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Going to Pornoland - sex story


Going to Pornoland



Synopsis: A young man's educational journey to the 'greatest place on earth'

I grew up as part of the largest group of parasitic, society-sucking losers on the face of the earth. We're talking about a group of people that has pervaded every city, every town, and every rural area of these great United States since the Mayflower came ashore at Plymouth Rock. We're talking about the people who made the trailer park what it is today, the people who keep the generic beer companies on the stock exchange, the people who fund every state lottery and bingo hall, the people responsible for the continued existence of the World Wresting Federation. We're talking about white trash.

I was born in 1965, the first child of an occasionally employed automotive mechanic and a rarely employed nursing assistant. I grew up in a rented doublewide trailer located in one of the many trailer parks in the Tacoma, Washington area. I watched my parents drink three cases of beer a week, squander our welfare money on lottery tickets and generic cigarettes, and pump out an additional brother or sister for me every thirteen months. How, with this upbringing, with these distorted morals that I was raised with, I ever turned out as I am today is a mystery to me, a miracle probably on the order of winning the lottery that my parents were so fond of. But that is a different story, a longer story, and one that I have no desire to go into right now. What I would like to tell you about on this fine day is the story of my first trip to Disneyland. A trip my Uncle Dave took me on in 1980 when I was just a white trash lad of fifteen.

Uncle Dave was considered the successful member of our family, the one we should look up to, should try to emulate. Dave, after all, owned his very own big rig and worked as an independent long-haul truck driver. Dave made nearly twenty thousand dollars every year and he OWNED a doublewide in a very nice trailer park in the good part of Tacoma. Dave could afford brand-name beer, Marlboro cigarettes, and cable television. In our clan this made him the epitome of high-class, the envy of all who talked to him. When I was fifteen years old I wanted to grow up to be just like Uncle Dave.

It was a daring dream, granted, but I was determined to go for it.

Dave's premium status in the hierarchy of white trash naturally guaranteed him a premium choice of woman to call his own. He took what was due him back in 1971 and married Marla, the youngest daughter of a Puget Sound fishing boat owner. Marla was nineteen at the time and I believe I fell into instant lust with her from the first time, during my sixth year of life, that I'd met her. As she grew older, and as I did, my lust for her increased both with my own emerging sexual instinct and her growing maturity into a woman. Uncle Dave and Marla frequently invited our family to their trailer for barbecues and beer drinking parties and during those years I used to stare at Marla, who was usually dressed in short shorts and a halter top, the entire time, memorizing her features for later masturbation sessions. She was dishwater blonde and had a smooth, unlined, un-acned face. She had all of her teeth - a rarity among white trash females over the age of twenty - but her body was where her best assets lie. She was tall and pleasantly proportioned, with large breasts that she enjoyed showing off in a collection of halter-tops. She was blessed with a trim waist, hips that were just made for childbearing, and long, sexy legs that looked good in a pair of short shorts; her favorite fashion item.

Much to my delight, and the delight of my three younger brothers, Marla was a hugger. When we would visit their trailer she would greet each one of us with a huge hug and a large kiss on the cheek. I would live for the brief sensation of her large breasts pushing against my chest, of her thick, full lips pressing against my face. She always smelled clean. I remember that most of all. Her scent, instead of the sour odor of stale sweat that marked most other members of the white trash race, was always of shampoo, of perfumed soap, and it was an olfactory stimulation that never failed to make my penis stiffen up beneath my secondhand store jeans.

From the time I was thirteen years old onward, Marla always seemed to have a hug for me that was a little tighter, a little more affectionate than that she gave my siblings. Her kisses would linger a little longer upon my face, would be geographically a little closer to my mouth. Her smiles always seemed a little larger for me as well. Perhaps this was because I shared some of her attitudes about cleanliness. Unlike my parents, unlike my brothers and sisters, I could not stand to go more than forty-eight hours without some form of bathing. Nor could I stand to wear any clothes that I'd already worn the day before. I did a lot of my own laundry in order to achieve this goal, but I achieved it.

But aside from the physical affections that Marla displayed for me, she also paid me a certain intellectual attention that she paid no one else, including her own husband. When we were over for a visit she would always find time to sit down and talk to me about the hidden, shameful hobby that we both shared: reading. Yes, we were guilty of it. I discovered the library at about the age of eleven and it was my favorite hangout after school. I checked out books of all sorts and sneaked them home, hiding them under the mattress on the bedroom floor where I slept. I hid library copies of Catcher in the Rye, or The Lord of the Flies, or Salem's Lot, or The World Almanac and Book of Facts, the same way other teenagers hid copies of Hustler and Penthouse. Marla did very much the same and our discussions in the corner of the double-wide, while Dad and Dave were working on their tenth or eleventh beer, while Mom was whopping the crap out of one of my younger siblings, usually centered upon the latest books we had discovered. Talking to Marla, almost more than hugging her, was a highlight of any visit to Uncle Dave's, was reason enough to look forward to it.

Marla and Dave did not have any children of their own. Had this been by choice they undoubtedly would have been asked to turn in their white trash membership cards, but it was not. Uncle Dave, as a helicopter door gunner during the Vietnam War, had suffered a debilitating wartime affliction that left him unable to produce healthy sperm cells or even, I was told later, much of an erection. This affliction did not come as a result of enemy fire but as a result of multiple cases of gonorrhea picked up in Danang whorehouses and left too long untreated. I guess all that public service crap they feed you in school about VD - and believe me, in our school they fed it to us a lot - actually has some truth to it.

Since they were childless and since Marla did not have a job of her own, she often accompanied Dave on his long-haul trips around the country, keeping him company in the cab of the rig as he delivered supplies to this great nation. They were often gone for weeks at a time on trips to such places as Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Los Angeles, or Detroit. It was the night before a run down to Los Angeles, as our family was visiting them for a pre-departure barbecue, that the idea of Disneyland popped up.

"So I was thinkin'," Dave said, slurring his words badly because he and my dad were well into their second case, "about checkin out that there Disneyland whilst we're down there. I heard it's some shit."

"Yep," Dad agreed thoughtfully, taking a drag off what was probably his fiftieth cigarette of the day. "That's what I heard too."

Marla and I had been sitting on the couch about six feet away, quietly discussing a Pat Conroy book that we had both just read. Marla was wearing one of her typical outfits that night: a pair of tight shorts and a halter-top that showed off a good portion of her generous cleavage. Though I had been holding up my end of the conversation it had been a struggle because every time she leaned forward to make some point or to hear my words a little better, I would be given a tantalizing view down the front of the halter. I wasn't able to make out her nipples, not quite, but I remained hopeful. When she heard the word "Disneyland" mentioned, she stopped in mid-sentence and turned her attention to the two men.

"Dave," she said sweetly. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could take one of these here yung'uns down to Disneyland with us? I bet they'd love to see it."

