Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Path: utzoo!telly!erotica
From: mcarlsso%sdcc13@ucsd.edu (Mars)
Subject: Marie gets it on
Organization: Somewhere just far enough out of Toronto
Date: Sun, 3 Mar 91 05:42:39 GMT
Approved: erotica@telly.on.ca
  
 
Message-ID: <14940@sdcc6.ucsd.edu>
Sender: erotica@telly.on.ca (Evan Leibovitch - moderator)
CHAPTER ONE 
     I was living in Toledo, on the East Side. There was Dad, Mom,  my two 
sisters and my two younger brothers. It was a big old house,  with brown 
shingle siding and a little yard. I was -- let's see...  ten, by a couple of 
months. It was late May. My birthday is in  August.
     I was always sensual -- and I don't mean "sexual." I enjoyed  sensual 
pleasures: the taste of ice cold pop, the smell of fresh- cut rhubarb, the 
shock of fresh snow rubbed on my face, the heat of  the good sun baking into 
me. I could lay for hours simply rubbing  the satin edging on a blanket or 
close my eyes and nearly faint  from the ripe smell of popping corn.
     Anyhow, I was ten-and-a-half and finishing the sixth grade at  St. 
Cornelius school. We didn't have much money, but Mom clipped  coupons and Dad 
worked an extra night job so all of us could go to  Catholic school. 
     I was a fair student -- I hated to study -- and did alright.  But in the 
spring of my sixth-grade year, two things happened.
     For one, I discovered I could write. It was an accident --  serendipity 
is what my phantom stepbrother would have called it --  because I wrote a 
composition on assignment. It was about  springtime. And I had a teacher, 
Sister Jannera, who talked to me  about it. She recognized that I had a talent
for words and she took  it upon herself to encourage this. I can't completely 
convey what a  remarkable thing it was. For one thing, I was only 
ten-and-change;  for another, I was a girl. This was 1965 in a blue collar 
section  of a so-called city not known for its sophistication and she was  
teaching in a Catholic school -- a bastion of conservatism. For her  to 
recognize my talent and then encourage it was amazing; no other  word is 
really appropriate.
     [My phantom stepbrother? Oh, okay. Mom was Dad's second wife.  His first 
had left him -- I think he drove her away -- about six  years before. My 
stepbrother, Dan, was -- is, really -- five years  older than me. He's not 
just smart; he's scary smart. He -- Oh,  never mind. He's also very sweet and 
sexy. And inhibited,  unfortunately. Anyhow, he used to visit about once a 
year, from New  York, where he lived with his mom.]
     The second thing that happened was -- Well, you may have  noticed I have 
these tits, hahaha! I started, shall we say,  "developing," when I was ten -- 
Anyhow, I wasn't much past ten. By  May of that year, I had noticeable tits, 
noticeable even dressed in  my white starched St. Cornelius blouse and plaid 
skirt. As a  shorter than average sixth grader with a "cute" -- I hated that  
word even then -- round little face, they seemed bigger than they  were.
     Oh, sure, I'd asked about a bra -- at the dinner table, like a  dope. Dad
laughed and said that with a bra, I'd look like I'd been  bitten by two 
mosquitoes. Sweet, eh? But by May, I had gen-u-wine  little tits, not just 
mounds of baby fat. I remember using the  Sears catalog as a guide to take my 
measurements. Sears decreed  that I needed a 25-A cup at ten-and-change. Of 
course, there was no  such thing as a 25-A bra, just those stupid -- and too 
small --  training bras. The rest of me hadn't developed yet, which made my  
boobs more noticeable, since I had a nineteen-inch waist and  twenty-four-inch
hips.
     So, anyhow, every summer, the church held this carnival --  lots of games
of chance and, of course, bingo -- as a fundraiser  and there was -- 
     [What? Oh, yeah, that's significant because that's when I  started 
keeping a diary. A journal, as my phantom stepbrother would  put it.]
