Ah, the cotillion, with some Southern whorespitality.
I bet he was living it to the max!
I bet he was living it to the max!
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Country Cousins
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
Craiger
JUB Addict
Wow! Emma has her first cotillion and Will his first piece of ass....... These Southern Belles certainly have an effect on young Southern Beaus...
Craiger
Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
It's the heat, Craiger.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Nine – Mike
Well, the old perv finally made his proposal. Tommy Lynn wants to have sex. I should have known it would come to this. It's so easy and uncomplicated with the ladies. I think most of their husbands know exactly what's going on, but as long as there's no big hoo-hah over it, it's no problem for them – or me. There was only the one performance issue with Mrs. Goodheart in Rappahannock, but she was so old, I don't think she even noticed. She never got my name right even, kept calling me Mitchell.
Well, all that aside, I repeat Tommy Lynn wants to have sex. I might could, I suppose; but I'm not really sure I should. Way more possibility of complications. For one thing, he's not really an old perv. He's not that bad looking and I haven't done stuff with a man since Butch left. What if I like it? It could get worse. What if I like it more than he does? Should I charge him more or less than I do the ladies? What if word gets around? And it always does. Plus, What if he wants to fuck me? I'm not sure I want to get fucked. It was ok with Butch, but with some random dude? No, I'm sure I'm not looking for that.
The answer, I decided, was that I would charge a price he absolutely wouldn't pay and he would just say no. It seemed like the way out. I wouldn't have to say no, he would do it and that would end it. And maybe he would tell anybody else who might be interested and that would end that, too.
So, a couple of days later, after we had gone over his survey documents and decided the barn and well were feasible, he popped the question. He just came out and said it, like it was another part of the deal.
“I understand you have sex for money, Mr. Pierce. I'm interested. Would you be?”
“If we're gonna do that, you might as well call me Mike.”
“Are you interested … Mike?”
I gave it my best shot. “Five hundred?” He countered immediately with seven fifty and made me feel so stupid with my mouth hanging open.
“There are terms, however.” Ah, here it comes, I figured. “Nobody can know anything and I want to play a passive role.” I wasn't sure what to do. He took my hesitation for agreement and charged ahead. “Tuesday night, about eight, I'll be in this room. You come in, bend me over the desk and fuck me. I don't mind if it gets a little rough. I'll leave an envelope for you on the kitchen table. You can come in that way. Try to keep your truck out of sight.”
Thinking back, my objection was so lame. “It's a big truck.”
“And a big cock, I hope.” I swear that's what he said and there I was with my mouth open again, like I was a cocksucker or something. OK, I guess I am a cocksucker, but you know what I mean.
So along comes Tuesday morning and my stomach is almost churning I'm so worried about the coming night. Breakfast at Franks was hard to look at.
“Trubs, Mike?” Refo asked me. “You're not eating. Are you worried about the Delaware job?”
I guess it was reasonable for him to assume I was thinking about Butch, 'cause that was all I had been thinking about for a year. I briefly wondered if I should tell him about what I was up to with Tommy Lynn. He's understanding, and he never bitches at me like Frank does, and he keeps his mouth shut. I dumped the whole story on him.
“There was a guy once,” Refo said. “Nothing like your deal with Tommy Lynn, but I figured what the hell and got involved with him. To me it was just another notch in the belt, more or less. Well, ok, I liked him a lot, but I knew it was just a thing. The trouble was it really hurt Frank, who was sort of my 'official lover' at the time. So it's complicated. Not like your complications, but still complicated. After it was over the only thing I remember about it was I hurt Frank. You might want to think about whether what you're going to do will hurt anybody. That will make your decision easier, I would think.”
It didn't make my decision easier at all, but I was glad I told him. Who could I hurt? Well, the list is pretty brief. I could hurt Frank if it wrecked our business. I could hurt Marlee who isn't a bad person and has been nothing but nice to me. Two people, basically; but two people I didn't want to hurt. I guess I could hurt myself, you know, doing something I'd never be proud of; but it's getting easier to forgive myself all the time over stuff like this.
So I put it out of my head and went to work. We were finishing up the tack room with some fancy woodwork that was never in any real tack room; but it was fun to do and I had to admit looked great, like maybe the Queen of England had a tack room this nice, but nobody else.
Emma brought me lunch. “Momma thought you might like this,” she said and gave me a po' boy sandwich big enough to satisfy any po' boy. Pretty girl, Emma. Way different from the ladies I had been … Fucking makes it sound commercial, but that's what it was. She looked at me in a sweet way. I wondered if she knew or guessed what her momma and I were doing. She complimented me on the woodwork and said she wished she had a skill. She hung around a bit and then said, “Momma said she'd like to talk to you about hardware tomorrow.” That was my signal for sex; I wondered if Emma knew fully what kind of message she was delivering.
She left me to my sandwich. Oysters. Sex food, they call 'em. Maybe I could meet Tommy tonight and refuse the deal. Save the sex for Marlee. It made working harder and when work is hard for me, it isn't good. I didn't like anything I was doing so I left early. We were being paid by the job, not by the hour, so it didn't matter. I went home to my little place and was pleased to see some curtains I ordered for the front windows had come. Imagine me – buying curtains!
Then I watered the chickens and fed 'em. There were scratches on the fence. That fox had been back I guess. Butch would know if the fence was strong and tall enough to keep the fox out, but I sure didn't. Dead chickens would be the only way I'd figure that one out.
I showered and shaved like I was meeting one of the ladies. Silly shaving, I thought; he said he didn't mind it a little rough. Well, stubble is a little rough, isn't it? I looked at myself in the mirror, glad it was a short mirror. I don't like seeing all of me naked. Renee La Gerbille has a mirror that covers all of one wall in her bedroom and seeing myself with a hard on … well, it's a sight I try to avoid. It makes me look like some kind of person I don't think I am. My dick looks like a weapon and I just want to be a lover.
O' course, thinkin' stuff like that just makes me think of Butch and that pisses me off because there's no sense beating myself up over that again. And yet I do, time after time. It made me more and more pissed off as I drove back to Tommy Lynn's place.
“Don't let anybody see your truck,” echoed in my head as I made sure to park it in the shadow of some trees on the woods side of the house. “Use the kitchen door,” like I was a servant. “I want to be passive,” came back to me also. Leaving it all up to me. Like I was guilty of something.
The envelope. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket. Counting the money was his job, not mine. How fucking thoughtful, I thought, seeing a tube of lube next to it. I went into the library and expected to find him sprawling over the desk with his ass out waiting for me. Instead the room was empty. Of course, I should have known; he would keep me waiting.
So I waited. It got darker outside and I was losing interest in this caper. Still pissed at Tommy Lynn and myself for getting into it. Might as well make it quick, I decided. I lubed up my dick and kept it hard and ready. Finally I heard a noise in the kitchen. He walked into the darkened library and turned on the desk lamp, pretending to shuffle through some papers. What the fuck is he wearing? He looks like some fuckin' teenager in basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. He bent slightly forward and I decided Fuck It. Literally.