"I reckon we could do sumpin like that there," Dave, always the generous one when he was drunk, agreed. "But...

Before he could say another word my two brothers and three sisters were gathered around him, jumping up and down, demanding that they be allowed to go to Disneyland. "Take me! Take me!" they yelled. "I wanna go!"

"No, no," Marla said, hushing them all down. "I'm sorry y'all, but there's only room fer one extra in the rig. If'n we could take y'all, we would, but we can't now. I think it would only be fair if Mikey was the one to go this year 'cause he's the oldest, don't you Dave?"

"Yep," Dave agreed. "That sound good to you Billy?" he asked my dad.

Dad shrugged disinterestedly. He was so inebriated that I'm not completely sure he even knew what everyone was talking about. But that did not make a difference. The matter was settled. Although my younger siblings all began whining and crying and claiming the whole thing was unfair, a few swift slaps across a few faces by my mom quickly quelled the rebellion.

Just before we left Dave's trailer to pile into our panel truck for the ten-minute drive home, Marla distributed her usual round of hugs and kisses.

When she got to me she kissed my ear softly, her large, puffy lips leaving a little of her saliva behind. "Be sure to have all your stuff packed and be ready to go at 6:00 tomorrow," she whispered, the feel of her breath against the wet spot she had made sending tingles down my spine.

"Okay," I answered shyly, desperately trying to fight down the erection that was threatening to poke her in the leg.

"I'll see you then," she said, smiling at me. She gave me one more kiss, on the forehead this time, and a moment later I was out the door.

I am quite sure that the next morning Uncle Dave had no memory whatsoever of inviting me to come to Los Angeles and Disneyland with him. When you grow up in a family of drunks, you quickly become accustomed to having extravagant promises made to you under the influence of alcohol and then completely forgotten in the light of the next day. But I also somehow knew that Marla would remind him of his promise and see to it that he kept it, come hell or high water. Marla, I instinctively knew, wanted me to take this trip with them and I had no doubt that I would be going. It was with excitement that I pulled myself off of my mattress at five that morning and packed up a few changes of clothes, some deodorant and other toiletries, and a few of my favorite books. While the rest of the family snored away I took a quick shower and put on fresh cut-off shorts and a fresh T-shirt. I left a note for mom and dad, who probably wouldn't remember the promise Uncle Dave had made either, and began waiting for Marla to show up at my door.

She did so at five minutes to six. She greeted me with another hug and a kiss when I opened the door. She was wearing a different version of the clothes she had worn the night before, clothes that showed off her breasts and her legs. "We're going to have a lot of fun," she told me, kissing me one more time on my eyelid. "Just you wait and see."

I smiled at her shyly, not saying anything, not knowing what to say, and finally she released her embrace. Side by side, as the sun was just starting to peek over the eastern horizon, we walked hand in hand through the silent trailer park to where Uncle Dave's big rig was idling on the main road.

Dave's eighteen wheeler was a Peterbilt cab-over with a matching enclosed trailer. He had picked it up eight years before from a retiring owner-operator. It was black, somewhat battered, and required constant maintenance and repairs just to keep running but the cab did contain a large sleeping compartment. When I was a younger lad, the highlight of visiting Uncle Dave was being allowed to play in the cab or in the empty trailer. For this particular trip the trailer was full of Olympia beer bound for a distributor in the industrial section of Los Angeles.

As I climbed inside I expected Dave to be surly and out-of-sorts, the way my old man was the morning after drinking eighteen or twenty cans of beer (which meant just about every morning). But to my surprise, he actually was quite chipper, even giddy. He grabbed my bag from me and tossed it into the sleeper compartment as he wished me a hearty good morning and welcomed me aboard. "Pop on into the sleeper there," he said, sipping out of a large cup of coffee. "That'll be your home till we gits to LA."

"Right," I said, edging my way between the two cab seats, over a large thermos, and through a canvas zip panel. The sleeper was actually quite nice. The bed was soft, relatively spacious, and had clean sheets and blankets upon it as well as two pillows. Mounted on the passenger side wall was a thirteen-inch television set that was connected to an antenna on the roof. Mounted on the driver side wall was a small fan. Two windows, both closed, were on either side. The odor was not musty, as I'd expected it would be, but rather fresh and clean; the odor of freshly laundered linen. I pushed my bag against the far wall and went about the task of making myself comfortable for the trip. The first thing I did was take off my shoes and socks, not wanting to profane the sanctity of Marla's sheets.

"All settled?" Marla asked me from her position in the passenger seat.

"You bet," I replied, stretching my legs out and letting my head stick out a little through the flap.

Uncle Dave put the rig into gear and then released the brakes, making an audible hiss of escaping air. He pulled forward and began heading for the freeway. "We're off," he announced cheerfully, taking another large slug of his coffee. "You can watch TV or sleep or do whatever back there," he told me as he accelerated. "And if you need to take a piss, just let me know and I'll pull her off the road. We'll stop in Vancouver and grab some breakfast, we'll stop in Sacramento and grab some dinner, but otherwise we're non-stop to LA. Should roll in there about two in the AM tomorrow mornin."

"Right," I said, excited to be underway, even more excited by the view of Marla's legs that I had. Her shorts had ridden up and I could see almost to the point where her panties should be visible. I shifted position a little, trying to get a better angle.

She caught me gawking at her and I quickly averted my gaze, embarrassed. But she simply smiled at me, her blue eyes twinkling. She made no move to reposition her legs. She turned her attention to the stereo system and fiddled with the tape player for a moment, inserting a cassette from a large collection next to her seat. A moment later the cab filled with the sound of Hank Williams Junior. Hank sang to us about country folks, about how you can't stamp 'em out, how you can't make 'em run, about how one of them old boys made his own shotgun. Marla and Dave sang along with the music as we entered Interstate 5 and began heading south. After a moment I joined them. You were not allowed to live in a trailer park unless you knew the words to that song and every once in a while you had to prove yourself.

We rolled on down the highway, passing the cities and towns of central Washington at seventy miles an hour. The radio pumped out an endless stream of Country and Western tunes and Uncle Dave smoked cigarette after cigarette, tossing the butts out into the slipstream before lighting a fresh one. About an hour into the trip I discovered the source of his morning cheerfulness. He opened his thermos and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee into his stained cup. Before drinking it however, he removed a small plastic baggy from his shirt pocket, and dumped a grainy, off-white colored powder into it. As a student at South Tacoma High School I had seen many such baggies in the hands of my peers. It was not sugar he was dumping in there but methamphetamine, also known as "crank", also known as "poor man's cocaine". It is a powerful stimulant and probably the reason that Dave would eventually die of a ruptured brain aneurysm at the age of forty-one.