     Segue to summer. All during the last weeks of school and the  first weeks
of summer, the more 'advanced' boys had been trying to  get close to me -- or,
more precisely, my tits. So here it was,  late July and the preteen training 
bra -- the only thing I could  get that was small enough for my bust 
measurement -- was just a  little tight in the elastic for me, especially in 
casual garb. If  you recall, cutoff tee-shirts had become popular in the 
summer of  '65. That's significant.
     The carnival was only four streets away, but Dad and Mom spent  a lot of 
time there. Dad was an electrician and Mom was a great  little organizer and 
the two of them were always over at the  church. Everyone said they were 
terrific. Of course, no one thought  to ask them about the kids -- 
     [Yeah, it is kind of a cheap shot. There's a reason.]
     Anyhow, it was the Thursday before Memorial Day. Back then, we  didn't 
have these arranged three-day weekends, Memorial Day fell on  Saturday, so 
everyone got beat on the holiday. I couldn't get too  annoyed, though. We were
in final exams and when you finished your  exam, you were cut loose for the 
day. I finished my last exam at a  quarter past eleven on Thursday morning, 
and after that, I was free  to enjoy the sudden, midsummer-like heat wave that
had hit Toledo. 
     As soon as I got home, I changed into my two-piece suit and a  cutoff 
tee-shirt. I pulled on a pair of loose white shorts and  slipped into my 
sandals, grabbed my Coppertone, then went down the  block to Lisa's house. We 
were best friends, even though she went  to Rossford Public. She was already 
finished with school for the  summer.  Lisa had a big ol' Coleco above-ground 
pool in the back  yard, out behind and to one side of the garage. 
 
     [The tee-shirt? I couldn't wear the halter for my suit in  public; it was
too small. It was this little bit of stretch fabric  and I would have looked 
like an advertisement for baby sex.  Besides, it cut into me and hurt. It's 
not like I had really big  tits or anything -- not like later -- but on top of
my little-girl  waist and little-girl hips, even the little boobies I had were
 really noticeable. They seemed bigger than they really were.
     [Look, these days it's not that unusual for a girl to start  budding when
she's ten years old. In 1965, it was pretty rare and  no bathing suit company 
provided for it, because people wouldn't  buy them -- they couldn't admit that
their little honey-pies might  be growing full-size tits that young. And think
about this: If they  wouldn't admit to themselves what they could see with 
their own  eyes, how well do you think they dealt with explaining the facts of
 life to a ten-year-old, let alone talking about love, commitment,  birth 
control or venereal disease? So in '65, when you grew tits at  ten, you 
learned the unpleasant way -- usually, from grubby- fingered assholes who just
wanted to squeeze a boob. Okay?]
     When I got to Lisa's house, Brenda -- her older sister -- was  just on 
her way out. Brenda was sixteen and had this terrific  figure and was real 
pretty and boys were always after her. She was  going to the marina where 
someone was taking her out on a boat for  a ride on the Maumee.
     Anyhow, Brenda told me Lisa had gone with her mom to the new  mall, over 
on Woodville Road, but I was welcome to hang out and  swim. She left and I 
took her up on the offer. I figured the place  was empty, since Jerry -- he 
was thirteen then -- had a route  delivering the Toledo Blade in the 
afternoons.
     I raided their fridge for a beer. Yeah, a beer at the age of  ten. I'd 
had sips and even a half a small glass at cookouts at  home, but I was feeling
a bit flaky and adventurous, so I took the  churchkey and popped a can of 
Blatz. Then I changed and went out  back. I was going to get wet and then lay 
on the picnic table near  the bushes and start my tan. I'm a lot darker than 
any of my  brothers or sisters and I tan well. Besides, I liked just laying  
there and letting the sun soak into me.
     But the bathing suit top was still tight on me and just before  I went 
out, I took it off. There was a girl in the seventh grade  who already had 
real big boobs and her life was miserable. The  girls didn't trust her, the 
boys her own age always giggled and  older boys were always grabbing her. I 
remember hoping mine weren't  going to grow like that.
