Ann Griffin - Skin summer

A Dream: This scene was later in his life, but just as hazy and colored as scenes from his childhood. He was fifteen now, and had long since sampled the joys of the female body, knew what had happened in his mother's bedroom long ago when she thought she was being stabbed. It was a Friday night, and he was fifteen. His mother had a date for dinner and the movies, and Sam brought home the girl he had been making it with, a red-haired chick with tiny breasts, a hugely hairy crotch, and fine, milky white legs that were strong, could almost crush him when she wrapped them around him. He undressed her in the living-room, had her stretch out on the couch. He greased his prick with saliva, and probed her love tunnel from the back. Her ripe ass pressed up into his stomach as he slammed into her. Then they turned, and took the standard position. He slogged her soupiness until she gurgled, cried out, and came, clutching at him, calling his name. He had not come, and he pulled out so that she could go down on him. She was settling on her knees by the couch to work on him when there was a sharp intake of breath behind them. His mother had not gone out. The man who had been supposed to take her had had a last minute business appointment. She stood now in the archway to the stairs, looking at her naked son and the lithe body of his lover. She started shouting at them. She slapped the girl, kicked at her, called her rotten names. When she turned to strike Sam, lie stood before her, naked, and his prick still jutted before him. She looked at, then slowly up to his eyes. He saw what was happening and knew that he should use it. He took his organ in his hand and slowly milked it, watching her. After a moment, she fled upstairs again…

A Dream: He was a young man now. He was buried in Susan Calderwood-Logan's soup. Up in her soup. Up tight in her. Way up there. And she was slamming her hips at him. And she had not climaxed, but he was going to. She kept asking him to wait… He couldn't. He shot… She cursed him… He had failed her…

A Dream: Susan undressed before him, and he shot without touching her. His cream splattered on the floor. Only looking had done it…

A Dream: The mustached man, stabbing his mother. His mother screams… She tries to get up. The mustached man takes his weapon and stabs her in the mouth… She dies…

A Dream: Susan lying naked before him, and he is limp. He milks it, but it stays small. She sucks, but can not help it… He has lost the use of his body… He is unquestionably impotent. Forever… He screams…

A Dream: In this scene, he is stabbing his mother. In her mouth…

A Dream: His mother bites him off. He has nothing to give Susan Calderwood-Logan…

A Dream: He is lying on a bed, a large white bed in the middle of nothingness. There is no floor beneath him, no walls around him. There is no earth nor sky. There is only his body, the bed – and the women. There is Linda Mock and Brenda Markwell, and his mother, Helen. There is the little red-haired girl he has forgotten. And here is Susan, her perfectness more than any man should be able to stand. But his prick is limp. He works on it, watching them, watching their naked breasts, their fur patches. But none of this helps. The red-haired girl takes him in her mouth and sucks him, but it is no use. His mother massages his organs, but to no avail. Then, abruptly, Jenny Sansom pushes her way through the crowd, comes to the edge of his bed. She is dark, wiry, not much of a female. She too is naked. She tells the girls that Sam is useless. He tries to argue, but she shouts louder than he can. She tells them she can do more for them than he can. He says that is untrue. She takes Linda onto the bed and eats her cunt. Linda moans and calls love names to Jenny, begs her for more. As does his mother. And the red-haired girl. And Brenda Markwell. And… And Susan. And he can do nothing. And Jenny comes after him, saying she might as well bite his cock off if he can't use it. Just extra baggage… He tries to get away, but there is nowhere to go beyond the bed. Her teeth are very sharp. She is grinning… The others… The others are cheering her on…

Sam woke, gagging, sweating, almost out of bed. He was tied up in the sheets, testament to the fact that he had been tossing and turning, fighting against the imaginary Jenny Sansom for some time. He pushed out of bed and went for a beer from the refrigerator. He often had dreams such as these, only with different characters. They always led to the final nightmare wherein someone wanted to cut or rip or bite off his rod. Had he wanted to think about it afterward – which he surely did not – he would have realized that this nightmare was a sign of his own unhealthiness. Life, to him, was nothing more than a sexual game through which he could gain what he wanted. He had never tried, since he was a small boy, to reach another human being for sheer companionship. Other people – men and women – were to be used, as he saw it. Used to gain what he wanted. Sex, therefore, was a tool to him. It brought him physical gratification – but it also made tools of anyone he wished, bound them to him so that he might get whatever he wanted at that time. He had never loved. Perhaps that was it. He did not see sex as a sharing of affection – only as a sloughing together of genitals.

With that kind of outlook, he would eventually strike rock bottom.

Unless someone came along who could not be bought and enslaved by his sexual virility.

He had already met that someone.

In another cabin, Susan Calderwood-Logan slept peacefully, with fond memories of the afternoon, of what had been shared. She did not know she was expected to be a tool. She wasn't the type, anyway…

Linda Mock sat in the easy chair while Jenny the panties down her legs, then began to massage the big girl's luscious thighs. Jenny was also naked. The contrast of bodies was odd. Where Linda's breasts were magnificent, Jenny's were almost boyish. Linda's hips were full; Jenny's were bony and narrow. Linda's legs were long, healthy, showgirl legs; Jenny's legs were of the Twiggy type, not unshapely but thinner than the legs of the Playmate of the Month.

The little woman burrowed her head into Linda's crotch, chewed on the dark, springy hair there. "You smell good," she said.

"I love you, Jenny," the big girl said, caressing the smaller woman's head.

"Then get rid of that beast."

"Please, Jenny."

"Get rid of him. He's causing trouble here. You know he's causing trouble. How do you know he wasn't with the Markwell girl again?"

Linda writhed, trying to press her warm box to Jenny's face. "Because he promised me there was nothing going on."

Jenny laughed. "Helluva lot of good his promises are. I tell you, darling, he's hustling some of these mixed-up kids."

"Really, that's absurd," Linda said.

"Then why did the Markwell girl go into town to cash such a large check? What does she need money here for?"

"That's none of your business."

"Isn't it?"

"Jenny, please. Let's drop the subject. I need you very much, darling." As evidence of this, she pressed her pretty crotch up again, begging to have it loved.

"Promise me you'll at least think about getting rid of him," Jenny insisted.

"Jenny, you can't hate every man…"

"Promise!" Jenny said, her voice sharp now.

Linda hesitated. "Okay, I'll think about it. But I don't know where I'd get another handyman at this late notice. I'll think, nothing more. If he gets into major trouble, if you can ever prove any of these things you tell me, then I'll bounce him. I'd have to. But he's all right, Jenny. Believe me."

Jenny Sansom made a gruff noise of disbelief.

"Eat me, Jenny."

She used her tongue to part the girl's labes and began a thorough cunnilingus that had the big blond ecstatic in relatively short order.