Not having the benefit of Uncle Dave's wake-up drug I soon grew weary. Though I had been enjoying the sight of Marla's legs and breasts as she bounced in her seat to the music or twisted this way and that, I reluctantly dragged my eyes away and pulled myself into the comfort of the sleeper. After zipping shut the canvas barrier, I flipped the television set on and twisted through the channels for a few minutes, seeing snowy picture after snowy picture run by. At last I settled on an episode of The Andy Griffith Show and turned the volume down a little. The television was merely cover for what I really wanted to do. I rummaged through my bag for a moment and finally located the novel that I was currently reading: The Winds of War by Herman Wouke. I was about halfway through and I opened it to the marker that I'd placed in it the previous afternoon before going to Uncle Dave's. Soon I was transported to Poland in 1939, where Byron Henry was trying to escape with his Jewish girlfriend to the relative safety of Switzerland.

Perhaps an hour later I heard the sound of the zipper being undone. Instinctively I stashed my book under the pillow that sat next to me. In the environment that I was raised in reading was seen as a suspicious act, something that demanded explanation. Though the only person that could have been invading my privacy was Marla, who knew my secret, so ingrained was this habit that I still hid the novel.

"Hi," she said, poking her face through. "What'ya doin? Watchin TV?"

"Yeah," I answered, giving her a wink and holding up the corner of my book for her to see.

She grinned. "I see," she said. "Listen, I'm gettin kinda tired. Late night last night you know. Do you mind if I join you back here for a little nap?"

Join me for a nap? Was she serious? She wanted to come lay down, in a BED, with me? Though the very thought made blood rush to the vessels of my nether parts, I nonetheless said, "You can come on back and nap. I'll sit up front for a while so you can have, ya know, privacy."

She scoffed at this suggestion. "Oh don't worry about leavin your little hole. I'll just scoot over towards the wall. I won't bother ya."

"Really," I said, acutely embarrassed. "I can..."

"Oh hush," she told me, unzipping the canvas the rest of the way. "You just stay right where you are. I won't be no bother to you and you won't be no bother to me." With that, she pushed herself in. As she did so I was offered a breathtaking view down the front of her halter, a view grand enough to allow me to make out the upper circumference of both aureole. They were light brown in color and though the flash was just for a split second as she pulled herself over the top of my legs, it was enough to ingrain the image into my brain for all time.

She settled herself in next to me, right against the back wall of the sleeper, her bare legs about six inches from mine, her head about eight inches from mine. She was close enough that I could smell the fresh scent that she exuded. "Don't worry about me," she said loudly, perhaps a little too loudly. I realized her words were for Dave's benefit. "You just close up the flap for me so Dave's music won't keep me awake." She motioned at the zipper with her hand.

I hesitated for a moment, very unsure of myself. Was she really telling me to zip myself into a sleeping compartment with her? Wouldn't Dave be a bit peeved about something like that? I quickly found out that he wouldn't be.

"Go ahead and zip her up," Dave told me, giving a quick glance over his shoulder. "I don't wanna get her bitchin about the noise. If she gets too whiny in there about the TV or anything, you just come out here Mikey and we'll jaw for a while."

"Okay," I said slowly, reaching for the zipper. "I think I'll take a little nap back here first though."

"Suit yerself," he said, amicably enough. "You need to take a leak or anythin? There's a truck stop comin up."

"No," I told him. "I'm fine for now."

"Good nuf," he said, turning his attention back to the road.

I zipped the tent shut again and then leaned back on my pillow. I found that Marla had inched herself a little closer to me while I'd been leaning forward. Now, my right arm and my right leg were resting against hers. I could feel the warm, soft flesh of her bare leg against the bare skin of my leg. The feeling was silky, smooth, and very exciting. Once again I felt an erection threatening to push the front of my shorts upward. I fought the urge down after a brief but furious battle. Marla had no idea what she was doing to me, I figured, but she was sure to be disgusted, to kick my ass out of the sleeper if she figured it out.

"What are you reading now?" she asked me, twisting her body a little so that she was partially on her side, facing me.

"The Winds of War," I told her, my voice not quite steady as I felt the weight of her left breast pushing gently against my forearm.

"That's a good one," she told me. "I read that, oh, three, four years ago now. It's one of Wouke's better novels and that's saying a lot for him. Be sure to read War and Remembrance when you're done."

I assured her that I would and she then began talking about Wouke's best-known work: The Caine Mutiny. I'm sure she had some brilliant insights into the book and the characterizations within it, but I hardly heard a word she said. Not only was her breast pushing into my arm, distracting me greatly with the sensation, but also the position she was lying in was allowing me a premium view of her cleavage, which was less than eight inches from my face. The pale, lightly freckled skin of the top of her breasts was vibrating softly with the rhythm of the diesel engine that was driving us. It looked absolutely divine, one of the finest sights that I ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. I tried to keep my eyes on her face as she talked but I was fifteen years old, at the height of my sexual potency, and it was a hopeless task.

She had to have known what I was doing, what I was staring at, but she neither made comment on it or made any attempt to conceal the view she was providing. She simply kept going on an on about Captain Queeg and Willie Keith and the great romance contained within those pages. I tried to hold up my end of the conversation, I really did, but my words came out of my mouth in stuttering monosyllables as I tried to memorize the shape of her breasts while simultaneously willing my penis not to stiffen too noticeably.

"Do you have any girlfriends?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Girlfriends?" I squeaked.

"Yeah," she said, smiling sexily. "You're a good looking young man, you keep yourself clean and fresh, and you're smart as a whip. Surely you've managed to attract one of the girls at school, or at the trailer park."

"Well," I said, embarrassed. "Not really. The girls at school or in the park usually go for the older guys. You know how it is?" And that was how it was. Though your average white trash girl manages to get herself laid at about the same time she experiences her first menses, it was not quite like that for the male members of the equation. Though girls my age were plentiful both around my trailer and at my school, they wanted nothing to do with me. They wanted the eighteen and twenty year olds and since the eighteen and twenty year olds wanted them too, everyone was happy except us fourteen and fifteen year olds. We were left with nothing. The touch of Marla's breasts against my arm constituted the most intimate contact that I'd ever had with a female to that point. It is sad but true that two of my three younger sisters had already experienced sexual intimacy but that I, their older brother, the one they were supposed to look up to, had never even been kissed before.

"I guess I do," Marla said with commiseration at my words. "But don't you worry your head. You'll make some girl a fine husband some day."

"I suppose," I told her, feeling more tingles go up my spine as she began softly rubbing her leg against mine. The friction was seemingly unintended but the feel of her skin sliding against mine was exciting beyond belief.

"Are you okay Mike?" she asked me, concern in her voice. "You seem a little flushed."

"Oh, it's nothing," I croaked.

She reached her hand upward to feel my forehead. As she did so her top fell even farther away from her breast, this time revealing her nipple to me. It was pink and swollen and about the size of a dime. My breath caught in my throat.