I yanked the silky shorts down and tried to ram it in. He struggled ineffectively. I held him down and put a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Just as I achieved partial entry, I relaxed and my target wiggled out of my hold. He flipped over to confront me. I was ready for a fight but I didn't get one. The desk lamp lighted his midsection, highlighting his torso and his erection. Something was wrong. It wasn't the midsection of a fifty-year-old. I moved the lamp to shine on his face.
“You're not Tommy Lynn.” I back off quickly.
“No. I'm Willis.”
Well, the old perv finally made his proposal. Tommy Lynn wants to have sex. I should have known it would come to this. It's so easy and uncomplicated with the ladies. I think most of their husbands know exactly what's going on, but as long as there's no big hoo-hah over it, it's no problem for them – or me. There was only the one performance issue with Mrs. Goodheart in Rappahannock, but she was so old, I don't think she even noticed. She never got my name right even, kept calling me Mitchell.
Well, all that aside, I repeat Tommy Lynn wants to have sex. I might could, I suppose; but I'm not really sure I should. Way more possibility of complications. For one thing, he's not really an old perv. He's not that bad looking and I haven't done stuff with a man since Butch left. What if I like it? It could get worse. What if I like it more than he does? Should I charge him more or less than I do the ladies? What if word gets around? And it always does. Plus, What if he wants to fuck me? I'm not sure I want to get fucked. It was ok with Butch, but with some random dude? No, I'm sure I'm not looking for that.
The answer, I decided, was that I would charge a price he absolutely wouldn't pay and he would just say no. It seemed like the way out. I wouldn't have to say no, he would do it and that would end it. And maybe he would tell anybody else who might be interested and that would end that, too.
So, a couple of days later, after we had gone over his survey documents and decided the barn and well were feasible, he popped the question. He just came out and said it, like it was another part of the deal.
“I understand you have sex for money, Mr. Pierce. I'm interested. Would you be?”
“If we're gonna do that, you might as well call me Mike.”
“Are you interested … Mike?”
I gave it my best shot. “Five hundred?” He countered immediately with seven fifty and made me feel so stupid with my mouth hanging open.
“There are terms, however.” Ah, here it comes, I figured. “Nobody can know anything and I want to play a passive role.” I wasn't sure what to do. He took my hesitation for agreement and charged ahead. “Tuesday night, about eight, I'll be in this room. You come in, bend me over the desk and fuck me. I don't mind if it gets a little rough. I'll leave an envelope for you on the kitchen table. You can come in that way. Try to keep your truck out of sight.”
Thinking back, my objection was so lame. “It's a big truck.”
“And a big cock, I hope.” I swear that's what he said and there I was with my mouth open again, like I was a cocksucker or something. OK, I guess I am a cocksucker, but you know what I mean.
So along comes Tuesday morning and my stomach is almost churning I'm so worried about the coming night. Breakfast at Franks was hard to look at.
“Trubs, Mike?” Refo asked me. “You're not eating. Are you worried about the Delaware job?”
I guess it was reasonable for him to assume I was thinking about Butch, 'cause that was all I had been thinking about for a year. I briefly wondered if I should tell him about what I was up to with Tommy Lynn. He's understanding, and he never bitches at me like Frank does, and he keeps his mouth shut. I dumped the whole story on him.
“There was a guy once,” Refo said. “Nothing like your deal with Tommy Lynn, but I figured what the hell and got involved with him. To me it was just another notch in the belt, more or less. Well, ok, I liked him a lot, but I knew it was just a thing. The trouble was it really hurt Frank, who was sort of my 'official lover' at the time. So it's complicated. Not like your complications, but still complicated. After it was over the only thing I remember about it was I hurt Frank. You might want to think about whether what you're going to do will hurt anybody. That will make your decision easier, I would think.”
It didn't make my decision easier at all, but I was glad I told him. Who could I hurt? Well, the list is pretty brief. I could hurt Frank if it wrecked our business. I could hurt Marlee who isn't a bad person and has been nothing but nice to me. Two people, basically; but two people I didn't want to hurt. I guess I could hurt myself, you know, doing something I'd never be proud of; but it's getting easier to forgive myself all the time over stuff like this.
So I put it out of my head and went to work. We were finishing up the tack room with some fancy woodwork that was never in any real tack room; but it was fun to do and I had to admit looked great, like maybe the Queen of England had a tack room this nice, but nobody else.
Emma brought me lunch. “Momma thought you might like this,” she said and gave me a po' boy sandwich big enough to satisfy any po' boy. Pretty girl, Emma. Way different from the ladies I had been … Fucking makes it sound commercial, but that's what it was. She looked at me in a sweet way. I wondered if she knew or guessed what her momma and I were doing. She complimented me on the woodwork and said she wished she had a skill. She hung around a bit and then said, “Momma said she'd like to talk to you about hardware tomorrow.” That was my signal for sex; I wondered if Emma knew fully what kind of message she was delivering.
She left me to my sandwich. Oysters. Sex food, they call 'em. Maybe I could meet Tommy tonight and refuse the deal. Save the sex for Marlee. It made working harder and when work is hard for me, it isn't good. I didn't like anything I was doing so I left early. We were being paid by the job, not by the hour, so it didn't matter. I went home to my little place and was pleased to see some curtains I ordered for the front windows had come. Imagine me – buying curtains!
Then I watered the chickens and fed 'em. There were scratches on the fence. That fox had been back I guess. Butch would know if the fence was strong and tall enough to keep the fox out, but I sure didn't. Dead chickens would be the only way I'd figure that one out.
I showered and shaved like I was meeting one of the ladies. Silly shaving, I thought; he said he didn't mind it a little rough. Well, stubble is a little rough, isn't it? I looked at myself in the mirror, glad it was a short mirror. I don't like seeing all of me naked. Renee La Gerbille has a mirror that covers all of one wall in her bedroom and seeing myself with a hard on … well, it's a sight I try to avoid. It makes me look like some kind of person I don't think I am. My dick looks like a weapon and I just want to be a lover.
O' course, thinkin' stuff like that just makes me think of Butch and that pisses me off because there's no sense beating myself up over that again. And yet I do, time after time. It made me more and more pissed off as I drove back to Tommy Lynn's place.
“Don't let anybody see your truck,” echoed in my head as I made sure to park it in the shadow of some trees on the woods side of the house. “Use the kitchen door,” like I was a servant. “I want to be passive,” came back to me also. Leaving it all up to me. Like I was guilty of something.
The envelope. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket. Counting the money was his job, not mine. How fucking thoughtful, I thought, seeing a tube of lube next to it. I went into the library and expected to find him sprawling over the desk with his ass out waiting for me. Instead the room was empty. Of course, I should have known; he would keep me waiting.
