Archive for October, 2012

Trigger Point

It’s been well over ten years now, a fourth of my life gone by, and I think I can finally talk about it.

The car crash that took Jeremy and little Misha by all rights should have killed me too. I wasn’t even wearing my seatbelt. I was thrown clear, straight through the windshield, while they burned.

The surgeons did a commendable job stitching me back together. You can still see the scars, but you really have to look. The broken bones knit up, the lacerations healed, but my insides were a mess. My therapist tried hard, but I just stared right through her. I moved back in with my parents in Chicago. I don’t think I even cried very much. I was completely devastated.

Over the course of a long grey winter, I pulled myself back together, a little bit, just enough. I moved to New York City. This was back in ’98. I didn’t really have to worry about money; there was enough of that from the insurance settlement. More or less at random, I got an apartment and a roommate, in nosebleed country, upstate Manhattan, on 207th street. I decided to go back to school to be a nurse. The idea of helping others appealed to me.

Slowly, I got better. I graduated, and got a job working in the burn unit at Columbia-Presbyterian. I liked it there. I rode my bicycle to work, and shopped for groceries at Dominican bodegas, cooked my meals at home, and slowly found myself starting over. Some days I even felt whole again.

I met Sam when he helped me fix a flat tire, which is kind of ironic because before the accident I had done a stint as a bike messenger, and I still prided myself in my ability to change my own damn flat, thank you very much. But that required carrying a pump and a patch kit, and I’d stopped carrying those because my commute was so short, and because they kept getting stolen.

It was a beautiful summer morning, and I was riding down the West Side bike path when my steering went all mushy and didn’t sound right, and sure enough I looked down and had a motherfucking flat tire.

So I was pushing my bike along the path, wondering where the nearest bike shop was, and what I was going to tell my boss (I was still the most junior nurse on the ward, and Amanda, the charge nurse, did not countenance tardiness), when Sam rode up like some kind of latter-day knight in shining armor, and asked if I needed a hand.

He changed my flat for me, slower and clumsier than I would have, but I knew better than to step in and bruise his male ego, and when he was done he flashed me a smile that pretty much melted my heart. And certain other regions of my anatomy. Sam was good looking, in a thirty-something, slightly chunky, understated sort of way. He was an EMT; he usually worked the night shift, seven at night to seven in the morning, which I couldn’t help but notice complimented my own work schedule quite nicely. He was soft-spoken, he was sweet, he was funny, he had a bit of a belly and thinning sandy hair, and before he pedaled wobbly away, I managed to wrangle his phone number out of him.

I surprised myself by actually dialing that number after my shift was through. I surprised myself even further by asking him out on a date. An actual date. I hadn’t been on one of those in years and years, not since I had first gotten together with Jeremy.

It was fun. We went to the Natural History museum. We ate pizza together, and then went for a stroll in Central Park. Where I was pleased to discover that my guy Sam was an awfully good kisser. I hadn’t been kissed – or anything else – in over three years, not since before Chicago and the accident.

I don’t know if it was my accumulated horniness bursting through the crack that he had made in my defenses, or if we just had great chemistry, but I was shocked to hear myself inviting him over to my apartment. We pedaled uptown together, the seat of my bike stimulating my already erect clitoris through my jeans all the way.

My panties were more than a little moist. Clara, my roommate was home, so we went directly up to the roof of our building (where someone had long-ago installed a couple Adirondack chairs and potted plants and called it a ‘roof garden’) which, thank God, was unoccupied. You could see the whole city from up there, all the way down to the skyscrapers of midtown and the financial district away to the south. At the time we only had eyes for each other.

He was good. Damn, he was good! And I felt really comfortable with him. So comfortable, in fact, that my jeans and panties slipped right off onto the asphalt rooftop.

Before Jeremy, nobody had ever really gone down on me. Not for real. A few guys I’d dated had given my pussy a symbolic, perfunctory lick or two before moving on to the main event, but Jeremy was the first guy who actually ate me out and meant it. He was also the first guy to actually give me an orgasm. Not that I hadn’t gotten off during sex before; but I’d always had do some self-stimulating in order to get there.

Sam had no qualms whatsoever. He dove straight in, relishing the task at hand. He grabbed a thigh in each hand, and lifted me up to his face, devouring me like a starving man at a buffet table. And he was fucking amazing! I was already sopping wet, and he quickly got me even wetter. I kicked my legs, I squirmed and writhed, I shook my head like an epileptic and screamed up at the clear blue urban sky, and still he kept on licking until I orgasmed all over his face. It was a startlingly intense climax, one that seemed to go on for hours and left me weak and shaky. Still he kept on licking, until I pushed him away. My parts get super-sensitive for a while after I come. And anyway, now I wanted it to be my turn. I wanted to eat him alive!

“Thank you!” I gasped, kissing his slippery, wet mouth, tangy with my juices, “Thank you! Thank you!” I kept on kissing him, aggressively attacking him with my tongue, while I stuck my hand straight down his pants. I found exactly what I was looking for. His cock was hard as titanium, hot, thick, and juicy.

Never removing my mouth from his lips, I managed to tug his slacks and undies down. I started jerking him off fast and furiously. I wanted him to come in my mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of his dick. It felt so good to have him in my hand while we kissed.