"You don't seem hot," she said, leaning in a little closer, widening the view. My penis, which I had fought to a stalemate on the issue of hardening until that point, suddenly threw a furious counter-attack at me, overwhelming my defenses. The front of my shorts began to push upward. Marla, looking down at herself, seeing what I was seeing, finally acknowledged her actions. "Oh my goodness," she giggled. "I'm being a little naughty, aren't I?" She pulled herself back a little, covering her breast back up and removing the weight of the other one from my arm. "No wonder you look so embarrassed."

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing, horribly ashamed at being caught. "I wasn't trying to look or nothin, but..."

"I understand," she said gently, her hand reaching up to stroke my hair away from face. "It's okay, really. It's just natural curiosity. All boys have it." She took a quick glance down at my shorts, which were still noticeably tented outward. Her smile widened. "I'm kind of flattered that an old broad like me can have that sort of affect. I'm sure you're used to seeing nice young teenage boobs that haven't had gravity pulling on them for fifteen years. It's nice to know mine can compare."

"I never seen any boobs before," I blurted out. "And I hardly saw yours at all. I swear!"

She giggled again. "That statement could be taken the wrong way," she said.

"But I think I know what you meant. Is what you say true? You've never seen boobs before?"

"No ma'am," I assured her, although I had seen pictures of them before. Understandably, I did not really want to go into any fine detail here. I just wanted this conversation to end and I was telling her what I thought she wanted to hear. "I never have."

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully, a strange twinkle in her eye. She twisted onto her back but kept her eyes on my face. "Do you want to play a little?" she whispered at me.

"Play?" I asked carefully, with no idea what she was talking about.

"Like adults play," she told me conspiratorially. "You're almost a man now Mike. If you're old enough to get excited at the sight of my boobies, then I think you're old enough to do some adult things."

"Adult things?" I squeaked, feeling myself starting to tremble. Was she really talking about... well, adult things?

"Pull my shirt down," she commanded.

"Marla," I said hoarsely, with a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. Pull her shirt down? Had she really just said that? Was she really inviting me to bare her breasts? I was suddenly very scared, almost petrified by how fast things had gone from innocent to, well to naughty. I did not know how I was supposed to act here, how I was supposed to feel. "I don't...," I stuttered, "I mean how do..., I mean, I mean..." My mind seized upon a concrete fact to worry about. "I mean..., what about Uncle Dave?"

"Oh, I don't think we should tell him about it," she said, reaching out and taking my hands in hers. "He probably wouldn't approve. But don't worry. I know how to keep a secret." She pulled my hands to her chest and placed them on the top of her halter. I could now feel her breasts against my wrists.

"But," I stammered, "he's right on the other side of that..."

"Hush," she told me, arching her chest upward, pushing those mammaries into me insistently. Oh how nice, how soft, how right they felt. "As long as the rig is still moving he won't hear us and he can't look in here. Now pull my shirt down Mike. I know you want to. Look at my tits. Touch them."

With shaking hands I did as she asked. I slid my fingers beneath the material of her halter, feeling the soft breast flesh against my knuckles, and pulled downward. They sprang into the dim light of the sleeper compartment and my eyes feasted upon them. They were pale, lightly freckled, and so large that they were pulled slightly down to her sides by gravity. The nipples were turgid, protruding nearly half an inch outward from the aureole. She took my hands in hers once again and gently placed them in position, one on each breast. They were unbelievably soft, yet firm and springy at the same time. The nipples pushed into my palms.

"Go ahead," she told me, a little breathless and flushed herself at that point. "Play with them. Squeeze them. They're all yours."

They were all mine! I heard myself groan a little in the back of my throat with a mixture of fear and desire. Was this really happening to me? Was Marla really letting me feel her tits, the tits that I'd fantasized about so many times? My hands, unconcerned whether this was real or a dream, went to work independent of my mind. I began to squeeze and feel her globes. I ran my fingers over the flesh, caressing it, memorizing the sensation. I explored the nipples, tweaking them gently, feeling the hardness of them, the ridges and bumps that covered their surface. Do you remember the first time you ever had a bare breast in your hand? It is truly one of life's pivotal moments. Marla moaned a little under my touch. "That feels good," she whispered. "You're getting the hang of it right quick."

I was beyond the ability to answer her at that point. I was simply lost in a world of overwhelming tactile stimulation. My hands continued their explorations while my penis, now hard enough to cut diamonds, throbbed beneath my shorts.

"Now suck them," she told me. "Put your mouth on them."

My initial reluctance was rapidly diminishing under the strain of promised physical pleasure. Uncle Dave's presence only four feet away, though still very much in my mind, no longer generated the fear it had a moment before. I quickly rolled over a little onto my stomach and she put her arms around me, pulling me against her feminine body. I lowered my face down and took the nipple closest to me into my mouth. It slid between my lips like the finest candy.

"Oh yes," she breathed, her fingers running through my hair, her leg rubbing firmly, deliberately against mine. "Use your tongue. Lick it a little and then suck on it like a baby does."

I did as she asked, bathing the nipple with my saliva, tasting it, swirling around the perimeter. I then clamped my lips to it and suckled gently, as if I was trying to draw milk from it. She moaned in pleasure and arched her back upward.

"Yesss," she encouraged, her hands sliding down to my back and finding their way under my shirt. Her nails began to scratch lightly up and down upon my skin. I never had any idea that something as simple as that could feel so erotic.

I switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as I had its twin. Marla pulled me tighter to her and then her hands suddenly slid out of my shirt. I raised up my head, thinking something was wrong, thinking that Uncle Dave had caught us. Would he kill me right away, or would he draw it out, make it messy? But Marla gently pushed my head back down, forcing her nipple back into my mouth. "Relax," she told me. "I'm just starting a new game."

I went back to sucking contentedly upon her tit. I felt her moving a little beneath me, shifting her weight this way and that. I then heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down. With black excitement I realized that she was undoing her shorts. Was that the new game? Was she going to show her pussy to me?

She didn't exactly show it to me, not then, but it was the object of the next game. She took my left wrist in her hand and placed it on her smooth stomach. She then began pushing it down her body. "Put your hand in my shorts," she said lustily into my ear. "Feel me."

My fingers tracked along the baby soft flesh of her lower stomach and into the V of her unbuttoned shorts until I encountered the elastic band of her panties. I hesitated for an instant before forcing my hand under the band and downward. Her legs opened wide to allow me entrance to her treasures and I took the invitation. I felt kinky, curly hair that thickened as I went deeper in and finally a warm, slippery wetness as my fingertips touched her lips. They were like nothing I had ever felt before. Though my movement was impeded to a great degree by her shorts, I touched everywhere I could, sliding my finger over the lips, between them, getting my fingers saturated with her juices.

"Do you feel how wet I am down there?" she breathed into my ear. "Do you feel it?"

"Yes," I croaked, nearly panting.