So I waited. It got darker outside and I was losing interest in this caper. Still pissed at Tommy Lynn and myself for getting into it. Might as well make it quick, I decided. I lubed up my dick and kept it hard and ready. Finally I heard a noise in the kitchen. He walked into the darkened library and turned on the desk lamp, pretending to shuffle through some papers. What the fuck is he wearing? He looks like some fuckin' teenager in basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. He bent slightly forward and I decided Fuck It. Literally.
I yanked the silky shorts down and tried to ram it in. He struggled ineffectively. I held him down and put a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Just as I achieved partial entry, I relaxed and my target wiggled out of my hold. He flipped over to confront me. I was ready for a fight but I didn't get one. The desk lamp lighted his midsection, highlighting his torso and his erection. Something was wrong. It wasn't the midsection of a fifty-year-old. I moved the lamp to shine on his face.
“You're not Tommy Lynn.” I back off quickly.
“No. I'm Willis.”
Craiger
JUB Addict
OMG! Not only has Will had his first piece of ass at the cotillion but now he's about to get his butt plowed, or.....maybe it will be the other way around... One way or the other, Mike has much more complication than he could ever dream of. I hope it's happy times for both.
Craiger
Craiger
A very interesting turn of events - not that Willis doesn't know his "daddy's" proclivities, based on the recent revelation about his parentage and how it came to be . . .
Yessiree sir, I'm ready for the next installment, too!
Yessiree sir, I'm ready for the next installment, too!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
He doesn't know. Officially, all the kiddies know is Marlee's version: that she and Tommy had an affair. The Fairfax-Tommy thing is still a secret.
In my first draft of that last chapter, Willis got fucked instead of minimally penetrated. I decided to revise because 1) the complete act would pretty much end the intrigue, 2) it would make Mike a darker person than I think he is, and 3) JUB rules say no violence (rape). We don't want Auto's finger on the delete key. Just a little insight ...
Ah, too true.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Ten – Fairfax
Four score and seven words ago I was a happy man. I feel kind of like a suddenly freed slave. Now I have the freedom that comes with my secret being 'out', but just what do I do with that freedom? What does it get me? Nobody is fuckin' me any more.
If only Tommy had kept his mouth shut; but, no, not Tommy, not Mr. Clean. He had to go tell Marlee everything and now I'm screwed – or not, depending on whether the subject is sex or not. Marlee and I were happy. Tommy and I were happy. Now they both treat me like I have something worse than HIV. BUT NOTHING ELSE CHANGES!
I'm supposed to go on like nothing happened … except no sex. It's that 'except' part that's the worst. For twenty years I have had two very affectionate, always-willing partners. Tommy gave me passion and Marlee gave me … what? Respectability, I guess, and the ability to pretend that I was leading a more or less normal, heterosexual life.
That's all I want. I want to be a normal, everyday Perry, like the rest of my family except richer. And being a normal, everyday Perry is important to the rich part. Gay guys may make millions in New York and California, but they don't in rural Virginia. Not if they're doing what I'm doing. There's got to be some way to fix things, to put the genie back in the bottle. Marlee and her DNA test wrecked everything.
So that's how I decided to call on Refo FitzJohn over in Rockingham. When I told him I wanted to discuss a confidential matter, I could sense his interest grow. I guess I also sensed he's gay, which made me wonder what he sensed about me. So I was ready for a gay, nerdy lab tech type. There certainly were enough of those guys around in Washington. I wasn't ready for how sexy he is in person. My God, I wanted to fuck him on the spot. That made it harder to talk about my problem.
He smiled at my tongue-tied stumbling around the issue. “Mr Perry, how about we put this in 'I-have-a-friend-who ...' terms. It's not about you. It's about somebody else, ok? So let's start again. You have a friend who …?”
“Who got fucked in the ass by a homosexual and then fucked his wife. Is it possible the sperm from the homosexual could make its way into the wife?”
“Unlikely, but … it would depend on time, for one thing. How long between fucks? Pardon my use of the scientific term.”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Awesome!” His enthusiastic, non-judgmental use of the word made us both laugh; the discussion became easier. He continued, “Er, I mean, sperm can live in a woman for several days. They can survive in seminal fluid for several hours. So technically, the sperm could have remained viable. The thing is how would they get from the original recipient to his wife's cervix?”
“Toys? Could that do it? What if the, um, original recipient and his wife liked to play little games?”
“Anal games?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Ok, I'm still going to say pregnancy would have been unlikely, but it couldn't be completely ruled out in the circumstances you describe. That's my opinion speaking as a doctor … of molecular biology, of course - not gynecology, you understand.”
“I think it happened. My wife swears she never had sex with the father and I believe her. Your DNA test determined the paternity.”
“My test? Oh, right. I remember now. And the other test?”
“Non-identical twins. The other one is mine, again according to the test YOU did.”
“This should really be clinically investigated, Mr. Perry. It's a remarkable case.”
I told him no, that would be impossible. I couldn't reveal my identity. He said I already had revealed it to him. Clever deduction. “Are you a lawyer, too?” I asked him and he laughed. I wondered if he knew how attractive his laugh is.
“I have a friend, Sarah Felsen, who is a medical doctor and does research. She would be fascinated by your story. Would you have time to talk to her?”
“Oh, I don't think … I mean, the details are so … I don't know how I actually told you, Doctor.”
“Call me Refo. Believe me you wouldn't shock her. She's way beyond shocking.”
I told him I'd think about it. I asked him for a bill for consultations and he said no charge. That was amazing in today's medicine. So I gave him a tip. “If I were a young man like you, I'd invest in graphene. Midwestern Graphite Industries is a good stock. We're recommending it to our clients.”
Ok, that was dubious behavior, huh? Insider info? Not really. I knew nothing specific, although the company looked like take-over target. It's the same thing Tommy and I were telling our regular clients. Invest for the future of graphene or invest for the take-over; the stock should work one way or the other. Refo's eyes widened a little at the tip, but he said nothing. The guy probably wasn't in a position to invest much. Lab chiefs at county hospitals can't be making big bucks. Then I was impelled to ask one more thing. “Refo, are you gay?”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“You young guys are so … out there. Not like my generation.”
“It's nothing I brag about; but I live with a great guy. The hospital knows. My co-workers know. It's easier that way. No crossed wires or misunderstandings. In medicine people tend not to care about stuff like that.”
“Awesome,” I told him, echoing his word and feeling gay doing it - gay in its old sense, that is. Then I got absolutely reckless. “I envy the guy you live with.” I never say things like that.
I left the hospital feeling like I was walking on a cloud; and I knew exactly why. A little honesty and a hot guy can work wonders. “I could fall in love with that guy.”
I said it out loud and laughed, which got me a funny look from a woman past middle age who looked vaguely familiar. Who cares? I thought and strode quickly down the corridor. Let her think what she wants. I walked briskly to my car.
Things non-sexual couldn't be better in my life; and, to be completely honest, the inferno that used to be my sex drive isn't all that hot any more. It's more like the residual ache from a tooth extraction. The ache of absence hurts more than the ache of need. It seems like I need to be loved more than I need to be fucked. If not, loved, then appreciated – the way Willis appreciates me. At least he used to. What in the world does the poor kid think now?
