hughes who had scared her nearly out of her wits with his warnings about snakes.
Ted had never seen a snake outside of a zoo. And in those dear dead days before TV she was fair game for any wild story from hoop snakes to the kind that sucked cows. Mr. Hughes had not led her down the garden path with any such tall tales. Instead, he had given her a more or less factual account of the number and variety of snakes in this part of California.
"Actually," he reassured her, "we'll probably never even see one. But it's best that you know what to do just in case."
"What's that?" Ted wondered. She was wise by now in the ways of producers and when Mr. Hughes had pulled her over next to him in the coupe and draped an arm over her shoulders she had not stiffened or struggled. Actually, she had suspected something or other was going to happen. She didn't mind. She was just curious about when and how.
"Well," Mr. Hughes said, "they make snake kits. They're a little thing with a piece of razor blade and rubber gadget for sucking but they're not much good and you never seem to have one when you need it."
"Oh?"
"So the best thing to do," he continued, letting his hand slip a little lower down the front of her middy blouse, "is to learn how to use the old-fashioned tools."
"What are they?"
"Well, in the unlikely event that a snake should ever bite you or a companion," he said, "use a knife or anything you have handy to make a cut right across the fang marks. Then you have to suck out the poison."
"Suck it out?"
"Otherwise it can actually get serious. People can die if it doesn't get sucked out before it gets into the blood stream."
"Golly!" Ted had marveled.
They continued along the winding mountain road and finally through a gate in a barbed wire fence which Mr. Hughes closed carefully behind him. They they drove a ways past a well-kept ranch house and Mr. Hughes stopped the car. "What are we going to do now?" Ted asked.
Mr. Hughes pulled two knapsacks from the car. He gave her the biggest one and explained that it was full of all kinds of light things. Then after she had hefted both knapsacks he slipped on the heavier one. They began climbing a grassy mountain. "We'll be able to see hundreds of miles once we get to the top," he said.
Ted didn't know what was particularly exciting about that but if it turned Mr. Hughes on and if this was what it took to get a part in his show…
She was dressed in a faded pair of gym shorts that were growing too tight for her. A loose middy blouse nearly concealed the tight-fitting shorts. She wore ankle socks and sneakers. Mr. Hughes was also attired only in shorts, sneakers, and a knit shirt. The day was warm and sunny. She climbed beside him, wishing she had worn something bigger and looser than these shorts which were cutting into her thighs, binding around her cunt with each straining step up the mountainside. She had been afraid Mr. Hughes might go too fast and she would become tired but he was already puffing. His face was turning redder with each yard they climbed up the mountain. "I hope we don't see any snakes," he muttered.
Ted was of two minds about the subject. She thought it might be real interesting to see one-providing she didn't see it too close. Gradually she found herself ahead of Mr. Hughes as her well-muscled little ballerina body trotted nimbly uphill. Finally she realized he was lagging behind deliberately so he could admire the play of muscle as her perfect legs and taut little ass strained in the too-tight shorts.
She glanced back down past the red-faced and glassy-eyed Mr. Hughes and saw the roof of the ranch house far below and only slightly closer the coupe Mr. Hughes had driven. She thought it was a Packard. Or was it a Pierce-Arrow? Mr. Hughes had eyes only for her crotch outlined in the too-tight shorts.
Ted glanced around. They were completely alone, save for an athletic cow that grazed a half mile to one side and a buzzard which regarded them incuriously as it soared back and forth overhead. She wondered what Mr. Hughes would say if she were to take off the offending shorts and finish this climb in her panties. After a moment's thought she decided she'd better not. Though her panties were perfectly serviceable and covered nearly as much as the tight shorts, even at twelve Ted had noticed that men were odd about certain things. And from the fixed way Mr. Hughes eyes remained on her crotch she knew instinctively that he was not like the boys in the company-all very kind boys and all very motherly toward her, but not at all interested in her that way.
She turned back and continued climbing. Ten minutes later they were abruptly in a little flat place on the mountainside, invisible to anyone without an airplane. Mr. Hughes unpacked her knapsack and spread out blankets. Beside the blankets he spread a table cloth. Then he began unpacking his own heavier pack.
Ted marveled at the number of goodies he had managed to stow. There were sandwiches of a hitherto unknown succulence. There was fried chicken. There was caviar and little crackers which she had learned to like from previous opening night parties. There was a magnum of champagne which she, didn't like at all. Finally, there was a bottle of cream soda beside it in the insulated container. "How did you know?" Ted blurted, then realized he must have researched the subject with Momma.