"You did that to me," she said, her tongue licking at my earlobe for a moment. "You made my pussy that wet."

"Uhhhh," I moaned from around her nipple.

She began nibbling on my earlobe, taking it between her hard teeth and nipping at it. She would alternate this with little sucks, little growls and mewls, and the occasional probing of my ear with her warm, wet tongue. I actually began to sweat from the arousal, from the sensations that were coursing through my body.

She let me feel her pussy on my own for a few minutes and her wetness increased under my clumsy, inexperienced fingers. Her hips began to rise up and down a little from the mattress and a rich, musky odor, very sharp, very arousing began to fill the unventilated sleeper compartment.

"That's my pussy you smell," Marla whispered. "That's the smell of pleasure. Like the pleasure you're giving me right now. Do you like it?"

"Yes," I mumbled to her, still suckling her nipple.

"Let me help you," she said, kissing my neck now with her puffy lips. "Let me show you how to get a girl off with your hands."

She grabbed my wrist in her hands and rotating it around in her crotch. "That bump," she said. "Do you feel it?"

"Yeah," I panted, feeling a wet, slippery protrusion at the top of her slit.

"That's my clit," she told me, continuing to kiss on my neck and my shoulder. "Put your fingers on it and push."

I did as she asked and she groaned at the contact. She then began forcing my hand to rub in circles against it, pulling it tighter into her. Her wet pubic hair scratched at my palm but that bump between my fingers began to swell and get wetter. Marla's words became more breathless, her kisses on my neck more passionate. She began to nip at my neck a little, placing love-bites all over it. Her hips began to rise up and down rhythmically from the mattress. The smell of her lust increased, making the air seem thicker.

"Oh yes," she moaned. "Sooooo gooood. Suck my nipple harder now."

I began to suck furiously at her breast and she pulled my hand even harder into her crotch, rotating it faster and faster. She was panting in my ear now, her free hand pulling almost painfully at my hair. Suddenly she bit down on my shoulder and her hips jerked spastically up into the air. She moaned against my flesh and seemingly every muscle in her body stiffened.

"Yessssss!" she cried through her clenched teeth. "Oh yesssss!"

She let go of my hand and let her teeth unclamp from my shoulder. Slowly her hips settled back down to the mattress. The hand that had been pulling at my hair relaxed, releasing its grip. I raised my head from her nipple (but left my hand in her pussy - I wasn't giving that up until I had to) and looked at her face. She was smiling, her eyes looking at me with adoration, a gleam of perspiration on her face. "Are you okay?" I asked carefully. I had a pretty good idea what had just happened to her but I wasn't completely sure.

"Oh yesss," she sighed, kissing my forehead. "That was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. You made me come."

"I did?"

"You did," she assured me. "Remember that technique. Whenever one of the girls at the trailer park lets you get your hand down her pants, be sure to do to her just what you did to me. You make a girl come Mike, and they're yours."

"Wow," I said, imagining the possibilities.

"And for doing such an outstanding job," she said. "I think I owe you a little something in return."

"Owe me something?"

"Roll over on your back," she told me.

The psychology of a teenager is interesting, isn't it? Now I had just sucked on Marla's tits, made her come with my hands, and had had her whisper filthy, erotic things into my ear. After all that I still hesitated to roll over when she asked because I was ashamed that she would see my bulging hard-on, which, I might add, was aching with blue balls at that point. But Marla wasn't about to let me wimp my way out of this. She pushed my body off of her and forced me onto my back. My hand slipped reluctantly out of her crotch as I went, the fingers still saturated with her juices.

"Mmmmm," Marla said, looking at the bulge in my shorts hungrily. "It looks like it's just about ready to explode."

Though I was embarrassed to have her looking at it that way, there was no denying what she was saying. I was beyond even hair-trigger status at that point.

"Would you like me to help it to explode?" she asked. "Does that seem a suitable reward for the generosity that you have shown me?"

"Uh," I said, "uh..., I uh, guess so."

She smiled, sitting up and crossing her legs beneath her. "You drive a hard bargain Mike," she said, reaching for the button on my shorts. With deliberate slowness she undid it. She then slid my zipper down, tooth by tooth until it reached the bottom. She pulled the shorts open, revealing the tented underwear beneath. They were damp with the pre-cum that had leaked out over the last twenty minutes or so. My own hips rose involuntarily into the air, driven upward by the proximity of her hand.

"What do you think Mike?" she asked me, two fingers sliding beneath the elastic of my BVDs. "Would a nice little handjob feel good. Would you like me to jack you off and make you come in my hand?"

"Uhhh," I groaned, breathless from the very thought.

She pulled the underwear down and my cock sprung out into the air, as stiff as it had ever been in my life. The head was purple and nearly throbbing with the beat of my heart. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, slowly wrapping her hand around the shaft. The feel of her fingers upon my, grasping me, almost made me shoot right there. Hers was the first hand other than my own that had ever touched me there. She slid her hand slowly up and down a few times, delighting me with the friction, spreading the pre-cum that had gathered.

"But you know," she said, stopping her motion suddenly. "I just had a thought."

"Huh?" I panted.

"I can't have you shooting come all over the inside of the sleeper."

"You can't?" She was not going to let me come? Even with my limited (okay, non-existent) sexual experience, this seemed like an unusually cruel manner in which to behave.

"It would make quite a mess," she told me. "Especially as loaded as this weapon feels like it is. That would be rather hard to explain to Dave, don't you think?"

"Uh..., well..."

"So I'm afraid I won't be able to jack you off Mike," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Uh," I answered, shaking all over with desire and disappointment, "well..., I..., okay."

"What I'll have to do instead," Marla explained, "is suck you off."

"Whu... whu... what?" Suck me off? Did she mean, well, suck me off? With her mouth!? Surely I must have misunderstood her.

"You don't mind, do you?" she inquired sweetly. Without waiting for an answer she gave me one last teasing smile and then lowered her mouth to me. Those big, puffy lips sucked in my head and then dove to the bottom of my shaft. My straining cock was suddenly enclosed in a teasing wetness as she deep throated me. Her blonde hair tickled my stomach.

"Ohhhh!" I said, my hands clenching into fists, my hips driving upward.

With her eyes staring upward at my face, Marla slowly brought her head back up, sucking lightly, applying delicious pressure with her hands. When she got to the top she licked the head like a lollipop. "I just love the taste of a nice hard cock," she said. "Do you want to come in my mouth?"

"Yesss," I assured her, nodding rapidly.

She began to jack up and down with her hands. "Tell me then," she said. "Tell me how you want to come."

"What?" I asked, confused, trembling.

"Tell me that you're going to come in my mouth. I want to hear you say it."

"Marla, I..."

"Tell me," she insisted, her hands jacking faster.