I'll have to ask him. Kids take everything so seriously.
Four score and seven words ago I was a happy man. I feel kind of like a suddenly freed slave. Now I have the freedom that comes with my secret being 'out', but just what do I do with that freedom? What does it get me? Nobody is fuckin' me any more.
If only Tommy had kept his mouth shut; but, no, not Tommy, not Mr. Clean. He had to go tell Marlee everything and now I'm screwed – or not, depending on whether the subject is sex or not. Marlee and I were happy. Tommy and I were happy. Now they both treat me like I have something worse than HIV. BUT NOTHING ELSE CHANGES!
I'm supposed to go on like nothing happened … except no sex. It's that 'except' part that's the worst. For twenty years I have had two very affectionate, always-willing partners. Tommy gave me passion and Marlee gave me … what? Respectability, I guess, and the ability to pretend that I was leading a more or less normal, heterosexual life.
That's all I want. I want to be a normal, everyday Perry, like the rest of my family except richer. And being a normal, everyday Perry is important to the rich part. Gay guys may make millions in New York and California, but they don't in rural Virginia. Not if they're doing what I'm doing. There's got to be some way to fix things, to put the genie back in the bottle. Marlee and her DNA test wrecked everything.
So that's how I decided to call on Refo FitzJohn over in Rockingham. When I told him I wanted to discuss a confidential matter, I could sense his interest grow. I guess I also sensed he's gay, which made me wonder what he sensed about me. So I was ready for a gay, nerdy lab tech type. There certainly were enough of those guys around in Washington. I wasn't ready for how sexy he is in person. My God, I wanted to fuck him on the spot. That made it harder to talk about my problem.
He smiled at my tongue-tied stumbling around the issue. “Mr Perry, how about we put this in 'I-have-a-friend-who ...' terms. It's not about you. It's about somebody else, ok? So let's start again. You have a friend who …?”
“Who got fucked in the ass by a homosexual and then fucked his wife. Is it possible the sperm from the homosexual could make its way into the wife?”
“Unlikely, but … it would depend on time, for one thing. How long between fucks? Pardon my use of the scientific term.”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Awesome!” His enthusiastic, non-judgmental use of the word made us both laugh; the discussion became easier. He continued, “Er, I mean, sperm can live in a woman for several days. They can survive in seminal fluid for several hours. So technically, the sperm could have remained viable. The thing is how would they get from the original recipient to his wife's cervix?”
“Toys? Could that do it? What if the, um, original recipient and his wife liked to play little games?”
“Anal games?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Ok, I'm still going to say pregnancy would have been unlikely, but it couldn't be completely ruled out in the circumstances you describe. That's my opinion speaking as a doctor … of molecular biology, of course - not gynecology, you understand.”
“I think it happened. My wife swears she never had sex with the father and I believe her. Your DNA test determined the paternity.”
“My test? Oh, right. I remember now. And the other test?”
“Non-identical twins. The other one is mine, again according to the test YOU did.”
“This should really be clinically investigated, Mr. Perry. It's a remarkable case.”
I told him no, that would be impossible. I couldn't reveal my identity. He said I already had revealed it to him. Clever deduction. “Are you a lawyer, too?” I asked him and he laughed. I wondered if he knew how attractive his laugh is.
“I have a friend, Sarah Felsen, who is a medical doctor and does research. She would be fascinated by your story. Would you have time to talk to her?”
“Oh, I don't think … I mean, the details are so … I don't know how I actually told you, Doctor.”
“Call me Refo. Believe me you wouldn't shock her. She's way beyond shocking.”
I told him I'd think about it. I asked him for a bill for consultations and he said no charge. That was amazing in today's medicine. So I gave him a tip. “If I were a young man like you, I'd invest in graphene. Midwestern Graphite Industries is a good stock. We're recommending it to our clients.”
Ok, that was dubious behavior, huh? Insider info? Not really. I knew nothing specific, although the company looked like take-over target. It's the same thing Tommy and I were telling our regular clients. Invest for the future of graphene or invest for the take-over; the stock should work one way or the other. Refo's eyes widened a little at the tip, but he said nothing. The guy probably wasn't in a position to invest much. Lab chiefs at county hospitals can't be making big bucks. Then I was impelled to ask one more thing. “Refo, are you gay?”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“You young guys are so … out there. Not like my generation.”
“It's nothing I brag about; but I live with a great guy. The hospital knows. My co-workers know. It's easier that way. No crossed wires or misunderstandings. In medicine people tend not to care about stuff like that.”
“Awesome,” I told him, echoing his word and feeling gay doing it - gay in its old sense, that is. Then I got absolutely reckless. “I envy the guy you live with.” I never say things like that.
I left the hospital feeling like I was walking on a cloud; and I knew exactly why. A little honesty and a hot guy can work wonders. “I could fall in love with that guy.”
I said it out loud and laughed, which got me a funny look from a woman past middle age who looked vaguely familiar. Who cares? I thought and strode quickly down the corridor. Let her think what she wants. I walked briskly to my car.
Things non-sexual couldn't be better in my life; and, to be completely honest, the inferno that used to be my sex drive isn't all that hot any more. It's more like the residual ache from a tooth extraction. The ache of absence hurts more than the ache of need. It seems like I need to be loved more than I need to be fucked. If not, loved, then appreciated – the way Willis appreciates me. At least he used to. What in the world does the poor kid think now?
I'll have to ask him. Kids take everything so seriously.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Eleven – Roy
Royal Castle Eustis. Even in the South that one gets a giggle. I wish I had known my father better. Dead by the time I was ten, he was the one who came up with the name. Being named after a hamburger joint is bad enough, but it gets worse. I'm told the burgers were bad in ways beyond what cheap would lead you to expect.
My mother told me she met my father late at night at a 24/7 Royal Castle near Emory University. He was drunk but appealing, she claims. I find those features mutually exclusive, but young girls have exotic fantasies about boys. They think any required reform is possible. Probably not, that's what I think.
For example, Emma Perry has a campaign to reform me. She says I'm not as attractive to women as I could be. I don't know. Nothing she suggests has any connection with her brother, who I think is a chick magnet, although he doesn't agree. Maybe if more chicks saw him naked, they'd pay more attention. I've known him for all of our nineteen years and he has been my best friend the whole time. Suddenly, he's awesome. During the nine months he was at James Madison and I was at William and Mary he changed completely. But not really. I mean he's just the same, but different. Maybe I don't know what I mean. All through high school I was the confident, outgoing one and Will was quiet. Now my confidence is evaporating like kerosene on a hot day. I think Emma knows why, but she won't discuss it. Will, on the other hand, is turning into a man.
“Roy,” he hissed at me at the huge Oatlands punch bowl. “I just fucked Mrs. Smith in the parking lot.”
I spit punch. “Dude! No shit!” Ok, Mrs. Smith had some miles on her, but she wasn't that bad, objectively speaking.