     Wearing just the cutoff tee-shirt and the bottoms, I went out.  I slipped
into the pool. I knew the tee-shirt would be plastered to  me, but with the 
tall bushes all around the yard, I figured there  was no one to stare. I 
bobbed around in the pool for a few minutes,  then got out and lay on a towel 
on the picnic table. I rolled up  the bottom of the tee-shirt till my tits 
were almost showing and  then just lay there, enjoying the sun's weight. Every
now and then  I took a draw on the beer and eventually emptied it.
     After a while, I rolled onto my belly. The towel bunched up a  bit 
between my thighs, but I was feeling too lethargic to do  anything about it. 
Besides, one of the folds was right under my  little pussy and the pressure on
my clit felt nice and tingly. 
     Anyhow, I looked around: No one in sight. I pulled off my tee- shirt and 
lay flat. The sun was so heavy on me that I dozed off. I  don't know how long 
I slept.
     Suddenly, my eyes were open. What had awakened me? I figure it  was the 
sound of Jerry putting his bike in the garage, because he  was striding toward
the back steps. He was wearing sneakers, cutoff  jean shorts and nothing else,
if you don't count the newspaper bag  and the rubber pad for his shoulder, 
where the strap rested.
     I don't know what possessed me. Probably it was a 12-ounce can  of beer 
in a sixty-two-pound body that had been baking in the sun  for too long.
     "Hi, Jerry."
     He froze in midstep, turned and spotted me. 
     Jerry was 13 and really had a nice build, all lean and with  his belly 
like a washboard and he was cute. He had lots of curly  dark hair -- all 
plastered down by sweat, at that moment -- and his  jeans were real tight. I 
mean, you could practically see his ...  stuff through them.
     He looked at me, blinked and stared -- and his jeans got  snugger.
     I liked the way they got tighter. "Would you do me a favor?"
     "Sure, Marie."
     "C'mere."
     He shifted the carrier bag around so it hid the good stuff. I  was 
already feeling a definite urge, though, and hiding his crotch  only left more
to the imagination.
     He stopped about three steps from me, standing slightly behind  me. 
Didn't matter; I knew what he was looking at.
     "Would you mind putting some lotion on my back?" I folded my  arms and 
rested my face on my forearms. I knew that folding my arms  revealed the sides
of my little tits to him and I knew he was  staring at them.
     I heard the carrier bag hit the grass and then I heard the cap  coming 
off the Coppertone. The bottle had been in the hot sun and  the oil was warm 
and sensuous. He poured some right in the middle  of my back, between my 
shoulder blades. He rubbed it around in  about a two-inch circle. Shy.
     ""More? PLease?"
     "...sure."
     Slowly, the circle widened. I raised myself slightly to rest  on my 
elbows, momentarily revealing most of my tits to anyone who  was paying 
attention. And he was paying attention, because the  spreading of lotion 
hesitated, then became erratic. I let myself  back down flat on the towel.
     "Lower please?"
     By now, his hands were wandering closer to my sides. He froze  for a 
moment, then more oil hit my back and he started working it  lower, into the 
small of my back and down to the beginning swells  of my little butt. I 
reached back with both hands and rolled the  top of my suit bottom down about 
half-way, maybe less.
     I could hear his breathing as he lightly rubbed the oil on the  upper 
slopes of my ass. I flexed my butt a little and his breathing  got heavier.
     "That feels so good and I feel so lazy ...." I parted my legs  slightly. 
"Would you mind doing my legs. I can reach them, but your  hands feel so good 
-- "
     " ... sure."
     He started at my ankles and worked his way up my legs. I have  good legs 
and always have. He was enjoying kneading the taut  muscles and I was enjoying
the manipulation. I let my legs part  more when he reached my knees and the 
higher his hands went on the  insides of my thighs, the better I liked it and 
the more my legs  opened. Part of what I let me like what was happening was 
that he  was a little intimidated by it, I was the leader and the agressor,  
so I was in control. This was new and I liked it.