"I want to come in your mouth," I told her. "Please, I want to come in your mouth."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Don't ask me. Tell me. Tell me you're going to shoot your come in my mouth. Tell me I'm going to take it. Do it Mike."

"I'm gonna come in your mouth," I commanded. "And you're gonna swallow it."

"Yes," she said excitedly. "Oh yes!" With that she lowered her face back to my cock and went back to work. She bobbed her head up and down, licking, sucking, and teasing with her tongue. Her warm saliva dripped down my shaft, puddled in my pubic hair as her mouth and her hands began to pick up speed. I had had no idea that a blowjob could feel like this, that a woman's mouth could bring such pleasure.

As Marla had pointed out however, I was ready to explode. It didn't take long, less than a minute I would venture to guess, before her sucking began to have the desired effect upon me. I began to groan in the back of my throat once more as the tingles of impending orgasm began running through my body. The waves of pleasure that assaulted me, waves that were so much more powerful than when I did this solo, started in my pelvis and slammed throughout my entire body, running up my spinal column, tensing every muscle.

"Ahhhhh," I grunted as Marla, sensing what was happening, tightened her mouth and began to suck and jack frantically. The orgasm reached its peak and I began to shoot blast after blast of hot sperm into her gulping mouth. The spasms seemed to go on for several minutes, seemed to release gallons. She continued sucking as I gave her my load, making little grunts of encouragement as she swallowed down every drop.

When she lifted her head from my lap my dick, though wet with saliva, was clean as a whistle. "You see?" she said, placing a little kiss on the head.

"Not a drop in the sleeper. No evidence."

"Yeah," I agreed, satiated, my body and mind in post-orgasmic bliss.

In a motherly manner she pulled my shorts and underwear back up, zipping and buttoning me closed. When that was done she did the same for herself. She leaned down and gave me a soft, slow kiss on the mouth, her tongue just darting between my teeth. I stuck my own tongue out to greet it. They touched briefly at the tips, just allowing me to catch a taste of her mouth, which tasted like me, before she broke the kiss.

"Did you enjoy our games?" she asked me, resting on her elbows, her breast pressing into my arm once more.

"Yes," I told her, nodding enthusiastically. "It was...," words escaped me for a moment. "It was... really cool," I finally articulated.

"It was really cool, wasn't it?" she giggled. "I haven't had the pleasure of a cock coming in my mouth, or the pleasure of a hand other than my own bringing me off for quite some time."

"But..." I said, confused. "Uncle Dave. Don't you and he... you know?"

"We don't," she told me sadly. "Uncle Dave is a good man, sort of, but his... well his equipment doesn't work very well. It's not very often that we can play. Over the last four years we haven't been able to do it at all. And I miss it. Oh how I miss it. Not enough to have an affair or anything. Affairs, while they may be exciting, do complicate relationships greatly. But you, on the other hand, you're not exactly like having an affair."

I nodded wisely, although I didn't really have any idea what she was talking about.

She seemed to sense this. "I've been attracted to you for a long time," she told me. "You have a beautiful young body, a handsome face, you're clean and you're smart. I've longed to put my hands on you Mike, I've dreamed about it."

"You have?" I asked, amazed.

"I have," she confirmed. "But you're also forbidden in a way that a mere affair is not. On the one hand, that makes playing with you all the much more exciting. But on the other hand, it makes it something that can not continue, that can not be an ongoing thing. Do you understand?"

"You mean," I asked carefully, "that we can't do this again?"

She gave me a cynical smile. "We're on a trip to Disneyland," she said. "I've never had any desire to go to that place, but on this trip I'm going to create my own Disneyland. I'm going to make my fantasy come true. That's what Disneyland is all about, isn't it?"

"I guess," I answered.

"So while we're on this trip, this fantasy trip, it's fantasy time. We can play when circumstances permit. But when the trip is over, when we come home from Disneyland..."

"Back to the way things were?" I asked, feeling a combination of elation and disappointment at her words.

"I told you that you were smart," she said, leaning forward and kissing my nose.

One of the great things about being fifteen, about lacking the sophistication and life experience of an adult, is that a deal like that sounds like a premium thing. You don't have the smarts to worry about what comes after. You simply factor things down to the lowest denominator. The lowest denominator in this case was sex. She was offering me her body during the course of the trip. There wasn't much that could have made me turn her down.

"But we'll have to be careful about it," she warned. "Oh so careful. We will act the same as we normally do when Uncle Dave or anyone else is around. EXACTLY the same. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I told her, trying to take her into my arms. I was ready for some more playtime.

She pushed me away, gently but firmly. "Not right now," she said. "It's time to mellow out for the time being. We need to open up these windows and get the smell of us out of the sleeper. Dave doesn't usually come back here on the road and he smokes so much that its doubtful he would smell anything even if he did, but careful must be our word. We must not break the routine that Dave is used to on the trip any more than needed."

"Okay," I agreed, slightly dejected.

"We'll be able to do nothing else together until well after dark."

"After dark?" I asked, appalled. Dark was more than ten hours away! And how much longer was "well" after dark?

"After dark," she insisted. "This has been my usual nap time on the road. And while I spent it doing something a little more interesting than sleeping, it was part of the routine for me to come back here at this time. If I come back here again, Dave might get suspicious and we simply can't have that."

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly. After all, what else could I do?

"Dave will drive us straight through to Los Angeles," she explained, "stopping only for food and fuel. That's what he always does. However, since I don't imbibe in his little wake-up drug, I always retire for the night around ten. Dave stops at a truck stop or a rest area so I can pee and then, once we get back on the road, I change into my nightgown and go to sleep. When we do that I want you to stay up for at least another hour in the front seat with Dave. I want you to talk to him, give him no clue that you're anxious to climb into the sleeper portion. At around eleven you need to begin complaining that you're tired. Dave will then tell you to climb on in the sleeper." She smiled seductively. "And then," she promised, "we'll play some more games. Some new ones."

I believe that I can say unequivocally that that was the longest day of my entire life. I was not aware that it was possible for time to pass as slowly as it did. We rolled on down the road, heading steadily south down Interstate 5, and the hours, the minutes, even the seconds dragged. I would check my watch every once in a while, swearing that an hour had gone by bringing me sixty minutes closer to playtime, and would see that it had only been ten minutes or so.

We stopped at a truck stop in Vancouver, Washington, just across the Columbia River from Portland, and had breakfast. Marla and I ate greasy bacon and eggs and hashbrowns while Dave sipped coffee and smoked cigarettes. After he gassed up the rig and everybody relieved their bladders, we headed off once more, spending the bulk of the daytime hours traveling through Oregon, occasionally stopping at a weigh station to be inspected or at a rest stop for bathroom breaks. For most of this time I sat in the sleeper compartment, sometimes poking my head out to watch the Interstate pass by, sometimes lying on the mattress trying, unsuccessfully for the most part, to concentrate on my book. Thoughts of Marla, of her body, of her lips, of her pussy, and of what she was going to do with all of that come eleven o'clock that night, kept intruding on my concentration. My stomach felt almost ill with the anticipation of it and my dick hardly ever went below the state of semi-erect. I did manage to catch an hour or so of fitful sleep somewhere between Medford, Oregon and the California border but my dreams were filled with lustful images of Marla.