“It was awesome; and think I have a shot at a repeat performance.”
I squinted at the front of his pants to see if he was still hard or something. No signs of potential activity. “When? Right now?”
“No, but I think she's interested.” And with those calm words, Will took about six giant steps ahead of me.
Yes, I'd had sex, but it hadn't been especially memorable. Will now had the look of James Bond or somebody. Worldly, like. He exuded something. He's standing there all calm telling me this shit and I'm the one starting to get a stiffy.
About the stiffy, it's not something I like, but I have this ability to envision my friends having sex. And in my head I could see every detail of Will doing it. He looked so competent and concentrated, efficient like a heat-seeking missle, nailing Mrs. Smith. Not just nailing her, smothering her with his body. I was getting seriously hard imagining this stuff. I congratulated Will on his score and walked away looking for Emma.
“Emma, let's go fuck.” Not my smoothest line, but it needed saying.
“See, there's you problem, Royal Castle. You're too ...” She couldn't finish; she just laughed.
“Too what?” I began to wonder if maybe she had seen me swimming in Goose Creek and was disappointed by what I had to offer.
“Too needy,” she laughed and invited me to dance. Girls like to dance with me. One said that dancing with me made her look good. I was never sure how to take that and she refused to explain. A real confidence killer, that one.
It was a good party, as those things go, and I figured Emma would invite me to spend the night but she didn't. Instead I went home and beat off, spicing up the act with visions of Will and Mrs. Smith doing the deed. That tamed the beast for a while. I fell asleep smiling at the memory of the crazy guy at UnderArmor checking me out. I remembered wanting him to see me, liking his comments, wishin' … No, not really. He wasn't the right one to try anything with.
The next night me and Will and a couple other guys went clubbin' in Manassas. There's not really a club scene in Manassas, but we used to pretend there was. We'd take our fake ID's to a couple of redneck bars and think we were the shit, have a couple of beers, hit on the local girls never getting' more than a kiss and a squeeze. It was playing out as a typical night until Will told me he spend half the afternoon with Mrs. Smith. He said he returned a bracelet and she just about fucked him in the doorway. I felt strange, like I didn't want to hear any more. We'd always told each other everything, but I just didn't want to hear about Mrs. Smith. What he told me only led to another night of jacking off watching the scene in my head. He was awesome fuckin' her standing up … in my dreams anyway.
Then a couple of night later, I took Emma home from seeing a flick and as usual she gave me a little kiss and said no to taking me to her bedroom so I went to check on Will. He was sitting in his bedroom on the floor in the dark.
“Dude! 'S up?” I asked him. The scene didn't look right, him sitting hunched over, clasping his knees. He didn't answer, he just nodded. So I sat down next to him. “Seriously, Will, is something wrong?”
“I got fucked ...” he whispered.
“Yeah, Mrs. Smith again,” I laughed
“... in the ass by a guy.” Will wasn't laughing.
“Dude!” My head spun. I didn't know what to say.
“I went to Uncle Tommy's to get a folder off his desk and I was checking it out and the guy came up behind me and just shoved it in … a little.”
Wait! What? “A little? What do you mean, a little?”
“He didn't totally do it, you know ... he just shoved the head in or something. It felt like a telephone pole!”
“Dude!” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We fell silent and thought our own thoughts.
“What does that make me?” he finally asked.
“Depends. Are you getting hard telling me this?”
“Jeez, no.” Will looked at me wide-eyed.
“I am. What does that make me?” More silence. “Jeez, Will, sorry about tellin' you I'm hard,” I added.
“You … you are?” He didn't believe me. I got up on my knees. Even in the dim light, I could see the tent in my pants. “You are,” he confirmed. More silence. “Were you hard when we were at Goose Creek?”
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“It looks a lot bigger tonight,” I could tell he was smiling, joking with me. “You taking vitamins or something?”
“That was cold water in Goose Creek. You takin' note of my dick, Will?”
“You keep wavin' it around.” We lapsed into silence again.
“Does you ass hurt?” I eventually asked him.
“Not really. I just feel … used, I guess.”
“Like you've been ...” I didn't want to say raped. “Do you know who did it?”
“Yes, one of the carpenters working on the barn.”
“Dude! Call the cops!”
“I can't. He thought I was Tommy Lynn. Tommy Lynn paid him to do it. He showed me the envelope with a bunch of hundreds in it.”
“Tommy Lynn's gay. Everybody knows that.”
“They do? I didn't know it.”
“Momma used to say every time I came over here to swim, 'You be nice and respectful to Tommy Lynn, but don't go in his house.' I didn't know what she was talking about for the longest time.”
“Tommy Lynn's my father, Roy.”
“That figures. You look like twins.” More silence, a long silence this time. I broke it. “Will, did you get off on what happened? Do you think you're gay or something?”
“No. Why? Do you think I'm gay?
“I'm still hard, Will. I think maybe I'm gay.”
“Dude! You're fucking my sister! What makes you think you're gay?”
“I'm not fuckin' your sister. We tried it once and all she did was laugh at me. What a ball-buster of a night that one was!”
He laughed quietly. “So she said no. That doesn't make you gay.”
“Dude … I want to suck your dick! I'd say that makes me gay.”
Oh my God, why did I say that? It wasn't true! I never thought that in my life. Well, not really. I mean, everybody has thoughts, right? What's it like? That kind of thing? I had let one guy suck me once, but it was in a men's room on campus and it seemed really sleazy and I never wanted to do it again. I thought about it every time I passed the men's room though ... and sometimes when I jacked off.
I panicked. I got up and ran. What the fuck have I done?
“Roy, wait!” Will called. I ignored him and ran about a mile down the road before I remembered I had to go back for my mom's car. I glanced up at the house. There was a light in Will's window. I wanted to go back in. I wanted to suck his dick. I wanted to sleep in his bed the way we used to when we were kids. Instead I went home and jacked off again.
Royal Castle Eustis. Even in the South that one gets a giggle. I wish I had known my father better. Dead by the time I was ten, he was the one who came up with the name. Being named after a hamburger joint is bad enough, but it gets worse. I'm told the burgers were bad in ways beyond what cheap would lead you to expect.
My mother told me she met my father late at night at a 24/7 Royal Castle near Emory University. He was drunk but appealing, she claims. I find those features mutually exclusive, but young girls have exotic fantasies about boys. They think any required reform is possible. Probably not, that's what I think.
For example, Emma Perry has a campaign to reform me. She says I'm not as attractive to women as I could be. I don't know. Nothing she suggests has any connection with her brother, who I think is a chick magnet, although he doesn't agree. Maybe if more chicks saw him naked, they'd pay more attention. I've known him for all of our nineteen years and he has been my best friend the whole time. Suddenly, he's awesome. During the nine months he was at James Madison and I was at William and Mary he changed completely. But not really. I mean he's just the same, but different. Maybe I don't know what I mean. All through high school I was the confident, outgoing one and Will was quiet. Now my confidence is evaporating like kerosene on a hot day. I think Emma knows why, but she won't discuss it. Will, on the other hand, is turning into a man.