“Stop! Please stop! You’re going to make me come.”

Well yes, that was certainly my intention. I had planned on pushing him past the point of no return before finally breaking that delicious kiss and dropping down on my knees and swallowing him whole. But he pushed me firmly away, his cock bobbing and straining, bright red and swollen and frustrated. “I can’t.”

“For real? Why not?”

“Bad things happen when I come.” He was already buttoning his pants. “I should go.”

But by now my lady parts were sufficiently recovered, and Sam didn’t seem to be in any real hurry to leave, so I managed to persuade him to stay for a little while. My tank top joined my panties and jeans, strewn across the rooftop, and I sat on his lap, feeling his erection straining through his slacks like an erotic speed bump.

Like a true gentleman, he fingered me to one more very nice orgasm, while he traced the spider’s web of scars all over my chest, and fondled my breasts, and kissed up and down my neck and ears, while I slid my naked ass up and down his frustratingly fabric-covered crotch.

And then he really did go, leaving me in a dazed and confused state. I had just had the best sex in…well, possibly ever. Sam was a sweetheart, a nice guy, and an amazingly skilled and generous lover. But could I really date a guy who I couldn’t reciprocate on?

I got dressed and went back down to the apartment, still reeling. Clara smirked at me. I flopped down onto our couch, a big goofy grin plastered to my face. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Yes, apparently I could.


We were up on the rooftop again. It had quickly become our favorite place; no-one else ever seemed to go up there. We were intertwined on one of the wooden lounge chairs, my skirt was piled up around my waist, and I wasn’t wearing any panties. Sam was letting his fingers do the walking, and I was looking longingly at the prominent bulge in the front of his khaki pants.

Sam had this incredible/infuriating way of bringing right to the edge with his fingertips, and then keeping me there indefinitely, for what seemed like hours on end, until I quite literally couldn’t stand it anymore. And then, responding to my verbal or not-so-verbal clues, he would shift his technique ever so slightly and bring me to a ginormous orgasm. It was delicious and excruciating, and I could not get enough.

“Tell me again why you can’t come?” I asked.

“I just can’t. When I do, bad things happen.” My clit felt like it had swollen to the size of the planet Jupiter.

“What kind of bad things?”

He sighed, his fingers never pausing in their eternal complex weaving pattern up, down, in, out, and all around my squishy, soaking, swollen wet vulva. “Terrible things. It started when I was just a kid.”

“Don’t stop,” I told him.

“I still remember the first time. I was fourteen years old, home sick from school, and I was in the bathtub.” His fingers hovered just nanometers from my aching clitoris. “I guess I was kind of a late bloomer. I knew about masturbation, and I know I had experimented with playing with myself before, but this was the first time it had all come together.

“So I was lying there in the sudsy warm water, my dick pointing up at the ceiling, and I had finally hit on it. I was stroking myself and just loving it. The sensations kept getting better and better!” I knew exactly what he meant. I remembered my own discovery of masturbation; at a slightly earlier age, but also in the bathtub.

“I was making splish-splashing noises with my fist. I was incredibly turned-on, and I knew that I’d somehow slipped past the point of no return. The closer I got to the edge, the smaller the movements of my hand became, until I just had my thumb and forefinger wrapped around my cock, just below the head, and my hand was quivering like I had Parkinson’s.

“I remember almost passing out from the intensity of the moment. My back arched, my toes curled, I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, and I shot off. Big gobs of come shot out the end of my dick, spewing up like a geyser and splashing down into the warm tub water. More and more kept on oozing out, like it was never going to stop. It felt great. I was high with the sensation, playing with my semen, spreading it all over my dick, which was still erect, and I was just wondering whether I could do it all over again, when my mother tapped on the bathroom door.

“She told me that the space shuttle Challenger had just exploded. That pretty much killed my hard-on. I got out of the tub, toweled off, got dressed, and watched the explosion over and over again on TV. I knew it was all my fault. I felt sick.

“I didn’t masturbate again for over a year. The next time I was over at my friend Shelly’s. We were just friends, nothing more. We were hanging out at her house, down in the game room, and we started talking about sex; about guys and girls and porn and who and what we were both attracted to, and then out of the blue she asked me if I’d ever seen a chick whack off.

“I hadn’t, and she asked if I wanted to, and of course I said yes. She produced a VHS tape from a hiding place under the couch and stuck it, blushing mottled pink, into the VCR, with the sound turned way down.

“In retrospect, it was probably embarrassingly bad, but at the time it was the hottest thing I had ever seen, hands down. It was one of those low-budget ‘amateur’ pornos, shot in some aseptic L.A. apartment with a consumer-grade video camera. There were two girls, probably only a few years older than me and Shelly, with really bad hairsprayed hair, and they were getting it on. One was blonde, one was brunette, they both had big tits, and they were both naked, except that the blonde one was wearing a double strand of huge fake pearls, and the brunette had on these fingerless black lace gloves that went all the way up to her elbows. They proceeded to have sex, fairly enthusiastically, all over a big, brown leather couch.

“I’d never seen real porn before, just furtive glimpses of my dad’s old Playboys; and this was pretty thrilling; but that was nothing to what happened next. Shelly shimmied off her jeans and her underwear, and spread her legs, turning to give me a good view of what she was doing, and started fingering her pussy right in front of me.

