Paul Gable: Mom and her dog

"You're not gonna let him fuck you, are you, Traci?"

"Emily Grabble, don't you ever say anything like that to me again!"

The lithe, young blonde tilted her chin up defiantly, staring at her good friend through narrowed eyes. She didn't like to hear that word. It made her nervous, unsettling her ordered mental image of both herself and her surrounding world. The two girls were sitting on a large multi-colored beach blanket, watching the high surf smash onto Venice Beach while the sun began to settle behind the ocean. A few male joggers trudged nearby, their heads turned toward the two attractive young women.

"I don't see why you're so bent out of shape," Emily said defensively, brushing back several strands of her black hair the wind had blown in her face. The scent of the damp, salt air was pleasant, even mildly exciting. A fine spray from the surf coated their flesh. Neither wanted to leave the beach. But the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn for Traci. She was thinking of cutting their day short and packing up. She didn't want to hear about boys all the time, about what they did in the back seats of cars. Her mother had told her all about that. That was exactly how Traci was born and why her father left. Illegitimate! The word stung her pride even now. No, she wasn't going to get in the same position as her mother.

"I just don't like to talk about… about that sort of thing," Traci said hurriedly, her face growing tight and prim. She stared at the rolling sea, then leaned back, watching several sea gulls wheel overhead, squawking to one another in their continual search for food. The sun felt good and warm on her legs and belly. She closed her eyes and let out a long, low sigh. Why couldn't life be this simple? Why did… sex have to rear its ugly head?

"Well, you're going to have to sooner or later. It might as well be with a friend," Emily sniffed, searching in her beach bag for a mirror. "Oh God, the sun's done a number on my face! What's Billy going to think about it?" she said, her forehead wrinkled with worry. Traci watched as Emily tried smoothing back her frizzled hair, then gave up in despair.

"You're always primping. I don't see why," Traci said, shrugging as she began gathering up her belongings.

"And you're not? I see the way you try fixing yourself up whenever Greg's around," Emily countered. Traci dropped her eyes, feeling a flash of excitement rush through her pussy at the mention of the basketball player's name. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slipped a shirt over her naked shoulders. Wearing a skimpy bikini as the air chilled wasn't such a great idea.

"I… I do not…"

"Don't lie to me, Traci," Emily said, hooking onto her friend's discomfort and smiling nastily. "You keep meeting him in the halls. He likes you, Traci. Why don't you let him… go all the way. I said before you shouldn't let him fuck you. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe that'll loosen you up."

Traci flushed beet red, her eyes rounding as she stared angrily at her friend.

"And I suppose you're the great expert on the subject? How many boys have you… you fucked?"

The word rolled off her tongue, piercing the air like acid. She was surprised how her flesh shivered with excitement when she pronounced that word. Fuck. How strange a word could have that kind of power!

"That's my business… if I've fucked any, that is," Emily said cagily. "I don't see why I should tell you anything if you don't listen to my advice."

"And what's that? To wind up the town whore?" Traci retorted, almost shouting. The wind rose, blowing her hair in front of her face. The surf was rising already while thickly piled cumulus clouds scudded across the darkening sky. A thick fog promised to settle over Venice and Santa Monica soon.

"I didn't mean that," Emily said, lowering her eyes. She knew why Traci was so paranoid about sex… the whole neighborhood knew the story about her mother. But no one talked about it, everyone liking Traci's mom and her efforts at trying to build a good present and future for her daughter and herself. "I just meant that you're too uptight. Everyone can see you tensing when a guy comes near you. You have to relax, be natural. You can have fun with 'em without going all the way."

Traci sighed, rolling up her blanket and stuffing it in her bag.

"Men just want one thing," Traci retorted. "They just want to slide up between your legs. Then they'll go away and… and…" She couldn't finish. Tears started welling up in her eyes. She turned from her friend, brushing more hair from her eyes, watching the Pacific turn a dark luminous green while whitecaps began to appear out in the bay.

"I've gotta go to the john. I'll be right back," Emily said, scrambling to her feet. She knew the conversation had gone as far as it could.

Traci watched her retreating friend, then turned and resumed her contemplation of the harbor. Men, she thought gloomily. The way Emily was talking, the way she was primping, it was just as if she were getting ready to get fucked. Traci sucked in her breath in dismay at having used that dirty word again. She had promised herself never to use words like that… promised both herself and her mother.

Why can't I stop thinking those words? the girl thought in a moment of self truth, covering her face with both hands and leaning forward. It was true. For all her propriety in public Traci was feeling forces at work inside her she couldn't understand. I'm not going to give into it, Traci said, rocking back and forth in her self-imposed darkness. But how strong those forces were, making her pussy so hot and moist when she lay alone in her bed. And when Traci tried closing her eyes she thought of Greg or indeed any young man, wondering what he looked like naked, wondering what his body felt like. Her hands fluttered over her moist pussy mound then, brushing the feathery curls aside and pulling apart the swollen cuntlips. The slick clicking of her fingers rubbing in and out of her hole cut through the night air as she masturbated to relieve the pulsing tension. When she came, the feeling was frighteningly overpowering. Was that what she'd feel when she was married and her husband went to bed with her? Would it be stronger? The girl had to stuff her whitened knuckles in her mouth to keep from crying out.

"Alone?"

The sudden intrusion of a human voice in her reverie made the girl jump. Traci dropped her hands and jerked her head around.

"I… uh, no. My girlfriend's around," Traci stammered, looking around for Emily. Where was she?

"That's all right. I'll keep you company. The beach isn't too safe, especially right now."

"That's all right… I…"

But the young man wouldn't take no for an answer. Frantically Traci searched the darkening beach for her friend. But Emily still hadn't emerged from the bathroom some hundred feet away.

"Nice… nice."

Traci's scalp crinkled with terror as she folded her arms over her tits, trying to hide as much of her body as she could. Turning, the blonde teen studied the man sitting next to her. There was no doubt he was handsome, tall, someone that made heat concentrate in the furry bundle between her legs. She felt her pussy swell as his eyes narrowed, studying her as she studied him. The sounds of his breathing sent jolts of terror mixed with something like hope racing through her mind. In a perverted instant the girl wished Emily weren't coming back. The wind picked up, blowing her hair around her neck. Her flesh puckered up into goosepimples. Traci stirred, reaching in her beach bag and pulling out her towel. She draped it over her shoulders, spotting Emily now.

"Oh, there's my friend," she said. Traci felt a wave of relief rush through her mind. Further down, she wasn't so glad. Her body had seemed to melt, to deflate. Her tits lost their tingle and her cunt closed up tight under the tangled thicket of hair.