Ron Taylor: Wife on call

At twelve she was taller than most of the boys, and her tits and ass were both already well developed. She used to get snickers and whistles from boys whose heads barely reached her shoulder, and that had its embarrassments, too, but as time went on and the boys started shooting up taller and taller, she didn't mind so much. She knew she was pretty, even without being told, but it was nice to be told, and she was, often enough. In high school Pam was a "B" student, cheerleader, homecoming princess, and very popular girl in general. She wasn't sure, then, what she wanted to do with her life, but at fifteen she discovered a delightful way to pass time while waiting to decide.

DuBois was a small town, but somehow she managed not to get a reputation for wildness – at least, not a reputation that filtered back to her parents. And that was very nice. It meant that Pam could fuck discreetly and with carefully chosen partners who wouldn't go shooting their mouths off all over town. The only problem was the one faced by every teenager living at home – where to get it on.

By the time of her graduation, Pamela Jean Barbour was an expert at finding places to get it on. She'd been fucked in cars, at drive-in movies, on Sunday picnics in the woods, once in an empty school classroom during lunch hour. And there was a crazy weekend, when her parents and siblings went out of state to visit Grandma and Grandpa.

Pam had invited her current boyfriend over; he'd told his parents he was going camping with some buddies, and the coast was clear.

They drank some of Daddy's bourbon and smoked a lot of grass, and she was positive, thinking back, that he hadn't gone soft once between Friday evening and Sunday afternoon. They hardly even took time out to eat. Well, maybe he had a sandwich now and then, since he was a hungry, growing boy, but Pamela took most of her nourishment directly from his cock, down her gulping eager throat.

By the time her parents came home she was walking bowlegged, and her jaw felt as if it had been permanently set out of line. But it was a good weekend, easily the best of her life to that time, and she relished the adventure of it. What if her parents had come home early, unexpectedly early, and caught her and Jimmy doing it?

Jesus, he'd fucked her in every room of the house! Once he'd sat her on the edge of the breakfast table and punched cock up her snatch until she creamed and screamed; it had dribbled out of her afterwards, that pungent, tangy cum of his, and she was positive that there was a permanent stain on the tabletop. A eighteen-year-old girl didn't get that many chances to flirt with danger, but this one was dynamite on balls.

She went away to college – not far away, but far enough that it was too dangerous a drive on snowy winter roads, so Pam got to move out of her home and into a kind of freedom. Dorm life was, in its own way, more restrictive than life at home, but her parents were eighty miles away and no one really cared what she did on her own time. The two years she spent there were enjoyable ones, and she made the most of them.

Going back to DuBois was but of the question. She was a trained secretary now, with an A.A. degree, and she was free as a bird in the bargain. After a short stay with her parents, Pam moved again, all the way across state to the big, big city, in search of all the things young girls go searching for – love, happiness, a job, a life – and, in Pam Barbour's case, adventure, too.

She found an apartment, and she found a job that helped her pay the rent, buy food, and enjoy a few of the luxuries. She was twenty then, free to do what she wanted, and she did as much as she could. For awhile she ran with a crowd that was into a heavy drug scene, and she tried nearly everything still nourishing that sense of adventure and excitement that smoldered in her plush, full bosom. Drugs. Sex. At the time they seemed a natural combination.

With marijuana, sex was slow and dreamy, a lazy cock sliding in and out of her twit, her clit swelling and subsiding and swelling all over again, and her orgasms were equally slow and dreamy, protracted explosions she could, taste by the millisecond. With add, sex was crazy, colors coming to life all around her, weird beautiful pictures before her eyes, equally weird, equally beautiful music throbbing in her head, throbbing so plainly, so vividly she could see the music and hear the colors. With cocaine sex was like dynamite blowing out the side of a mountain, heat in the crotch and a cool, air-conditioned breeze fluttering through her brain.

But it got boring after a while, once she'd tried all the non-addictive drugs, and her friends eventually grew boring, too. For most of them, dope was the end-goal in itself. Most of the guys in her circle seemed to be drifting deeper and deeper into narcotics and hallucinogens, and it was fucking up their sex drives. They still enjoyed having girls around, but they had apparently forgotten what to do with them. And besides, after a few months, the nonstop psychedelic rock music that was a fixture of her friends' lives had begun to affect Pam's eardrums. She didn't think her hearing was quite so sharp any more, and that worried her.

And besides that, she noticed that her friends were basically dirty people, living in dirty apartments, and some of it was starting to rub off on her. Oh, hell, Pam thought, there's nothing new with those people! It's the same old shit every time I see them! I'm getting into a rut. She quit her job, moved out of her apartment, and went looking for something new.

And she found it. A new job, a new pad. Three or four times she changed jobs, each time moving into a slightly better position at a slightly higher salary, and most of those job and apartment changes were intimately connected with Pam Barbour's sex life. She tried shacking up several times, but it never lasted more than a few months. Boyfriends got boring when you saw them every day and every damned night too, and it always ended with Pam packing the guy's clothes and leaving them outside the door, the first thing he'd see when he got in from his own job. Well, why not? She hadn't formed relationships on a permanent basis with any of those men. And it was her apartment. She wasn't stupid enough to get into a position where she'd be the one to receive walking papers.

During one of her unattached periods she met Kerry Wilson, purely by accident. She backed into his car at a supermarket parking lot. They exchanged names and insurance companies and, just to be safe, telephone numbers. The damage was minimal, it turned out, and he called her the next night to report that fact and to ask her for a date. She'd found him quite attractive, even under the embarrassing circumstances of their first meeting, and she accepted.

When he brought her back to her apartment, Pam discovered that Kerry Wilson was far more attractive than she'd noticed at first glance. "You're very good-looking," she told him, lying on her bed waiting for him to finish undressing. "You have a hairy chest, which is something I really go for, you know, and – oh, God, you have a beautiful cock!" He'd just pulled down his shorts and let his dick spring free, and the sight took her breath away. In a few moments, the insertion of that big cock in her hungry, wet cunt also took her breath away. She locked her legs and arms around him and fucked him till he screamed for mercy, which didn't come until morning.

They lived together for several months, much longer than she'd ever lived with anyone else, and the glow didn't evaporate. All day at the office she found herself lusting for her man, eagerly anticipating the moment when they'd meet after work and she could feel his hard, strong body tight against hers.

He was a couple of years older than Pam, an Army veteran, currently working blue-collar at one of the suburban manufacturing plants. Making good money already, he was ambitious. Some day he'd be white collar, she was certain. And when he finally brought up marriage, she said yes, yes, yes! Two years later, the glow still hadn't worn off, not in the slightest. It was perfect. All of it. She'd found what she wanted. Security, a home in the suburbs that would be hers and Kerry's in a few more years, and, most important, a man who was crazy about her, a man who drove her mad with longing. What else could she ever want or need?