She sank gratefully onto the blanket as Mr. Hughes spread the feast. Finally he was sitting cross-legged beside her, puffing only slightly less, eyeing her crotch with the same slightly glassy stare. "Hope we don't run into any snakes," he murmured as he poured himself champagne and a paper cup of cream soda for Ted.
They ate leisurely and as Mr. Hughes pointed out various landmarks which he claimed were fifty and a hundred or maybe if was a hundred and fifty miles away. She guessed a busy man might enjoy getting this far away from it all once in a while. "Do you come up here alone?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes gave her an odd look. "Yes," he finally said. After a moment he finally added, "Sometimes I bring up a friend. But it has to be somebody very special-somebody I like a lot."
"Has anybody ever been bit by a snake?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes gave her that odd look again, wondering just where lay the line between innocence and sophistication. Ted gave a satiated sigh and put down her plate. She took a final sip of cream soda and gave a lady-like little burp. She lay back on the blanket, unconsciously twisting her ass into the position countless ballet masters assured her was most attractive.
Mr. Hughes finished too. He lay down beside her. Ted wondered how he would begin. She had no doubt that he would.
But Mr. Hughes was apparently in no hurry. They lay side by side not touching one another gazing into the blue sky at a circling buzzard. Mr. Hughes' hand did not creep out to touch her. She wondered if he had changed his mind. Maybe, she thought in sudden fright, be didn't like her after all and she wouldn't get the part and then Momma would be very cross.
"You must be growing awfully fast," he finally said.
"Yeah," Ted agreed. "But how can you tell?"
"How long ago did those gym shorts fit you?"
"Last year," she said in sudden comprehension. "I saw you straining and struggling all the way up," he said. "A couple of times I almost asked you to take them off. Providing you had something on underneath," be hastened.
"I do," she said. "I wanted to take them off too but I was afraid you might get the wrong idea."
"Wrong idea?"
"You know-"
"Know what?"
"The kind of things men do with girls sometimes," Ted explained.
"Oh. Have you ever done things like that?"
"I'm a virgin," Ted laid, evading the question.
"But you know all about what boys and girls do together?"
"I know most of it, I guess."
"You don't sound very sure."
"Well, golly," Ted protested, "after all I'm a virgin!"
"So you are," Mr. Hughes said musingly. He got slowly to his feet.
"Are we leaving already?"
"No. Just got to step over behind the bushes for a minute. While I'm gone you might as well take off those tight shorts if you want to. No use getting your legs all sore and marked up." He strolled leisurely away into the bushes and a moment later Ted thought she heard him taking a leak. Alone, she guessed she might just as well take off the shorts. The darned old things were killing her and if she came home with deep crease lines in her legs Momma would dust off that old lecture about how she was an artist and her body must be perfect, without bruises or scratches and a girl who was going to be a prima ballerina someday had no business dorking around like some neighborhood tomboy and…
She sat up on the blanket and struggled with the button of her shorts. They were too tight. She stood and sucked in her belly as much as she could. Finally she felt the button come open and the zipper start sliding down by itself. "Aaaaahhhh," she sighed, and let the offending gym shorts fall between her legs.
Without thinking she rose en point and the shorts slipped past her heels. Turning slowly, she stepped out of the shorts first her right foot, then her left. She caught them on her left toe and tossed the old shorts over on top of her knapsack. Now she was clad only in her loose-fitting middy blouse, a pair of serviceable rayon panties, white socks and sneakers. She wondered what Mr. Hughes would say if when he came back she had removed not just the shorts but maybe her gym blouse too. If she was going to stay out in this sun much longer she had better get if off or the makeup lady would have kittens trying to powder over an uneven suntan.
Mr. Hughes seemed to be taking an awfully long time over in the bushes. She wondered if he was going number two or if he was hiding somewhere waiting to see if she was going to undress any more.
"Mr. Hughes," she called.
"Yes?"
"Do you mind if I take off my blouse too so my shoulders'll be the same as my neck?"
"Not at all, my dear. Go right ahead."
With one smooth motion she whipped off the middy blouse. She tossed it atop her shorts on the knapsack. She stood posing for a moment in first position, then sank gracefully to the blanket, clad only in white soaks, sneakers, and her snug-fitting rayon panties. She thought momentarily about taking them off too but… With Mr. Hammel it had been all right. But she didn't know whether Mr. Hughes… anything could happen. But if Mr. Hughes wanted to take her panties off he might as well do it himself. What on earth was taking him so long over in the bushes? She wondered if he was constipated.
"Ow!"
"Mr. Hughes, what's wrong?" she called.
"Ow!" Mr. Hughes repeated. "A snake just bit me!"