“I was so turned on I almost couldn’t breath. Her pussy was furry, and I could see the wetness on her labia and even her clitoris. She would slide one finger all the way inside, and then pull it out and rub it all over the outside, spreading her lips apart and making her little pink clit stand up. “Go on,” she said, “I want to see you do it too.”

‘Well, I could hardly say no to that! My dick was about to burst through my zipper anyway. I pulled off my pants and started jerking off for her. We were sitting on opposite ends of her ratty old sofa, and our eyes were glued to each other’s crotches, the porno on the TV totally forgotten. We tried to match each other’s pace, tried to draw it out and delay the inevitable, but I don’t think we really lasted very long. We were both too excited. Shelly started to come first, throwing back her head and scrubbing at her clit furiously and breathing in sharp little gasps, her boobs shaking like Jell-O under her t-shirt. I had just the tip of my forefinger petting just below the head of my cock, and I was squeezing my balls hard with my other hand. When I saw her coming, it set me off. I ground my teeth so hard I was afraid I would break them, and shot off all over the beige fabric of the couch.

“We were both panting hard, and the girls on the TV were still going at it. Shelly laughed, and then I laughed, and she said “That was awesome!” and turned off the video, and then we both got dressed and cleaned up and played some Nintendo.

“That night, on the news, I heard that a house had burned down, and a bunch of kids had died. They were the children of migrant workers, and the place had illegal apartments in the attic, and they couldn’t get out. One girl, an eleven-year, had burns over eighty percent of her body. She lingered for a week. That was the first and only time in my life I’ve actually prayed.

“That was when I swore off sex and orgasms for good. I’ve had girlfriends since then, but I’ve put all my energy into the giving of pleasure.” No kidding. Sam’s fingers were playing a concerto on my nether regions, and it felt so damn good I could barely stand it. “I guess now I just get off on getting other people off.

“There was one more time. It was my senior year in college – my dad wanted me to be an engineer – and it was about eight thirty in the morning. I had been working all night down in the drafting studio.

“At the time there was this girl who was really into me, and aside from all the practical aspects, I just wasn’t that into her. But anyway, she came wandering into the studio where I was finishing up my final project. She had brought me a big fat cup of coffee, and as I drank it, she stepped behind me, and started rubbing my shoulders. It felt really nice.

“Well, you know how it goes… she kept massaging me, and kind of pressed herself up against me, and it did feel really good… and then she reached around and started playing with my dick through my pants, which was, of course, hard as boron steel, and I didn’t do anything to stop her.

“She got my zipper down and fished my dick out, and by this time the train had totally left the station. I put down my drafting pencil and spun around on the stool, and she opened her mouth and swallowed me whole.

“She was one of those girls who could suppress her gag reflex or something; it was pretty impressive. She just opened wide, and started bobbing her head up and down on me. She’d lift up so that only the head was captured between her lips, and then she’d drop down until her face was pressed into my pubes and my cock was halfway down her throat. It felt amazing, and all the while she was softly tickling the area behind my balls, making little beckoning motions with her forefinger.

“I don’t think I lasted five minutes. I exploded into her mouth with a shout, and she took it all, sucking me dry, and coming up with a big fat feline smile on her face.

“Before we could even say anything to each other, the radio, which had been playing classical music, cut in with a news flash. There had been a big explosion in Oklahoma City. There were casualties. Nobody knew what had happened, but it kept getting worse and worse. At first they said it was Islamists, and then it turned out to be some asshole redneck with a Ryder truck full of fertilizer.

“I dropped out of college, a month before graduation, and moved here, and became an EMT. And that’s the story.”

It was a really messed-up story, and I really didn’t know what to make of it, and my brain wasn’t functioning very logically because I was right on the edge of a massive explosion of my own. Sam obliged me, his timing as perfect as ever, slipping two fingers up my ravenous cunt, and touching my clit in his patented way with his thumb, and bringing me off to an enormous, incredibly satisfying, window-rattling orgasm. Damn, he was good!

Afterward, we talked a little more. His dick was so obviously agonizingly hard inside his pants I had to physically restrain myself from tearing his clothes off and jumping him. More than anything in the world, right about then, I wanted to feel his hardness inside me, feel him shoot off inside my pussy.

“How do you do it?” I asked, “How can you stand to get excited like this and not get off?” Me, if I go more than two or three days without an orgasm, I get the girly equivalent of blue balls.

Sam looked bashful, which was awful darn fetching. “From time to time I do a prostate massage,” he said, “To relieve the pressure. It feels kind of nice, and it doesn’t seem to have the same… effect as an orgasm.”

“I’d do that for you!” I said. My mouth was literally salivating at the prospect.


“Oh, hell yes!” I had never touched a guy’s anus before. I’d had a couple dudes stick a finger in my butt; and Jeremy used to do this thing where he rubbed the outside of my asshole with his thumb while he was going down on me, which felt amazing; and I’d had anal sex twice; the first time sucked, the second time was OK. I’d never thought of that zone as being particularly erogenous for guys, but all of a sudden I was on fire to get my fingers up inside Sam’s butthole.