     And then he was massaging the lotion into the smooth flesh  adjacent to 
the crotch of my suit ... and his fingers began to  brush my now-soaked slit 
through the material. I hummed tunelessly  and pushed up and back a little. He
took the encouragement and  worked one finger under the edge of my snug suit 
and began rubbing  my cunt lips. It felt great. I raised my butt a little, but
he  didn't know what I was seeking.
     "Mmmmmm -- hold your finger right there for a minute," I said.  He froze,
undoubtedly afraid I was going to stop him. Wrong-o,  Jerry.
     I pressed my cunny down so my clit was rubbed against his  finger. I 
gasped, "Right -- there -- is the -- place -- okay?"
     He started rubbing my swollen little clittie and it wasn't  more than 
thirty seconds before I was groaning and my hips were  moving. Another thirty 
seconds and I was clenched in a tight little  orgasm. I shook for a moment, 
then relaxed back onto the towel. My  hips were still moving and his finger 
had lost its place. Now he  was probing my cunt lips, trying to find the 
opening.
     "Wait, wait, wait," I said soothingly. I reached blindly  behind me and 
felt his hard belly, then trailed my hand down to  catch the waistband of his 
cutoffs in my fingers. "C'mere." I led  him around to stand beside the pool 
table and turned my head to  face him. The bulge in his cutoffs was 
impressive. I ran my hand  down to it and pressed it through the denim. He 
sucked in a breath.
     "I liked that," I said. "Did you like it?"
     "Oh, yeah!"
     "Do you jerk off?"
     "... I guess."
     "You're not sure?"
     He blushed madly. "Well, sure."
     "What do you think about when you jerk off?"
     I was rubbing my hand back and forth over that promising  bulge.
     "You know -- doing it."
     "With whom?"
     "Girls."
     "Any particular girls?" I rubbed a little faster.
     "Not really." He was lying.
     "What do they look like?"
     "Y'know -- all grown up."
     "With big tits."
     "Yeah."
     I rolled onto my side. He stared at my tits. I sat up, fought  off a 
moment of wooziness caused by the heat of the sun, the heat  in my crotch and 
the single beer. His eyes followed my tits, drawn  to them as if they were 
magnets. I brought my other hand over and  unsnapped the waist of his jeans. I
tugged the zipper down and then  pushed his shorts down. He was bare 
underneath them. His cock came  out, so stiff it was almost bouncing off his 
belly. It was a nice  13-year-old's cock, about five or six inches long and 
average  thick. He had some nice soft hair around the base of it and his  
balls looked hard and tight. I gripped his dick lightly -- the  first time I 
ever touched a hard, naked penis; I felt a little  sizzle of excitement run 
through me -- and began sliding my hand on  it. His knees began to tremble.
     "Bigger tits than mine, huh?" 
     "You have real nice tits for a kid -- " he blurted. "I've been  watching 
-- "
     He suddenly realized what he was saying and clamped his mouth  shut.
     "So you've been watching me, huh? Looking at my tits, huh?"
     He nodded. I skinned my hand up and down his cock quickly a  couple of 
times, then stopped and wriggled out of my bottoms. I sat  naked in the sun on
the picnic table in front of him.
     "Would you like me to jerk you off?" I asked, again gripping  his dick. 
"Would you like to touch my tits and my cunt again?"      He nodded.
     "Then I want you to do something for me." I stood on the grass  beside 
him. He was much taller than me. He smelled of sweat and  Coppertone and 
excitement.
     "Anything!'
     "I want you to kiss my pussy -- right where you were rubbing  with your 
finger."
     "You mean -- with my mouth? Down there?" He sounded dubious.
     I nodded. "Lay down on the picnic table and you kiss me down  there while
I jerk you off."
     "I dunno," he said. "I can jerk myself off."
     "So can I, but I can't lick my own pussy."
     "And I can't suck my own dick..." That sudden boldness  surprised me, but
not enough to put me off. His hands were  wandering over my tits. He was 
surprisingly gentle after the first  careful squeezes -- testing their 
firmness -- and his caresses were  exciting me even more. When he began 
playing with my nipples I  decided.
