J Long: The town sluts

"Well," Lance replied with a sigh of exasperation. "I saw one in the dirt before. But it didn't look anything like your… uh, your pussy."

"Jesus! Kid, you don't make any sense at all," Ramona replied, standing up straight and letting the miniskirt fall back in place. "Come inside and let a real woman show you what a pussy looks like and what it's for."

Lance didn't know what to do. His mother would kill him, just slay him if he got home late. And his dad would have done the same thing too, only he was a wino who had divorced his mother on account of he loved Julio Gallo more than his mother.

"Well, I don't know. I think…"

"I think you better get your fucking little ass in here and let me show you my pussy!"

Lance was taken aback. Only his mother had ever used that tone of voice with him. And he knew that Ramona wasn't his mom because his mom never went around pulling her flappy, floppy things wide open.

He reluctantly obeyed. Walked into the mansion with feet that felt like cement. With a cock that felt the same way, too, but he didn't know why. Probably had to do with seeing a pair of sweet, fleshy things and flappy, floppy other things for the first time in his life.

Ramona led him to the circular couch. The one that her husband had given to her on her fortieth birthday. A very special couch that had little mirrors that popped out of the armrests and two dildos that could spring out of the cushions when she pushed the right buttons.

Ramona made him sit down on the couch.

Lance sat down on the couch. His eyes were filled with luscious sweet things because they were only inches from his batting eyelashes.

Ramona couldn't believe it. What the fuck was wrong with kids these days?

No wonder there was a generation gap; kids couldn't express themselves well enough to communicate whether they wanted to see her pussy or her tits.

Shit, no inquisitiveness, not enough gung-ho curiosity.

"Now, I'm going to show you all of my pussy. Would you like that?"

Lance was very surprised by her lone of voice. So much like his mother's when she asked if he wanted some more peas, or if he had to go wee now, or did he wash his pee-pee real good.

He felt like answering Ramona as if she were his mother. But his mother never wore miniskirts that fit more like a band-aid around her hips. And his mother would never dare bend over and strip off the miniskirt so that she was standing hands on hips with her sweet fleshy things inches from his eyes and her flappy, floppy pussy-lips within arm's reach.

"But you're not my mother!"

"What?"

Jesus Christ! What the fuck was wrong with these kids? Shit, didn't they know whit they wanted out of life? Didn't they know how to answer an adult?

"Look, kid. I asked if you wanted to see my pussy. No, not just the hairs around my pussy – I meant really deep inside. You never know, you might like what you see."

But how was Lance to know if he liked what he saw? He had never seen a pussy before. Never seen tits like that before. Shit, it was only last year that the first hair had appeared on his balls, and it was only two years ago since his testicles had descended and he could call them balls because they hung in a loose sac.

Lance played it safe. He nodded his head. Maybe if he hurried and she hurried and showed him her pussy, then his mother wouldn't ask where he had been, or wonder if he was drawing dirty pictures in the sand with that nasty kid Ernie McGrew.

"Jesus!" Ramona exclaimed. "It's about time you showed me you have some balls! Christ!"

Ramona sat on the couch, leaned back against the armrest, threw one svelte leg over the back of the velvety couch.

Her finger directed his gaze to the hairs at the top of her pussy. The ones that Ernie had guessed were at the top of a woman's pussy.

"We'll start at the top," Ramona said. "See all this hair?"

Lance saw all that hair. There was lots of hair. Very curly hair that looked very bouncy as her fingers twiddled several of the curlier strands.

"This is my pubic hair. And here… uuummmmmm, is the hole where lots of goooood things go… and… uuuuminmmmmm, lots of gooooood things come out."

Lance nodded eagerly. "Ernie says that's where the pee-pee comes out."

Ramona was very surprised that the kid knew something about pussies. She continued, two hands now directing his gaze.

"And when I spread my pussy wide open… like this…Oh God! Jesus! Uuuuummmmmmmm!"

Lance nodded eagerly again. Gosh, pussies looked so red and… and meaty. And there was definitely a hole there, but he couldn't see the end of it.

The hole got bigger.

And bigger.

Big enough for a baseball as Ramona pulled her floppy cunt-lips aside and pointed at the center of all that juicy darkness.

"Here… here, is where the action's at, kid. Whatta you think so far?"

"Pussies look… uh, dark. Does it hurt when you open up your pussy like that?"

Ramona shook her head. "Uuuummmmmm, no. No, not at all. See how my hands go up and down. And my thumbs just rub and rub all over my cunt?"

"Is a cunt the same thing as a pussy?"

"Oh fuck!"

Lance knew he had said something wrong. Because Ramona's voice had sounded just like his mother's. Just like Mom when she had looked at the center of his sheets one day and had exclaimed: "Did you pee-pee in your bed last night?"

No, Lance had not pee-pee'd in his bed that night. He had awakened from a dream about pussies drawn in the sand, and suddenly it felt as if he were lying in mud. And when he woke up and looked down at the wetness at his loins, he knew that it wasn't mud because the mess his first ejaculation had created wasn't brownish but white.

Lance had been very scared that night. In fact, he had cried. For fear that he had broken something inside of him and all that pus was coming out of his pee-pee.

Then those huge tits were in his vision again instead of the thoughts about white mud and sandy pussies. And Ramona was wagging a finger at him.

"Hey! Jesus! You really don't know the first thing about fucking or sucking, do you?"

Lance wanted to cry. Was it so bad that he didn't know about fucking and sucking?

Gosh, her wagging finger made him feel like he hadn't done his homework, or that he had absentmindedly used the last of the toilet paper and his mom was sitting on the crapper, screaming: "God damn it, Lance, how many times do I have to tell you to tell me when you've used the last of the toilet papa?!"

"Hey," Ramona said. "Don't cry, kid. I mean, it's not your fault. I just wanted to show you my pussy 'cause I thought you were interested in pussies and tits."

Then perfume surrounded Lance, and Ramona's lips were all over his forehead and cheeks and eyes and mouth, kissing him just like his Aunt Mabel had done when his pet skunk had died and she was just as glad to have run over the fucking pest as he was sad that she had flattened out his skunk to something as thick as plywood.

"Uuuummnimm, I'm so sorry." Ramona gushed. "Here, let me see your hand."

Lance lifted his hand timidly.

Ramona grabbed his wrist, placed the palm of his hand on her right tittie, held it there to make sure that he could feel every mole, every hair, every heartbeat that was on and in her heaving tits.

Lance felt as if his hand were on top of a warm TV dinner that hadn't been unwrapped yet. It was a good feeling. Not hot to the touch, but certainly not cold.

In fact, her tits felt very good. Gosh, they were meaty and they would give whenever he sank his fingers into her tits. And those bumpy things on the ends – Jesus, some parts of a woman's tittie were very soft and some parts were very hard.

Not like his cock. His cock could only be hard some of the time and soft some of the time. But it certainly didn't have a hard spot and a soft spot. It was either all hard sometimes or all soft sometimes.