We didn’t waste a lot of time. He stripped out of his pants – I rarely got to see him naked, and it was a treat – and his dick was hugely erect and drooling precome. He crawled up on the wooden deck chair, facing backward with his cute little rump thrust out and his balls hanging down, his dick pointing straight out like a spear, and I proceeded to get my index finger nice and wet and slippery.

It was hot to do that to him. I felt like I should be gentle, but he made a cute little mewing noise when I pressed my finger against his puckered anus, and it slid right in. He was tight, and it was really sexy the way his asshole gripped my finger like a little fist. I found his prostate right away – it was practically the size of a walnut, and I started gently rubbing it, following his directions. I wished that I could grab his big fat hard cock at the same time, and jerk him off with my finger up his ass, but as the Rolling Stones once said, you can’t always get what you want.

It didn’t take very long at all. I felt his body tense up and then relax, and he made a strange guttural noise deep in his throat, and his balls tightened up and his cock twitched, and started leaking come, thick white pearlescent come, as if someone had turned on a spigot. A ton oozed out, before he was all done. His cock stayed hard as hard could be. And my pussy was all wet and ready for action all over again.

I removed my finger from his butt, and he kissed me all over, grinning like a maniac, and proceeded to eat me for lunch.

Our sex life sort of hit a plateau after that, a glorious, fabulous, sexy plateau. Sam and I got together all the time, whenever we weren’t working, which was a lot, and we’d go up to our little rooftop Eden and fool around.

I convinced Sam to let me touch him, to let me take him in my mouth, even to fuck me a little bit, as long as I made sure to let him pull away long before he felt the first tinglings of an orgasm. Then he’d pull out and roll over, or lift his legs up to the clear blue sky, and I’d finger his asshole until the come drooled out of his gorgeous cock. Which I’d usually lap right up like a cat with spilled milk, not so much because it tasted so great, as because it was just plain sexy. And then he’d flip me right over, and eat out my pussy and lick my clit until I came all over his face. It was a pretty awesome arrangement we had going on.

One time I mustered the nerve to ask him what he’d think about me fucking him in the ass with a strap-on, and he blushingly told me he thought that’d be pretty hot. I got as far as going shopping for dildos and harnesses before I chickened out.

It was a Tuesday morning, one of those glorious late summer/early fall days when the whole world seems just OK. Sam had just gotten off his night shift; I had the day off. We waved at Clara, my roommate, who rolled her eyes at us and blew me a kiss, and we headed up to the roof. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect morning for being naked.

We wasted no time losing our clothes. His dick was already nice and fat and hard; my pussy was hot and slick. We laid out the blanket that we’d started stashing up there for our own personal use, and got busy in a sort of 69 where Sam lavished oral affection on me, licking all over my pussy and clit and darting experimentally up to my asshole; and I carefully played with him, lazily tracing my fingertip up and down his hard cock, ticking his balls, drawing spirals on his tummy and inner thighs, and poking gently into his anus.

We did that for a little while, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up and turned around, and lowered myself carefully onto his waiting cock. It felt so good to have him inside me! We never bothered with condoms; I knew I was clean, and he sure wasn’t fooling around with anyone else. I loved the feeling of togetherness when his naked dick was nestled up inside my horny pussy.

I rocked back and forth, impaled atop him, savoring the sensations. I felt like I was oozing pussy juice all over him. His eyes were half-shut, his face a serene mask of bliss.

I felt something slip inside me, the beginnings of my own orgasm. I started to buck on top of him, grinding myself onto his dick, harder and harder. Sam halfheartedly tried to push me away, but I pinned his arms down. I rode him like a cowgirl, my tits bouncing wildly, my hair flying all over the place. He began to hump back at me, matching my rhythm. Our hands clasped, fingers intertwined, squeezing hard. I bent down and kissed his lips, and he kissed me back, hard, desperately. I started to come, wailing out loud into his open mouth, my cunt devouring his cock, and he fucked me back, fucking me straight to orgasm. Through the sound and the fury of my own climax, I felt him come, his cock twitching and trembling inside me, his hot semen flooding into my cunt, overflowing, and drooling out all over us both.

When it was all done, he stayed inside me, diminished. We were both panting, out of breath.

“I knew that would happen, sooner or later,” he said, “It was bound to happen. It’s not your fault.”

“Is it ok?” I asked him.

It seemed like every siren in the city had gone off at once. I could already see one huge column of black smoke away to the south, and even as I looked, I saw the fireball as the second plane hit.

Traffic had stopped in the streets. People were wandering around, bewildered. Radios chattered.

“I’ve got to get down there.” Sam said, pulling on his clothes. I got dressed too, and pedaled my ass down to the burn ward at Columbia-Presbyterian, where we were expecting massive casualties. The thing is, we didn’t actually see that many bad burn patients. It seems like people mostly either got out more or less OK, or they didn’t get out at all.

I never saw Sam again.

I called his phone obsessively. At first I called him hourly, then every day, then every week. I stopped leaving messages early on; I used to just listen to his voice on the outgoing message. Eventually the number stopped working.


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An Exciting and Unusual Saturday Night

The place used to be a knife factory, back before the recession and the new normal, back before the bottom fell out and all the jobs slunk away, first to Hong Kong and Taiwan, and then to poorer and more desperate places.

When they closed the factory, they erected a fence around the entire site; a twelve-foot tall hurricane fence topped with concertina wire. A fence, I reflected nervously, designed to keep out trespassers, delinquents, people like me.

