Ann Griffin - Skin summer

A neighborhood girl, a year older than Sam, had told him that his mother was a whore. The girl had gotten him into a shed she used as a playhouse and had tried to get him to touch her between the legs and let her feel his things as well. Frightened, confused, he refused her. She grew angry, and she spouted the truth about his mother.

That night, he had thought quite a bit about what he had learned, and he realized, perhaps for the first time, how lonely he was in the world. No one loved him, no one even really cared about him – least of all his parents. But the neighborhood girl had shown him that he had one thing: his body. She had cooed to him, had told him how beautiful he was and how nice it would be to touch him, just touch him, only for a few moments, nothing more, just touching him between his legs.

From that moment on, he had worked for and with his body, developing it, preening it. He had done well with it, and he intended to do even better. It was the only friend he had. Now he needed money for the last year at the university in the Film Education Department. After that, he would need more for a trip West and to keep him alive while he dredged up a job in some studio where he might have a chance of advancement.

Here, in Daley-Hanover Camp for Girls, he the chance he had been looking for. He finished his exercises, picked a new magazine off the coffee table, and got into bed to read for a while.

He had gotten into the second paragraph of an interesting article when there was a brusque knock at the door. The portal came open, admitting Linda Mock. She closed it behind her and crossed, sank into the chair at the foot of the bed. She was wearing a pair of tight green shorts and a white blouse. Her big breasts tented the blouse, and her buttocks balanced by stretching the shorts to the breaking point. He felt a rising sensation in his prick as the blood poured in and the spongy tissue swelled with desire. It was no use looking away from her legs, for he would only have to look at her boobs or face, and both would excite him.

"Rough day," he said.

She looked at him evenly. For the first time, he realized she was angry. He panicked for a moment, probing his memory for something he had forgotten to do or something he had done incorrectly. There was nothing he could think of.

"Rough day?" she asked sarcastically. When he didn't say anything, she snapped, "What were you doing in the Markwell girl's cabin for two hours?"

He looked at her dumbly. He had perfect control of his face, and he knew he had not given himself away with an errant expression of surprise. And he had not blushed. He never blushed.

"Well?" she asked.

"I don't understand," he said, thinking as fast as he ever had, trying to decide what she knew and what those facts could be twisted to mean.

"I saw you go in there at ten o'clock," Linda said, eyeing him suspiciously. But it was apparent she was now uncertain. "You didn't come out until just before noon. Jenny Sansom saw you then."

Jenny Sansom was a small, dark woman who did secretarial work for Linda. She had an air of authority and honesty that he knew he would not be able to discredit. Besides, he could not lie and say he was elsewhere and risk her not believing him. "It was the drain in the kitchen sink," he said. "I changed the fuse that you told me about in the cabin next door. I was coming back to my own place up on the main line when this girl – Markwell, was that it? – called to me. I had to turn off the water to the cabin, take out the trap joint below the sink. It hadn't been cleaned in a long time. It should have stopped up long ago."

She looked at him, trying to decide whether or not to believe him.

"What did you think took two hours?" he asked, suddenly becoming the aggressive one. He knew he had her snowed now. If he acted self-righteous, he would embarrass her into accepting his explanation.

"Well…" she started.

"Shit!" he snapped, slapping the magazine against his sheet-covered thigh. "You thought I went in there and screwed around with that little kid."

"She's only four years younger than you," Linda reminded him.

"She's flat-chested!"

She smiled meekly and lowered her eyes now, willing to accept what he had told her. "Just the drain?"

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

She looked up, her eyes wide. "I couldn't get another man on such short notice. Besides…"

He watched her, his eyes moving over her bare legs, up to the mounds of her breasts, to her lovely face, the fall of short brown hair around it. "Besides what?" he asked.

"Besides…"

It was time to gain control of her again. "Besides what?" he insisted.

"I don't want you to go."

"Come here," he said.

She rose, moved to the bed and leaned down. He reached, grabbed her breasts through her blouse, and pulled her down onto him. He found her mouth with his, darted his tongue between her lips. When her own tongue sought his mouth, he sucked on it.

"When I think of all the other summers I had to go around horny as hell," she said, "I could kill that bag Worley. She always hired broken down old retired janitors. I don't know why she broke from tradition this year."

"My charm," he said.

She worked the sheet away from him and grinned broadly when she found him naked. She bent and kissed his swollen prick and pressed it against her cheek. "He's certainly ready for me," she said. "Big old fellow."

"Get the hell undressed," Sam said throatily. "You're keeping him waiting."

She peeled the shorts off, stepped out of flimsy bikini panties. He grabbed for her fur, snatched a handful, and drew her down again. She squeaked a quick protest, then surrender as his hot hands worked her out of her blouse, then out of the bra beneath. He loved big knockers, and she loved to show these off. She thrust them at him, burying his face in the warmth. He blew air, made a fluttering noise, then pulled back and sucked hard at her nipples until they stood out. He bit them softly with his teeth, loving them, loving the taste of her.

He pushed her down until her face was in his crotch, then ordered her to suck him. This time, there was no argument at all. She devoured his penis hungrily, as if she really would eat it. He watched her working him. "I like that," he said. "No, don't stop. I like to watch you suck. You've got such a pretty little face, so innocent. It's somehow twice as dirty as anything I've ever seen to watch your face split by dick meat. Have a suck. Faster, damnit!"

She held his balls and worked with them, rolling them easily in her hand. Finally, he pushed her away, though she didn't want to leave his baggage this time. "You've got such a beautiful cock," she said. "So smooth and satiny. I like sucking it. I wouldn't mind if you want to come in my mouth. I wouldn't make a scene like before."

"No," he said, pushing her onto her back. "I want to fuck more than your mouth or box. I want to fuck all of you."

"I don't know if I could take it in the ass," she said, her voice shaky. "It's so big."

"Not what I mean," Sam said.

"What then?"

He found the Vaseline, took out a huge scoop and began applying it to her big breasts, smoothed it over them until they were cunt slick. "I am going to fuck your gorgeous tits awhile, baby."

She giggled but made no protest.

He brought his red, throbbing meat up and – a knee to either side of her chest, laid it between her breasts. He used his hands to push the mammouth mammaries together over his rod, then stroked as if he were indeed in the jelly valley between her sweet legs. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the thrilling waves struck out from his meat and coursed throughout his entire body. When he knew he had control of himself, he looked down. The knob of the prick peeped between the tops of the breasts at the peak of each stroke.