     "Alright," I said. "I'll suck you and you suck me."
     He nodded and stepped out of his cutoffs, then climbed on the  picnic 
table and lay back on the towel. His dick throbbed furiously  in the sunlight 
as I climbed over him, facing his feet. I straddled  his chest with my knees 
and back up. He was so much bigger than I  that my legs were quite wide open. 
I felt his hot breath on my  mound and stretched forward till his dick was 
touching my mouth.
     He began to kiss and lick my cunt and I gasped and opened my  mouth. He 
hunched his hips up and about half his hard teenage dick  was in my mouth. I 
closed my lips around his dick as he closed his  hands around my little butt 
and then I closed my eyes and sucked  for oil. I didn't know -- then -- all 
the little movements that  make a good cocksucker, but this kid didn't notice.
I put my hands  on his hips to moderate the thrashing of his fucking movements
and  sucked and pulled with my lips. I knew it was going to be about  twenty 
seconds before he came.
     Even so, I started cumming first. He didn't know anything  about cunt 
licking, but he knew how I responded the first time his  tongue brushed my 
clit and he knew I sucked harder when he did  that, so he got a liplock on the
little bud and went to town,  trilling his tongue tip over it as fast as he 
could. 
     I started cumming and didn't stop, not even when he worked one  finger 
into my cunt. I felt a little tension and a moment of  discomfort, nothing 
more, and I was distantly surprised it hadn't  hurt more. But since I was on 
top and I wasn't being controlled or  forced or anything -- well, it really 
didn't bother me. On the  contrary -- my pussy grabbed that finger and 
squeezed it. I came  then as I cum now: clenched and almost frozen, bucking 
toward the  source of pleasure -- in this case, his lips and tongue and finger
     The combination of that finger-fucking and his prolonged  arousal along 
with my desperate sucking sent him over the edge. His  hips jerked, driving 
half his dick into my mouth, and then he was  cumming. I hadn't planned to 
swallow, but there was no escape  before he started to flow and I swallowed by
reflex and then the  deed was done, so I kept at it. His semen was so thick!
     I was sucking and cumming and he was licking and cumming and  both of us 
were moaning and cumming. I kept swallowing -- it was  swallow or drown -- and
he kept cumming, more than I'd suspected  was possible. When he finally 
stopped spurting, I sucked as hard as  I could and from somewhere in his 
teenage balls summoned forth a  last gob of sperm. He groaned and his hands 
fell away from my butt  as I released his spent -- but still half-hard -- dick
from my  spermy lips. 
     I lay sprawled on him in the hot sun for a few minutes, my  pussy backed 
against the underside his chin and my hips slowly,  languidly revolving. His 
dick stayed half-hard against the side of  my face.
     Finally I climbed off him and got down to the grass. It felt  crinkly and
warm between my toes. I was still tingling. 
     He sat up slowly, as if exhausted. His face was slick with my  juices, as
were the insides of my thighs. I gathered my stuff --  and the empty Blatz can
-- and turned to him. He was climbing down  from the table. "I need to clean 
up, Jerry. Can I use the shower in  the basement?" I knew about it because 
when I stayed over with his  sister, we frequently sat up in their basement 
recreation room --  such as it was -- as late as we could get away with.
     He nodded. "Sure. You know where everything is?"
     I reached out and gently stroked his half-hard dick a couple  of times. 
"I do now." His prick began hardening again. Thirteen.
     He took his shorts and stuffed them in his delivery bag and we  scurried 
into the house. I headed down the basement stairs for the  shower. I heard him
climbing the stairs to the second floor, to his  room. I knew there was a full
bathroom up there and figured he'd  use that one and I'd use the one 
downstairs and that would be that.
     I figured wrong.
 
-- 

Mail rec.arts.erotica submissions to erotica@telly.on.ca.
Most software will automatically mail your postings to that address.