They hadn’t kept up with it. Big holes were rent in the fence, and in places it had been knocked down entirely by fallen trees. The tall towers of security lights had long ago gone dark. The place was derelict.

I made my way through the darkness and litter, slipping through a hole under the fence tunneled out by a generation of trespassing teens. The night was full of mostly invisible, nearly silent figures making their way into the compound. Like a shadowy migration, the place was swarming with kids.

I found the entrance to the building without much problem. Behind a ragged sheet of plastic, dim battery-powered lanterns lit the way. A couple of burly guys were taking money. It cost twenty dollars to get in. There was a homemade poster taped to the wall with a list of rules written in black magic marker: respect for the performers; what happens here stays here; if your name is called you must abide by the luck of the draw; condoms mandatory for all penetrative sex. There were a pair of plastic buckets just inside the door, a red one labeled ‘Actions’, and a green one labeled ‘Actors’. For another twenty bucks a pop, you got to drop a slip of paper into a bucket.

Inside the building, I followed the trail of spotty lights and the growing crowd as we wound our way through a labyrinth, deeper and deeper into the abandoned factory.

The room we ended up in was fairly small, and it was already pretty packed. The seating was eclectic: plastic Adirondack chairs and cast-off choir risers as well as folding chairs and a few scattered lazy-boys lined the perimeter. In the center of the room was a large square of ratty blue shag carpet and in the center of the carpet was an ornate red velvet Victorian couch. Next to the couch was a little side table with a salad bowl full of condoms, a couple vibrators, and a big bottle of lube. Someone had rigged up a cluster of spotlights, strung together with orange extension cord, and the place was lit up like a stage.

I was surprised by the crowd: I hadn’t imagined that there would be so many people, and I guess I had expected it to be almost all male. The room was full to overflowing. I was lucky to get a seat. There were at least as many girls in there as there were guys. This thing was better attended than the freaking prep rallies at school.

Kim T, our thoroughly straight-laced and chronically over-achieving class president and presumptive valedictorian, strode confidently out into the arena. She was wearing a top hat, black slacks, and one of those novelty t-shirts with a tuxedo printed on the front. She carried a wireless microphone.

“Welcome back Friends and Lovers,” she said into the mic, and she was rewarded with an enthusiastic round of applause. With practiced patter, she quickly introduced herself, explained the rules of the game, and admonished us all to be quiet during the show. She had all the suave showmanship of a practiced emcee; I never imagined she had it in her. The crowd, unusual for a room packed full of teenagers, was dead silent.

The two buckets were brought out, and ceremoniously placed on a low table in front of the carpeted area. Kim made a big show of reaching into the green ‘Actors’ bucket and mixing up the pieces of paper inside. Then she drew out a folded slip and read it aloud:

“Donna S.”

A mousey, curly-haired, slightly overweight girl in a big purple t-shirt stood up and nervously made her way up onto the stage. She sat down on the scarlet couch, looking very nervous and self-conscious.

Kim drew a slip of paper from the other bucket, and held it up over her head.

“Goes down on”

On the couch, Donna smiled widely, caught herself, and then blushed furiously.

“Ricky O.”

A skinny kid in black jeans and a black t-shirt with a bad haircut and braces got up and came forward. There was an awkward pause as they sat next to each other on the couch for a moment, a couple geeky kids on their first date. The audience held its collective breath.

Then Donna leaned over and kissed Ricky on the mouth, and ran her hand clumsily up and down the front of his black jeans. That seemed to break the ice. Ricky stood up and unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall around his ankles. His penis jutted out from the front of his boxer shorts. He scooted the underwear down, and his naked cock protruded straight out from his crotch.

Donna seemed to take a deep breath, got on her hands and knees on the couch cushions, opened her mouth wide, and started doing her level best to swallow him whole, as if she were at some sort of perverted hotdog eating contest.

They fumbled around a little, and then they seemed to find a comfortable rhythm. There was a brief smattering of applause when she stopped in the middle of what she was doing, sat briefly up, and pulled her purple t-shirt and beige bra off over her head in one smooth motion. She had a beautiful set of tits. You never would have guessed.

When she went back to work, they both seemed more relaxed and focused on the task at hand. He felt up her boobs a little bit. She played with his balls. Then she sucked on the pink head of his long, skinny cock, while he guided her hand up and down the shaft. The room was quiet enough that I could hear the slurping sounds of her mouth on his dick.

Donna looked up at Ricky imploringly. They were both enjoying themselves immensely. This beat the hell out of any porn I had ever seen. Ricky started pumping his own cock, biting down hard on his lower lip. She lapped at the pink swollen crown intermittently, and then offering up her large soft breasts as a sort of target for him. He came with a high pitched yelp, squirting copious amounts of pearly-white semen all over Donna’s breasts. The crowd applauded as they grinned, bowed, mopped up and got dressed, and returned to their seats.

Kim came back to center stage, smiling and golf-clapping. With a flourish, she drew three more slips of paper out of the two buckets.

“Sean A.”


“Brian G.”

I knew Sean, he was one of those quiet, really smart kids who sat in the front row of all his classes, wore slacks and button down shirts every day, didn’t really socialize, and, without making a big fuss about it, got straight ‘A’s. It had never occurred to me that he might be in any way a remotely sexual being.