“Roy,” he hissed at me at the huge Oatlands punch bowl. “I just fucked Mrs. Smith in the parking lot.”
I spit punch. “Dude! No shit!” Ok, Mrs. Smith had some miles on her, but she wasn't that bad, objectively speaking.
“It was awesome; and think I have a shot at a repeat performance.”
I squinted at the front of his pants to see if he was still hard or something. No signs of potential activity. “When? Right now?”
“No, but I think she's interested.” And with those calm words, Will took about six giant steps ahead of me.
Yes, I'd had sex, but it hadn't been especially memorable. Will now had the look of James Bond or somebody. Worldly, like. He exuded something. He's standing there all calm telling me this shit and I'm the one starting to get a stiffy.
About the stiffy, it's not something I like, but I have this ability to envision my friends having sex. And in my head I could see every detail of Will doing it. He looked so competent and concentrated, efficient like a heat-seeking missle, nailing Mrs. Smith. Not just nailing her, smothering her with his body. I was getting seriously hard imagining this stuff. I congratulated Will on his score and walked away looking for Emma.
“Emma, let's go fuck.” Not my smoothest line, but it needed saying.
“See, there's you problem, Royal Castle. You're too ...” She couldn't finish; she just laughed.
“Too what?” I began to wonder if maybe she had seen me swimming in Goose Creek and was disappointed by what I had to offer.
“Too needy,” she laughed and invited me to dance. Girls like to dance with me. One said that dancing with me made her look good. I was never sure how to take that and she refused to explain. A real confidence killer, that one.
It was a good party, as those things go, and I figured Emma would invite me to spend the night but she didn't. Instead I went home and beat off, spicing up the act with visions of Will and Mrs. Smith doing the deed. That tamed the beast for a while. I fell asleep smiling at the memory of the crazy guy at UnderArmor checking me out. I remembered wanting him to see me, liking his comments, wishin' … No, not really. He wasn't the right one to try anything with.
The next night me and Will and a couple other guys went clubbin' in Manassas. There's not really a club scene in Manassas, but we used to pretend there was. We'd take our fake ID's to a couple of redneck bars and think we were the shit, have a couple of beers, hit on the local girls never getting' more than a kiss and a squeeze. It was playing out as a typical night until Will told me he spend half the afternoon with Mrs. Smith. He said he returned a bracelet and she just about fucked him in the doorway. I felt strange, like I didn't want to hear any more. We'd always told each other everything, but I just didn't want to hear about Mrs. Smith. What he told me only led to another night of jacking off watching the scene in my head. He was awesome fuckin' her standing up … in my dreams anyway.
Then a couple of night later, I took Emma home from seeing a flick and as usual she gave me a little kiss and said no to taking me to her bedroom so I went to check on Will. He was sitting in his bedroom on the floor in the dark.
“Dude! 'S up?” I asked him. The scene didn't look right, him sitting hunched over, clasping his knees. He didn't answer, he just nodded. So I sat down next to him. “Seriously, Will, is something wrong?”
“I got fucked ...” he whispered.
“Yeah, Mrs. Smith again,” I laughed
“... in the ass by a guy.” Will wasn't laughing.
“Dude!” My head spun. I didn't know what to say.
“I went to Uncle Tommy's to get a folder off his desk and I was checking it out and the guy came up behind me and just shoved it in … a little.”
Wait! What? “A little? What do you mean, a little?”
“He didn't totally do it, you know ... he just shoved the head in or something. It felt like a telephone pole!”
“Dude!” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We fell silent and thought our own thoughts.
“What does that make me?” he finally asked.
“Depends. Are you getting hard telling me this?”
“Jeez, no.” Will looked at me wide-eyed.
“I am. What does that make me?” More silence. “Jeez, Will, sorry about tellin' you I'm hard,” I added.
“You … you are?” He didn't believe me. I got up on my knees. Even in the dim light, I could see the tent in my pants. “You are,” he confirmed. More silence. “Were you hard when we were at Goose Creek?”
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“It looks a lot bigger tonight,” I could tell he was smiling, joking with me. “You taking vitamins or something?”
“That was cold water in Goose Creek. You takin' note of my dick, Will?”
“You keep wavin' it around.” We lapsed into silence again.
“Does you ass hurt?” I eventually asked him.
“Not really. I just feel … used, I guess.”
“Like you've been ...” I didn't want to say raped. “Do you know who did it?”
“Yes, one of the carpenters working on the barn.”
“Dude! Call the cops!”
“I can't. He thought I was Tommy Lynn. Tommy Lynn paid him to do it. He showed me the envelope with a bunch of hundreds in it.”
“Tommy Lynn's gay. Everybody knows that.”
“They do? I didn't know it.”
“Momma used to say every time I came over here to swim, 'You be nice and respectful to Tommy Lynn, but don't go in his house.' I didn't know what she was talking about for the longest time.”
“Tommy Lynn's my father, Roy.”
“That figures. You look like twins.” More silence, a long silence this time. I broke it. “Will, did you get off on what happened? Do you think you're gay or something?”
“No. Why? Do you think I'm gay?
“I'm still hard, Will. I think maybe I'm gay.”
“Dude! You're fucking my sister! What makes you think you're gay?”
“I'm not fuckin' your sister. We tried it once and all she did was laugh at me. What a ball-buster of a night that one was!”
He laughed quietly. “So she said no. That doesn't make you gay.”
“Dude … I want to suck your dick! I'd say that makes me gay.”
Oh my God, why did I say that? It wasn't true! I never thought that in my life. Well, not really. I mean, everybody has thoughts, right? What's it like? That kind of thing? I had let one guy suck me once, but it was in a men's room on campus and it seemed really sleazy and I never wanted to do it again. I thought about it every time I passed the men's room though ... and sometimes when I jacked off.
I panicked. I got up and ran. What the fuck have I done?
“Roy, wait!” Will called. I ignored him and ran about a mile down the road before I remembered I had to go back for my mom's car. I glanced up at the house. There was a light in Will's window. I wanted to go back in. I wanted to suck his dick. I wanted to sleep in his bed the way we used to when we were kids. Instead I went home and jacked off again.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Poor Roy! Everyone just assumed he was a true swinger, everyone but Emma. It's all her fault for not giving in..... But, now Will knows the truth and doesn't seem too upset by it. In fact, there may be a chance of some exciting times between the two. Fairfax also is perking up a bit after quite a hiatus. Only not quite as impetuous as our two young beaus. Two chapters, a big plus..... Thanks
Craiger
Craiger
Rory,
A double header pair of chapters - pretty intense ones, too.
