Ron Taylor: High school hot pants

When his cum began to fly in massive ejaculatory spurts, I had just enough presence of mind to begin swallowing. There was so much of it that I might have strangled otherwise, and he kept ramming that thing up into my orality, dumping jism with each ram until he was depleted and the tense stiffness was deserting his manhood. I swung back into control then, as his grip loosened, and my lips and teeth snagged onto his rod.

"Why are you sucking?" he gasped. "I'm creamed out! Ohh, you're making my balls hurt, you little bitch!"

But I kept him in my mouth, kept him fiercely hard, and I cupped his nuts in the palm of one hand for some squeezing that made his groans and protests double their volume and intensity. But inside, was giggling. A man who could stay this hard, even after dumping all that gravy down my gullet, could be nowhere near creamed out. His cock throbbed in my mouth, finally erect, and I raised my head to let the cum-stained tool stand free.

"Now," I said, "you were saying something about fucking me in the ass?"

Not then, unfortunately. He said, "I don't have the Goddamned time!" and pulled me across him so that my head and shoulders went completely off the bed and I had to brace myself against the floor for support. As I got myself positioned, he pulled me across his lap, then stuffed his fiery rod up me from underneath. It was a weird setup, but the first insertion brought his dick scraping across the trembling nub of my clitty, and each subsequent penetration intensified the contact. I couldn't see what he was doing to me, but I could bloody well feel it!

This time we fucked like a pair of horny rabbits, but we knew each other so well it didn't matter. I came in an absurdly short span of time – he'd only given me six or seven strokes before my pussy went into convulsions and the come lasted, beautifully, until he poured his own stuff up me to quench the flames of lust.

Later I said, "Tell me a little more about yourself, B.E. How come you quit writing, if you wrote so many books?"

He was on the Canadian Club again, and his breath was enough to make me drunk from kissing alone. Of course, I'd been sipping a little, too, and it doesn't take a lot to get me high. I liked the feeling, so I kept sipping.

"Two reasons," he said. "First, I realized that I didn't have any talent. And second, after an unpleasant divorce, I realized that I didn't want to write about people fucking and sucking any longer. Call it jealousy, I suppose. Christ, Didi, do you know how long it's been since I've even had an erection? And this day I've fucked you I don't know how many times! Maybe I'm not as far over the hill as I like to think. Or perhaps this is just the last gasp of my sexuality. Who knows? Who gives a damn? Which reminds me – do you have a name other than Didi? That has such a coy, little girl sound I get mildly sick just saying it."

"My real name's Diana Dawn," I said. "Hence the Didi – from my initials – D.D."

"Diana," he said grandly. "The huntress. The queen of the night. She was the Roman moon Goddess, you know. It fits you. Or it will, someday, when you grow up a little more."

"I think I'm doing okay as it is," I protested, "and so does your peter!" I tapped the organ in question with the end of my middle finger, but he was fucked out for now and his cock didn't even stir in reply. But I liked the sound of Diana when he said it. Maybe that would be a nice thing, to call myself by my real name instead of a cute nickname. It would be a sign that I was grown up.

"Anyway," I went on, "What did you mean when you said you'd written about me and Jill?"

"Not you and Jill as individuals," he said. "Just the plot line. Christ, I thought I'd gotten away from all that. When you're writing you tend to see human beings as actors in a storyline. It gets schizophrenic after a while. Anyway, Diana Dawn, what I meant was, I'd used that story a few times. You know – hot girls set about becoming women, get themselves fucked. It's a popular plot, or it used to be, at least. Oh, hell, I'm starting to outline it again in my head, with you as the main character! Pour me another drink, for the love of Christ!"

"No!" I giggled. "Tell me, how would you use me as the main character?"

"Shit," he grumbled. "Well, I'd keep it pretty much as it's gone so far, I suppose. I'm vain enough to include myself in the story, though, and I'd definitely be an influence on your life. You'd leave here a woman, ready to fuck anything or anyone that struck your fancy. And you'd owe it all to me, because I'd helped you awaken your sensuality. Years from now, you'd still be lying in bed at nights, masturbating yourself as you remembered how great it had been here with me."

"Are you a mind reader?" I asked. "That's exactly how I do feel about you! My God, B.E. I mean, even if you are an alcoholic and kinda older than I am, do you think that maybe we…"

"Definitely not," he cut in. "If I ever see you again, I'll call the police and have myself locked away from temptation. So where was I? Yes, I'd fill out the story with a twist ending. Something clever and unexpected. Not unpleasant, but a twist all the same."

"What kind of a twist?" I wondered, but he was downing his drink, and when he put down the glass, it was to grab me for some kissing that led to my very first asshole fucking. All in all, my trip to Columbus was time well spent. When I caught the bus to Albany next morning, my only problem was how to get rid of my shit-eating grin before I got home. Some things mothers don't understand.

When I got home there was a letter from Jill in the mail. Mom didn't seem to suspect anything, for which I was grateful, and I only wished it weren't so clearly over with B.E., because I could have dug seeing him again. It would have been easy to flit up to Columbus once or twice a week for return engagements, but he was right. We didn't have anything in common and it wasn't a healthy long-term relationship. "Find yourself a young man, now," he'd told me. "One who's kind of inexperienced. Then teach him what you like, only make him think he's teaching you. That's good for the male ego."

Oh, maybe, I thought, tearing open Jill's letter. I wondered what she was up to now, but I didn't see any need to follow her lead. From here on out, I'd have to make my own way, to do the things I wanted to do. She'd gotten me started because I was jealous and felt left out, but the time for imitation was past.

It was a funny letter. I mean, first of all she started off talking about how she met these guys on the beach, and how they shared a few joints of great hash, and it turned into an orgy. But right in the middle of her description of a three-way fuck one guy in her pussy, another in her mouth, the third mounted on her midriff and fucking between her tits she stopped short.

Didi, what is wrong? You haven't written me once! Are you dead? Did you break your wrist? Or – I hate to ask this, but I have to, Didi – is it just that you don't want to be my friend anymore? Damn it, what's wrong with you? Is Albany still there? Are these letters all going to the Dead Mail Office?

I'm knocking myself out down here, and you aren't even bothering to drop me a line saying "Hi, Jill, I'm still alive and kicking." Really! If this is all our friendship means to you, then I just won't bother. We'll be home soon, so if you have anything you'd like to say to me, I hope it can wait till then. I'm still your friend, Didi, and I hope you're still mine.

Bye for now, Jill.

"Talk about weird!" I said out loud. Here she was, fucking everything on two legs and wondering why I hadn't gotten around to writing her. Did she have enough time to read letters, for God's sake? With all that screwing, she couldn't. But the tone of her words bothered me most of all. God, until yesterday nothing worth writing about had even happened to me. And that definitely counted that I klutzy Rocky. And here she was, worrying the same things about me that I'd worried about her! Oh, I should write her, but she said they'd be coming home soon, and the letter was mailed when? Three days ago? If I wrote, the hotel would just have to forward it to her in Albany, most likely, and we'd have already said everything that we needed to say by then. Besides, I wanted to tell her about it face to face, so she could see the sparkle and gleam in my eyes and know that I, too, had found awakening this fantastic summer.