I also knew Brian. Everyone did. He was on the football team; I’m not sure what position, but it was one of the important ones. Big, goofy, popular, not overly bright. And he did not want to get up. There was a muted commotion around where he sat in the improvised bleachers, catcalls and a little pushing. “Come on Man,” someone yelled, “Don’t be a pussy. You know the rules!” Sean just stood there on the stage, grinning and fidgeting absently.

Brian sheepishly made his way up onto the stage. Kim winked broadly, mugging for the audience, and slapped him playfully on the backside. Sean was already undressing.

The kid had a big dick. I mean, holy shit. Who knew? I’m sure that more than one person made a mental note: there was more to quiet, studious Sean than anyone would have guessed. A lot more.

“Suck it” he said.

Brian gave him a murderous look, but he knew the rules, and he was committed to playing along. While skinny, naked Sean lounged on the couch, his oversized cock still flopping around half-hard, Brian shrugged eloquently as if he could really care less, got down on his knees, and started unenthusiastically licking the underside of Sean’s dick.

Sean wrapped one hand around the base of his cock – it was really obscenely big and uncircumcised – and smacked Brian across the face with it, the head peeking out from under its sheath, red and livid angry-looking. He pushed the bulging crown against Brian’s lips and fed it to him. Brian made a face like he was being forced to drink rancid milk. Poor thing. I don’t think I was the only person in that crowd who would have happily traded places with Brian at that moment. But that wasn’t an option.

Sean pulled his cock away from Brian’s half-hearted ministrations, and stood up. He was having his moment in the spotlight and loving it. On Monday morning, he’d be quietly back in class, head down, grinding away at his academics. His dick was fully hard now, jutting straight out from his crotch like a medieval battering ram, and it certainly was impressive. He whispered something in Brian’s ear, something none of us in the audience could hear, but we all saw Brian blush cherry red.

They traded places: Brian unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear and knelt down in front of the couch, burying his face in the pillow. His dick was small and soft, hidden in a curly matt of dark pubes. He had a cute little white butt.

Sean sat down on the small of Brian’s back, facing us. His enormous dick jutted out like a totem pole, standing up past his navel. He began massaging Brian’s backside, gently tracing spirals with his fingertips all over Brian’s butt cheeks; rubbing the backs of his thighs, brushing up against his dangling scrotum, occasionally darting fitfully into the dark crevice between his buttocks. He was masturbating intermittently with one hand, keeping that ridiculous cock nice and hard. The whole audience was on the edge of its seat.

The foreplay seemed to go on forever. The tension was unbearable. After what seemed like an eternity, Sean scooted back so he was sitting on Brian’s muscular shoulders, bent over and stuck his face in between Brian’s butt cheeks, and started to lick. We heard a quite audible sigh, and Brian raised his rump, trying to giving Sean better access. His dick was dangling straight down, meaty and engorged if not exactly erect.

Sean seductively licked his fingers, one, two, three of them, and when they were glistening wet with his saliva, he started tracing them up and down Brian’s backside, traversing lazily up and down, starting at the dimple at the base of his spine, down his crack, along his fat testicles, and finishing at the pink head of his penis, which was now quite definitely hard.

The silence in the room was intense. I could hear Brian’s raspy breathing, the little gasp when Sean found his butthole, the sigh when he moved his attentions away from that sensitive spot, the sharp intake of breath when he came back to it, more aggressively this time, probing and penetrating with his wet fingers.

Abruptly, Sean stood up, and snatched up a condom from the salad bowl on the little side table. He tore the package open, and slowly and meticulously rolled the condom down his over-sized cock. Wrapped in beige latex, his penis looked faintly ridiculous, all out of proportion with his skinny body, as if he were goofing around, holding a salami between his legs.

He slathered lube all over his dick; and then poured what seemed like half the bottle down Brian’s butt crack. He pried the cheeks apart, and we caught a glimpse of Brian’s crinkled asshole; tiny, pink, vulnerable. “Fuck,” I thought to myself, “that thing’s never going to fit.” Brian whimpered softly as Sean violated his ass again, smearing lubricant up inside his anus with two fingers.

It took a little while, but Sean was patient and determined. He stood behind Brian, who now had his rump thrust up in the air like a cat in heat. He rubbed his condom-covered cock up and down Sean’s crack, eliciting and involuntary moan, before pressing it hard against his target. The two boys rocked together like kids on a seesaw; it was intensely erotic for everyone in the room. They seemed lost in a world all their own. Sean pulled away, got down and licked some more; tried again. This time, it slipped right in. Brian grunted like he’d just been tackled by a big lineman, and Sean threw his head back and let out a long, drawn-out quavering groan. He was inside.

Sean didn’t get the whole length in; that would have been ambitious! He kept the bulbous head of his dick lodged just up inside Brian’s anus, and fucked him with tiny, rapid humping motions, almost as if he were some bizarre wind-up toy. It only took a few moments. Both boys were breathing hard and fast, like they were running the hundred meter dash. Then Sean let out with a tortured, quavering whine, and squeezed his own ass, and we knew he had come.

He pulled his cock out, threw away the condom, and flashed us a smile as he put his clothes back on and went back to his seat in the bleachers.