We rolled into Sacramento at about 7:00 that night, just as the sun was sinking towards the horizon. Dave pulled us into a huge truck stop just outside of town and announced that it was dinnertime. We went into yet another truck stop diner and spent forty minutes there. I had a cheeseburger, which was actually pretty good but which I had to force myself to consume, my nerves were on such edge. Marla had a steak sandwich with home fries and a glass of white wine. Dave, like before, simply drank coffee and sucked down four or five cigarettes while we ate.

We were back on the road again by 8:00, once again with two full tanks of diesel and with no more extended stops planned until Los Angeles. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the sun at last sank below the horizon and the stars came out. I had thought that once it became dark and my goal came into sight that I would be happy. What did happen however, was that as the time grew closer to zero hour, it actually seemed to pass more slowly. The hour between nine and ten o'clock took an eternity to pass, almost as long as the previous eight seemed to have.

At last, at ten minutes after ten, Marla told her husband, "About time to start lookin fer a place to pee hon."

"You got it Honeybunch," he told her. "There's a restin area up yonder at San-Nellie. I'll bring us in there."

San-Nellie, also known as Santa Nella according to the sign that marked the town limits, was little more than a highway intersection with a few gas stations and fast food joints. It suddenly appeared out of the farmland we were passing through as a collection of huge advertising billboards and jumbled buildings. Uncle Dave pulled the rig off the freeway and into a Burger King that promised it was open twenty-four hours.

Marla opened her door and looked back at me. "Do you need to pee too Mikey?"

I didn't really need to but something in the tone of her voice told me that I should. "Sure," I told her and began extricating myself from the sleeper.

"How 'bout you Sweetie?" she asked Dave. "Need to piss?"

"I'm okay," he told her. "I'll just pull over and hang her out the side if I has to later."

"Good 'nuf," Marla said.

I hopped down onto the parking lot of the Burger King and Marla and I began walking towards the building. When we were well out of earshot of the rig she said, "Now remember. Sit in the front for a while with him; at least an hour. Keep up your end of the conversation and don't give the slightest hint that you're anxious to get into the sleeper. Can you do all that?"

"Yes," I assured her.

She smiled. "Good," she told me. As we came to the door that led into the fast food establishment, she turned to me and whispered. "I might be a few minutes. I'm going to be playing with my pussy a little while I think about what we're going to be doing later."

After that little encouraging word it took me a minute or so before I could pee. It's almost impossible, as you are probably aware, to urinate with a hard-on.

Marla climbed into the cab of the truck ahead of me when we returned. She kissed Dave goodnight and then gave me a brief, sisterly hug. "You'll have to excuse me for a few minutes Mikey whilst I changes into my gown," she told me. "Gimmee five minutes and I'll be decent and nice and tucked up ginst the back." She chuckled a little. "Hope you don't mind sharin the sleeper with an old lady."

For a moment I thought she was changing our plans, that she wanted me to come back as soon as she was done changing and a burst of excitement shot through me. It lasted only a second or so before I realized she was just putting on an act for Dave's benefit. "I kin live with it," I told her. "But all the same, I think I'll sit up front fer a while. I'm not tired jist yet."

"Suit yerself," she said, seemingly disinterested. "Night y'all," she told us.

I planted myself in the passenger side of the cab as Dave put us in gear, released the brakes, and started heading for the Interstate onramp. Marla zipped herself in and disappeared. Before he even had the rig back up to speed, he began talking rapidly about his adventures in Vietnam.

In that long, agonizing hour I heard it all. I heard about the first day Dave had arrived in Danang and had been assigned to shithouse detail. I heard about his numerous trips to the Danang whorehouses in PG-13 detail. I heard a graphic representation on the horrors of the clap. I listened to a lengthy dissertation about the many combat missions in which Dave, as the door gunner, had "hosed down" ranks of VC and NVA regulars outside of various LZ's in and about the Danang area. I learned more about the.50 caliber machine gun and what it was capable of doing to the human body than I had ever hoped to know.

Through it all each minute ticked by at a snail's pace. I held up my end of the conversation nicely, despite the fact that my mind was spinning with erotic images of Marla on the other side of the zipper and with worries about whether she would fall asleep before I got back there. She HAD been up all day after all. I asked the appropriate questions and listened attentively to the answers. I looked properly solemn when Dave gave an almost tearful speech about how he planned to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington when it was finally done and take tracings of all the brave men that he had served with whose names would be up there.

Finally, fifty-eight long minutes after we had climbed into the cab in Santa Nella, I began to go into my sleepy act. I yawned into my hand a few times and rubbed my eyes. I stretched in my seat, making exaggerated groans of fatigue. What I wanted was for Dave to suggest that I sack out in the back for the night but he stubbornly refused to do that. He simply kept talking about Vietnam and helicopters and.50 calibers and what VC heads looked like after being hit with such a weapon.

Finally I was forced to take matters into my own hands. After a particularly fierce yawn I told Dave, "I'm gettin' right tired. I think I'll try an' catch some sleep."

"You go on 'head an' do that," he told me. He looked over. "If'n ya don't wanna sleep in the sleeper with Marla, I'll turn the music down so you kin crap out up here."

Adrenaline flooded through my body at these words. How to respond to them? Was he suspicious about me sleeping with his wife? Did he not want me back there? Or was he just assuming that I wouldn't want to sleep with "an old lady", as she had termed it.

"Uh," I said, biting my lip nervously. "I'll uh... be all right in the back I guess. Marla's prob'ly sleepin by now and I'm not sure I kin sleep sittin up."

He nodded. "Suit yerself," he told me. "We'll be rollin into LA 'bout three in the aye-M. Don't be alarmed when we stop. It'll jist be me droppin off the trailer."

"Okay," I said, twisting in my seat and reaching for the zipper. When I pulled it open it was dark in the sleeper. I could barely make out the form of the lump that was Marlene under the covers against the far wall. That vaguely defined lump was perhaps the most exciting thing that I'd ever laid eyes upon. I began to climb in.

"Don't you be messin with my woman now, ya hear?" Dave told me as I went in.

Another jolt of adrenaline shot through me at these words until I looked at his face. He was smiling, very amused at the joke that he'd made.

"I won't," I promised, finishing my climb. I stretched out on the bed and zipped the canvas shut once again.

As I settled myself into position above the covers on my side of the sleeper, I was still worried that Marla had gone to sleep. What if she didn't wake up? Had all of the agonizing waiting been for nothing? But this worry only lasted a few seconds. Her head, barely visible in the dim light, poked out and turned towards me.