A double header pair of chapters - pretty intense ones, too.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Twelve – Victoria
The trouble with these mass debuts is sharing the spotlight with dozens of all those other debutantes. “Are all y'all REALLY wearing white?” I asked at a rehearsal for the promenade. The sluts just sneered at me. So I wore ecru, a little of it, a couple panels of the skirt, covered by white lace, sort of a 'folk apron' look.. Momma thought it was too daring and frantically consulted her friends to see if I'd be banished for it. They all assured her that no, a little bit of 'interest' in a dress was fine. And so I have not received another invitation in all of June. The Fourth of July buffet at the club, however, they can't keep me out of.
And Emmalene Perry, looking oh-so-sweet, with her brother and Royal Eustis escorting her. It plain CHAPPED MY CHEEKS to watch her when I MOI-MEME had been planning to ask Roy for months. If he were going to UVA with me, instead of William and Mary with HER it would have been different. It would have been much different. He'd be MINE by now.
There are lots of reasons to like Roy. For one, he has never called me Vicky the Gerbil. I don't know why I got that nickname. Victoria Renee La Gerbille. I think it's a nice name. There are lots of comment-worthy names around here, Roy's being one. Maybe that's why he never … Well, no matter. There are better reasons to like him. He's so cute and when he talks to you, it's like nobody else exists. He makes me squirm. He really does. And I'd like to get close to him. You know, really close. Close enough that sex would be just an extension of living, not some MOUNT EVEREST to get over.
I absolutely HATE being a virgin. I shouldn't be one and I wouldn't be, if I could get the least bit of cooperation. But I have standards and Prince Charming has never attempted anything with me. Some of those beastly little boys in the eighth grade did, but who needs them! Do you know how uncomfortable a FINGER can be? Anyway, Roy has never been like that. I believe he respects women, has a fine sense of equality, and has a nice dickie.
I say that because Emmalene let it slip that he's not huge. To me that sounds like a perfect place to start. Heavy on the ardor and light on the pain; that's my goal. No tossing the caber in my direction, if you please, or even if you don't please. I had to SMACK that one boy, which was how I learned about how touchy they get about their testicles. TESTICLES! So weird! Testicles prove that Mother Nature has a sense of humor after all the nasty tricks she pulled on women.
Roy would also be an improvement over poor Darby. HE met the standards. Tall, good-looking, on the soccer team, I'd have done it with him, poor Darby, but he did it with someone else first and got arrested by the campus police 'in flagrante', as Momma called it. The somebody else was the Arts and Sciences Dean's assistant named Arthur Quincy and they tried to hush it up which meant the Richmond paper never wrote a word but everybody else knew. And the amount of detail they knew was incredible, like Darby being a sort of human receptacle for power tools. Something about an electric drill attachment made of rubber … I shut my ears.
Momma said the one before Darby was gay also, but I don't know how she could have know that unless she tried to fuck him. I never did. We never got that far. He came to visit at Christmas and left suddenly after just two days.
So, long story short … it's gonna be Roy and his somewhat sub-par dickie . Come the Fourth, I'm LOSING IT. Not just losing it. It's gonna be flung down and danced upon. Virginity OVER! That was my determination and this time, it's going to happen. OR ELSE.
Or else what? Just what was my alternative? My roommate had a professor from New Jersey who wore lots of Uggs and black stuff and her hair was streaked with GRAY and she was still in her THIRTIES. But that seemed too drastic a solution.
The real answer would be to lower my standards. I mean, what good are standards if they're unachievable? Those aren't standards, those are impossible dreams. Make some compromises. It wouldn't HAVE to be a college boy. It could be just somebody handy like that carpenter Momma was messin' with last summer. He was actually pretty hot. And polite. I saw him in town one time, all cleaned up. Nice smile. Not pushy. My girl friend Cynthia said a good country boy can be an awesome thing to keep around. Maybe too awesome, though. He looked substantially bigger below the belt than Roy. Maybe too big. Maybe the equivalent of some kind of POWER TOOL!
So maybe an older man. That could be a possibility. A seriously older man, not MORIBUND like Mr. Smith or anything, just experienced and patient and calm and slow. Are there such men? I think maybe I'm describing women, not men. It's so confusing. I should have just done it years ago with one of those nasty little boys. It would all be OVER, at least.
The Fourth … what to wear … It's so hard … It's like men and women dress for different events. The guys would go to everything in jeans and a t-shirt if they could get away with it. How are you supposed to wear nice cocktail dress if your date looks like one of the homeless? So COMPROMISE, Victoria. I'll wear nice jeans and a beaded top. And the jeans will have a pocket for a condom or two. Which I am GOING TO NEED or die trying.
I looked at the little case in my jewelry box. Condoms. When I bought them I had no idea they came in different SIZES! I thought one size fits all. Not so, it seems, although how much different can they BE? So I bought a couple of every size.
But if Roy is on the small side, what if I give him a small and he feels insulted? “I'm a MEDIUM,” he thunders and walks off. What if I give him a medium and it's LOOSE or something? Will I feel like I got a wadded up newspaper stuffed up me? Do I have anything I could try? What about that padded clothes hanger? Would that be like a penis if I put a condom over it?
The clothes hanger seemed to be about the right size; and with a condom rolled on I figured the hanger was as close as I was going to get. And at the last minute I couldn't do it. The idea of shoving a CLOTHES HANGER up myself … No. Wasn't happening.
So at LAST I showed up at the club with two condoms, medium and large, in my pocket and lust in my heart. I spotted my quarry and approached.
Oh my GOD, he smiled at me so sweetly it just about made me cry. He seemed to have a wandering eye, however. He kept scanning the room for someone. I needed to STRIKE quickly. So I squirmed and groaned.
“Vicky, what's wrong?”
“Something in my pocket ...” I said innocently and then pulled out the condoms. “Opps, look at THAT.” He was looking elsewhere. “CONDOMS!” I said, getting his attention back. “A large and a medium. Would one of those fit you?” He blushed, he actually blushed. “Which one I wonder. We could try them on I guess ...”
So out by the caddy shack, I got fucked … I think … I mean, I DID, but it was over pretty fast. It didn't hurt and I could honestly say I was NO LONGER a virgin. And Roy was sweet. He was all out of breath and he HUGGED me. And frankly the hug was better than the fuck. Not as awkward and much more romantic. I could feel his breath on my neck and actually hear his heart POUNDING when I put my head against his chest. And lying there almost naked all tangled up in each other, I felt close to him. I liked the weight of his body on me. He hugged me again and kissed me and for a few minutes I think I actually LOVED him. I guess it was my fault the spell was broken. I asked him the wrong question.
“Which size did you use?”
The trouble with these mass debuts is sharing the spotlight with dozens of all those other debutantes. “Are all y'all REALLY wearing white?” I asked at a rehearsal for the promenade. The sluts just sneered at me. So I wore ecru, a little of it, a couple panels of the skirt, covered by white lace, sort of a 'folk apron' look.. Momma thought it was too daring and frantically consulted her friends to see if I'd be banished for it. They all assured her that no, a little bit of 'interest' in a dress was fine. And so I have not received another invitation in all of June. The Fourth of July buffet at the club, however, they can't keep me out of.