Brian seemed dazed and confused. His own dick (regular sized, and not bad-looking at that!) was achingly erect, curving skyward, balls drawn up tight. He stumbled over the couch, picking up his scattered clothes into a bundle, and wandered blushing off the stage, his bobbing erection leading the way.

Kim the emcee took center stage again, clapping politely. “Well, that was really special,” she said, “I know that made my panties moist! How about you? Let’s have a big hand for Brian G for being such a good sport!”

When the applause died down, she pulled a fresh slip of paper out of the green bucket.

“Susanne S.”

Susanne was a dancer, a tall, quiet, elfin girl with long red hair and pale, almost translucent skin, an easy smile, delicate features, and the shoulder blades of a quarterback. She shyly stood up and walked up onto the stage.

Kim pulled a slip of paper out of the red bucket. This time it made her pause. She held it up for everyone to see. Someone had used a black magic marker to scratch out the list of verbs, and had written above it, in large block letters, “FISTS”

Susanne made an eloquent little shrug and sort of half-smiled, giving nothing away.

Kim pulled out another slip from the first bucket. “Kelly W.”

I didn’t know Kelly by name, but I recognized her from school. She was sort of a plain girl, the kind who easily blends in with the crowd: brown hair, neat and tidy, plump but not fat, neither short nor tall. She had, I noticed in my current state of advanced sexual excitement, nice big boobs, and pretty, naughty-looking lips.

“It’s not really According to Hoyle,” Kim said as Kelly joined them up on the stage, “What do you think?”

“I’m up for it if she is,” Kelly said. Her speaking voice was so soft it was hard to hear her words, but she didn’t seem particularly nervous.

Kim surrendered the stage to the two girls. Kelly sat on the couch, and Susanne sat on her lap. They started out kissing, softly and tentatively at first, then more and more urgently.

Susanne pulled Kelly’s black t-shirt off up and over her head, and unsnapped her bra. I was right, she did have beautiful big breasts, with thick pink nipples that pointed eagerly up and out. Susanne wasted no time kissing and sucking on them.

Kelly kept slipping her own hands inside Susanne’s leotard, and Susanne finally smilingly indulged her, shrugging off the spaghetti straps and pulling the top down, exposing her own breasts; small, pale, and perfect. They kissed some more, sprawling across the couch with Susanne on top, their boobs mashed together, hungry lips playing tag, Susanne seductively rubbing the crotch of her tights up and down Kelly’s thick, blue-jean clad thigh.

Susanne wiggled out of the rest of her leotard, kicking her tights aside. Her body was beautiful, lithe and trim. She wore skimpy, sapphire-blue panties that exactly matched her eyes and kept crawling up her ass in the most fetching way imaginable.

She tugged and wrangled Kelly’s jeans off. Underneath was a rather chaste and plain pair of white panties. These went flying, and Susanne gently but firmly pushed Kelly’s legs wide, wide apart.

Kelly had a light brown, fluffy, unruly muff; and her pussy was a prim, pursed vertical seam. Susanne flung her long red hair over one shoulder with a toss of her head, and buried her face in between Kelly’s thighs.

She licked; long, lingering slurps; once, twice, three times. We couldn’t see much: Susanne’s head was in the way; but I think we all felt it almost as intensely as Kelly did. “Oooooh, ah…” she sighed as the third and final lick trailed off and left her hanging. When Susanne removed her head, Kelly’s pussy was transformed. It had bloomed: the petite inner labia were peeking out, eager and moist and pink. The nipples on her big boobs were standing straight up, fat and erect.

Focused like a surgeon on the task at hand, Susanne sensually licked her middle finger until it was thoroughly wet (if every dick in the house wasn’t hard yet, I’m sure that did the trick!), and carefully inserted it into Kelly’s hungry little pussy. Kelly threw her head back, closing her eyes and sighing audibly. The finger came out again, shiny and slick, and was quickly replaced with a second digit.

Susanne finger fucked her gently at first, then less gently with two fingers. Then she added a third, which didn’t slip in as easily as the first two, but took a little work. Kelly was lolling her head from side to side, eyes shut tight, hands pulling her pussy open for Susanne’s invading fingers. Susanne took a moment to lap once or twice at Kelly’s over-excited clitoris, and then slathered lube onto her own fingers and all over Kelly’s horny little pussy. This time her three fingers slid easily up inside.

“More” Kelly grunted huskily. Susanne readily obliged, liberally pouring lube onto Kelly’s vulva. A fourth finger joined the first three. Now all that was left was the thumb.

The crowd held its breath, fascinated. I, for one, was wishing fervently that Susanne would shed her panties and let us all see what was hidden underneath, but she seemed completely focused on the task at hand. Oh so gently, she formed her hand into the shape of a duck’s beak, working it slowly, slowly into Kelly’s pretty little cunt.

Kelly was whining, a constant seesawing drone. It was hard to tell whether the noises she was making were an expression of pleasure or pain. Her eyes were scrunched tight, her lips curled in a grimace, her toes pointed skyward, her nipples were red and swollen.

Her cunt finally relented. Both the girls sighed as Susanne’s fist disappeared inside Kelly, swallowed whole up to the wrist. Susanne smiled wide. Kelly was visibly shaking. She whispered something inaudible to Susanne, which made her smile even wider. She started moving her hand inside of Kelly’s distended pussy.