"You did very well," she told me. "I was listening. You handled that last bit with particular flair."

"You were listening?" I asked. "But I thought that..."

"I left the canvas a little unzipped," she told me. "Forgive me, but I needed to know your acting was up to par. I couldn't risk anything here if Dave was suspicious. But take heart. As far as he knows you're coming back here to put up with the slightly distasteful task of sleeping in a confined place with his wife. He doesn't suspect a thing."

"Marla, jeez," I said, almost in awe of her sneakiness.

Though I couldn't see it, not exactly, I could sense her smiling. "Get under the covers," she told me. "Disneyland is open and it's time to play."

It took a bit of shuffling around, stretching, and repositioning but at last I worked my way under the covers next to her. She held out her arms and took me into them, pulling me face to face with her. Her breasts pressed into my chest and her bare legs slid against mine. "We still need to be careful," she said. "Remember, as long as we're moving, we're safe, but this rig can stop at any time without warning. We have to be able to compose ourselves in an instant."

"Right," I agreed, letting my hands track up and down her back. Her nightgown was apparently a long T-shirt, cotton, very clean, very soft. I could feel the muscles, the skin, the warmth of her back beneath it.

"I think," she told me, her sweet breath blowing on my face, "that in addition to being playtime, this should also be a learning experience for you."

"Right," I panted, already stiff as a board from the embrace alone. "A learning experience."

"I'm going to teach you things on this trip. Wonderful things. Things that will make you very successful with your girlfriends when you get some. Do you want to learn these things Mike? Do you want me to teach them to you?"

"Oh yes," I told her with utmost sincerity.

"I thought you might," she said, kissing my forehead, sliding her silky, sexy leg against mine. "We're going to have such fun the next two days. Such fun."

"Oh yes," I repeated.

"Let's start with the kiss," she suggested. "That is the first contact you will have with a woman, or a girl, and if you do it right, you'll almost guarantee yourself advancement. Let me teach you how to kiss."

"Teach me," I begged, desperately wanting to put my lips to hers, to touch my tongue to hers. "Please teach me."

She did. She took my face in her hands and brought my mouth to hers. Her soft, puffy lips touched mine and her tongue snaked out and slid between them. She licked all around the inside of my lips, sucking gently at them, making them swell. She taught me how to probe gently forward with the tip of my tongue, first tasting and then caressing my partner's tongue. We kissed and kissed in that bed, our tongues swirling together on a film of warm saliva. Marla was a great kisser and I learned quickly, soon advancing to the point where I was making her lips swell with blood, making her tongue seek out mine. She taught me to suck gently on the tongue from time to time, to draw it into my mouth and treat it like a nipple. I practiced this technique for the better part of five minutes. By the time the kissing lesson was accomplished my hard-on was grinding into her leg and my balls were once again aching with the demand for release.

"Very good," she told me, breaking our latest kiss. "Now let's work on some other things. Let me teach you how to kiss my neck and my ears."

She taught me the way that any great teacher instructs a student: by example. She put her mouth on my neck and on my ears, licking and sucking her way from one side to the other, teasing with gentle nips, running the slippery bottom of her tongue across my skin. "Your skin tastes intoxicating," she told me, panting against me, her hands sliding up and down my leg. "Now it's your turn. Do what I did." And so I did. I started, as shown, at her lips and then kissed my way down the front of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, lapping at the aroused perspiration that had formed there. She whispered in my ear as I worked, giving encouraging words. "Yesss," she moaned, "lick a little in the hollow of the throat - yesss, like that. Now move around to the side of the neck, give little bites as you go. Ohh yesss. You're getting me soooo hot Mikey. Now start running your hand up and down my leg. Start at the knee."

I brought my hand down to the flesh of her knee, feeling the slightly rough skin there, feeling the hard protrusion of her kneecap beneath my fingers. Slowly I began to move it upward, along the softer flesh of her thigh, across the sparse, downy blonde hairs that grew there. She opened her legs a little at my explorations, allowing me access to the inner thighs.

"Very nice," she encouraged. "Go up and down a few times, slowly, letting your hand get a little higher each time."

I did this, gradually working my hand under the hem of her long T-shirt and up the length of her sexy leg until I felt the tickle of pubic hair against the back of my knuckles. She was not wearing panties! She was completely bare for my ministrations! In a fit of excitement I abandoned my stroking and plunged my fingers into her wetness, feeling those slippery lips swallow my fingers. Marla gasped at the intrusion.

"That was a little fast," she told me. "But understandable under the circumstances. Now I want you to give me a nice, firm, finger-fuck. Slide two fingers in and out of me, slow at first."

I began to push and pull my fingers in her slit. Her chasm grasped at me, tried to draw me in deeper with each stroke. As instructed I went slowly at first, gently pushing all the way in and then gently pulling all the way out. Her juices quickly drenched my hand and the odor of her musk quickly filled the sleeper compartment once more. Her hips began to move a little with the rhythm and her breathing quickened. I began to increase the speed.

"Very good," she breathed in my ear, kissing it once again. "You're a natural at this. Now use your thumb to rub my clit while your fingers do their work. Bring me off again."

My thumb probed around through the hair and wetness for a moment and finally came across the swollen nub of her clit. A sharp intake of breath from Marla let me know I was in the right place. Though it took a minute to master the technique of simultaneously rubbing and plunging, I soon had her panting in my ear and her hips jerking up and down on the mattress. As before, she bit down on my shoulder when she came.

"You are SUCH a good student," she told me as I pulled my dripping fingers from her saturated, swollen box. She kissed me on the mouth, sliding her tongue back between my lips. "Now it's time," she said, her lips still against mine, "to learn the REAL lesson."

"The REAL lesson?" I gulped.

"Yes," she said, licking at my cheek, running her tongue around the perimeter of my lips. "It'll probably take a few times to get it right. At least that's what I'm counting on. Are you ready?"

"Oh yesss," I returned.

"Roll over on your back again," she said. "Let me show you the way this first time."

Trembling with excitement and fear I rolled onto my back. Marla extricated herself from beneath the covers and brought herself to her knees, having to keep her head slumped a little because of the low ceiling. She reached down and unbuttoned my shorts. She slid the zipper down and then pulled the whole works down my leg, releasing my throbbing cock into the musky air.

"Take one leg out," she told me. "But keep the other leg in. We'll have to do it this way the first time in case Dave stops. If he does, you pull those shorts back up as fast as you can and pretend to be asleep, okay?"

"Right," I breathed, willing to agree to anything at this point. I pulled my

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Old Man Next Door (young/old, mature, porn stories)

I was young when we moved to New Jersey. I had a neighbor. An older gentlemen. I met him in our back yard. He was very friendly and we became good friends. English is my second language. He use to help me pronounce difficult words. He was a retired ..continue reading