And Emmalene Perry, looking oh-so-sweet, with her brother and Royal Eustis escorting her. It plain CHAPPED MY CHEEKS to watch her when I MOI-MEME had been planning to ask Roy for months. If he were going to UVA with me, instead of William and Mary with HER it would have been different. It would have been much different. He'd be MINE by now.
There are lots of reasons to like Roy. For one, he has never called me Vicky the Gerbil. I don't know why I got that nickname. Victoria Renee La Gerbille. I think it's a nice name. There are lots of comment-worthy names around here, Roy's being one. Maybe that's why he never … Well, no matter. There are better reasons to like him. He's so cute and when he talks to you, it's like nobody else exists. He makes me squirm. He really does. And I'd like to get close to him. You know, really close. Close enough that sex would be just an extension of living, not some MOUNT EVEREST to get over.
I absolutely HATE being a virgin. I shouldn't be one and I wouldn't be, if I could get the least bit of cooperation. But I have standards and Prince Charming has never attempted anything with me. Some of those beastly little boys in the eighth grade did, but who needs them! Do you know how uncomfortable a FINGER can be? Anyway, Roy has never been like that. I believe he respects women, has a fine sense of equality, and has a nice dickie.
I say that because Emmalene let it slip that he's not huge. To me that sounds like a perfect place to start. Heavy on the ardor and light on the pain; that's my goal. No tossing the caber in my direction, if you please, or even if you don't please. I had to SMACK that one boy, which was how I learned about how touchy they get about their testicles. TESTICLES! So weird! Testicles prove that Mother Nature has a sense of humor after all the nasty tricks she pulled on women.
Roy would also be an improvement over poor Darby. HE met the standards. Tall, good-looking, on the soccer team, I'd have done it with him, poor Darby, but he did it with someone else first and got arrested by the campus police 'in flagrante', as Momma called it. The somebody else was the Arts and Sciences Dean's assistant named Arthur Quincy and they tried to hush it up which meant the Richmond paper never wrote a word but everybody else knew. And the amount of detail they knew was incredible, like Darby being a sort of human receptacle for power tools. Something about an electric drill attachment made of rubber … I shut my ears.
Momma said the one before Darby was gay also, but I don't know how she could have know that unless she tried to fuck him. I never did. We never got that far. He came to visit at Christmas and left suddenly after just two days.
So, long story short … it's gonna be Roy and his somewhat sub-par dickie . Come the Fourth, I'm LOSING IT. Not just losing it. It's gonna be flung down and danced upon. Virginity OVER! That was my determination and this time, it's going to happen. OR ELSE.
Or else what? Just what was my alternative? My roommate had a professor from New Jersey who wore lots of Uggs and black stuff and her hair was streaked with GRAY and she was still in her THIRTIES. But that seemed too drastic a solution.
The real answer would be to lower my standards. I mean, what good are standards if they're unachievable? Those aren't standards, those are impossible dreams. Make some compromises. It wouldn't HAVE to be a college boy. It could be just somebody handy like that carpenter Momma was messin' with last summer. He was actually pretty hot. And polite. I saw him in town one time, all cleaned up. Nice smile. Not pushy. My girl friend Cynthia said a good country boy can be an awesome thing to keep around. Maybe too awesome, though. He looked substantially bigger below the belt than Roy. Maybe too big. Maybe the equivalent of some kind of POWER TOOL!
So maybe an older man. That could be a possibility. A seriously older man, not MORIBUND like Mr. Smith or anything, just experienced and patient and calm and slow. Are there such men? I think maybe I'm describing women, not men. It's so confusing. I should have just done it years ago with one of those nasty little boys. It would all be OVER, at least.
The Fourth … what to wear … It's so hard … It's like men and women dress for different events. The guys would go to everything in jeans and a t-shirt if they could get away with it. How are you supposed to wear nice cocktail dress if your date looks like one of the homeless? So COMPROMISE, Victoria. I'll wear nice jeans and a beaded top. And the jeans will have a pocket for a condom or two. Which I am GOING TO NEED or die trying.
I looked at the little case in my jewelry box. Condoms. When I bought them I had no idea they came in different SIZES! I thought one size fits all. Not so, it seems, although how much different can they BE? So I bought a couple of every size.
But if Roy is on the small side, what if I give him a small and he feels insulted? “I'm a MEDIUM,” he thunders and walks off. What if I give him a medium and it's LOOSE or something? Will I feel like I got a wadded up newspaper stuffed up me? Do I have anything I could try? What about that padded clothes hanger? Would that be like a penis if I put a condom over it?
The clothes hanger seemed to be about the right size; and with a condom rolled on I figured the hanger was as close as I was going to get. And at the last minute I couldn't do it. The idea of shoving a CLOTHES HANGER up myself … No. Wasn't happening.
So at LAST I showed up at the club with two condoms, medium and large, in my pocket and lust in my heart. I spotted my quarry and approached.
Oh my GOD, he smiled at me so sweetly it just about made me cry. He seemed to have a wandering eye, however. He kept scanning the room for someone. I needed to STRIKE quickly. So I squirmed and groaned.
“Vicky, what's wrong?”
“Something in my pocket ...” I said innocently and then pulled out the condoms. “Opps, look at THAT.” He was looking elsewhere. “CONDOMS!” I said, getting his attention back. “A large and a medium. Would one of those fit you?” He blushed, he actually blushed. “Which one I wonder. We could try them on I guess ...”
So out by the caddy shack, I got fucked … I think … I mean, I DID, but it was over pretty fast. It didn't hurt and I could honestly say I was NO LONGER a virgin. And Roy was sweet. He was all out of breath and he HUGGED me. And frankly the hug was better than the fuck. Not as awkward and much more romantic. I could feel his breath on my neck and actually hear his heart POUNDING when I put my head against his chest. And lying there almost naked all tangled up in each other, I felt close to him. I liked the weight of his body on me. He hugged me again and kissed me and for a few minutes I think I actually LOVED him. I guess it was my fault the spell was broken. I asked him the wrong question.
“Which size did you use?”
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OMG, Rory! That's near Priceless!
I've been following, butt haven't commented before. THAT chapter deserves a response, though!
I've had a bit of trouble keeping the characters, and their relationships, sorted out. However, the way you've been writing this is Awesome!
THANK YOU!, Buddy!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Thanks Chaz, a compliment from a fellow-author is humbling and very much appreciated.
Rory,
I was laughing to myself at all of her angst through the whole story - then lost it at the end.
I thought they sized Large XL and Jumbo so no one felt "small"?!
Damned if I know - I haven't used one in a very long time - and they were Natural Lamb (r) most of the time when I did.
That was before international brands came to the states and proffered custom fits.
I was laughing to myself at all of her angst through the whole story - then lost it at the end.
I thought they sized Large XL and Jumbo so no one felt "small"?!
Damned if I know - I haven't used one in a very long time - and they were Natural Lamb (r) most of the time when I did.
That was before international brands came to the states and proffered custom fits.