Kelly’s moans and whines had become a wailing torrent. Her head lolled from side to side, and she kicked her feet. I don’t know if everyone saw this, but Susanne discretely slipped a hand down the front of her own panties for a moment.

At last Kelly gasped out “No… fuck… I can’t… no more!” And Susanne gently removed her fist, leaving poor Kelly’s pussy gaping and gasping. Susanne’s hand was totally covered in slick, glistening wetness. The girls kissed, long and sensuously, got dressed, took a bow, and sat back down.

Kim retook center stage. When the applause had died down, she spoke into the microphone, “Well, now THAT was different!”

She drew a slip of paper out of the green bucket.

“Darren McP”

“Fucks… Excellent, a good old fashioned fuck!”

“Julia McP… Oh dear.”

If you didn’t know, you would probably never guess the McP’s were twins; once you knew, it made perfect sense. It was like looking at two different architects’ conceptual renderings of the same building; two completely different expressions of the same set of specifications.

Julia was a skinny, triangular girl, with pale skin, long clever fingers, wide hips, no discernable breasts, a hooked nose, and the same thick, nearly black hair as her brother.

Darren was an ovoid, soft and rounded, with thoughtful, inset brown eyes, and neatly manicured fingernails at the ends of short, stubby-looking fingers. His skin was pale, like Julia’s, but he was prone to acne. She gave the impression of being the taller of the two, but when they stood next to each other up on the stage, it turned out that they were the exact same height.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kim said, holding her hand over the mic. Her words may not have been amplified, but every person in the audience heard them anyway. “I could draw two different names.”

“Meh. Why not?” Julia responded.

“Yeah, why not?” her brother echoed. Kim left them alone on the stage.

They stood facing the audience, straight-backed and expressionless, like soldiers on parade, about an arm’s length apart from each other, and stripped.

Julia had thick thighs; a curly triangle of shockingly black pubic hair; a flat belly, breasts that (while not non-existent) were little more than speed bumps on her torso; and a long graceful neck. She tossed her shoulder-length hair defiantly.

Darren had a big, bulging belly; a deep navel; thin, wispy black pubes; a fat set of testicles that reminded me of tennis balls; and a shy, flaccid, circumcised penis. He had large, dark pink nipples surrounded by sparse hair. He tugged nervously on one ear and rubbed his nose.

She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his portly expanse. Julia lightly ran her fingertips up and down Darren’s body, from his nipples down to his scrotum and back again, tracing little spirals and curlicues as she went. We watched Darren’s cock rise and swell like a toadstool, until it was proudly erect and stood out at a forty-five degree angle from his crotch. He wasn’t absurdly well-hung, but he was certainly sizeable enough!

While he stood at attention, Julia moved around to his side, rubbing her furry pussy up and down his leg and fondling his penis and playing with his balls and his butt. She rubbed her small boobs up against his, smiled, nibbled on his earlobe, and whispered something to him.

They separated again. Darren sat down facing us on the red couch, his cock standing proudly up. Julia clambered up on the couch cushions, and stood unsteadily facing us, straddling Darren’s lap, her ass right at a level with his face. He steadied her with a hand on each hip, and started licking. She bent over to give him better access, and her thick black hair cascaded down, obscuring our view.

This lasted for a few minutes. We could hear their breathing, the wet sloshing and slurping of Darren’s busy tongue. Then Julia straightened back up.

Still facing us, she sat carefully down on Darren’s erection. In flagrant violation of the rules, they didn’t bother with a condom. Her pussy engulfed him easily, swallowing him whole. When his cock was buried all the way up inside her cunt so that his thick ball sac was pressed up against his sister’s jungle of black pubic hair, they started rocking back and forth together. She had her hands on his hips to control their movements. One of his hands reached down to find her clitoris; the other hand pinched and played with one of her tiny nipples. There was no sound in the room except for the squelching and squishing noises of Darren’s cock in his sister’s extremely wet cunt.

It didn’t take long. He came silently inside her, hugging her tight, his face turning bright red, and I think she may have come at the same time. They stayed conjoined, unmoving, squinting at the stage lights for a long moment before she stood up, releasing his spent cock with an audible *plop*. As Julia lifted herself up, their co-mingled come and juices drooled out of her pussy onto his lap, an image that struck me as almost intolerably sexy.

The applause was thunderous as the twins awkwardly pulled their clothes on and returned to their seats. Kim stepped up to the microphone.

“Well, that was certainly different! It’s been an unusual and exciting Saturday night. But then, isn’t every Saturday night exciting and unusual here? I hope to see you all again next week!”

The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd of horny teens dispersed quickly and efficiently, like rats evacuating a sinking ship. I made my own lonely way out of the old knife factory, slipping under the hole in the fence and making my blind way through a patch of woods, peripherally aware of other unseen figures making their not-quite-silent way through the dark. It was long after midnight and I wished I wasn’t going home alone. When I finally got to bed, I would masturbate, that much was a guarantee.

I was hooked, like I’d caught religion. I’d be back the next Saturday and the Saturday after that. And maybe, just maybe, this next time I’d shell out an extra twenty bucks and drop my own name into the bucket.


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