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The other day, I was reading a story when the name Terri Bradford came up. Terri Bradford! Instantly several things came to mind, not sequentially mind you, but all at once in a jumbled flood; big tits, promiscuous slut, troubled girl, big tits, fantastic ass, long honey blonde hair, big tits, sweet girl, whore, fucking on the levee, fucking in the back seat of my ’55 Chevy, fucking in her room, getting caught, big tits,fucking every chance we got, fucking her at Carl’s, sweet, sweet girl, watching Carl fucking her, the sleazy happenings in “The Backroom”, my father’s teen fuck-toy and the happenings at my dad’s French Quarter hideaway. She was, by far, the best girlfriend I ever had (except for my gorgeous wife). Then one other thought came to the forefront… incest.
It’s funny how the mind works. With just the very thought of her, the incest thing comes to mind. It comes to mind even though I didn’t have a clue about that while I knew her, or thought that I knew her. We went at each other hot and heavy for over four years, starting in junior high school and all through high school. Seems like we fucked every time we had an opportunity and we always fucked bareback with her taking my sperm-laden semen up whatever needy hole my cock was in at the time. She was a fun, enthusiastic fuck. Even when we no longer were “going steady”, we fucked. We were close, very close. We connected so effortlessly and not just with our genitals. She was my friend, my lover and she was a whore, a real whore. Through it all, I thought I knew everything about her, yet… I knew nothing. It wasn’t until after I saw her for the last time, just as she “dropped out and turned on”, after she was gone from me forever, that I had a clue.
It was Christmas break in 1967. She’d gone off to an out-of-state college and was home for the holidays. I had other interests then, but when she called and said she wanted to talk, I made time for her. After all, we were going to fuck, or so I thought. I had every expectation that I’d get laid. We always fucked. I figured she wanted to use me and my cock, just as I wanted to use her and her body. Talk… yes, we would talk… between fucks.
I picked her up. As usual her mother was cold to me. Her mom had been cold towards me ever since she caught us in bed with me balls deep up her daughter’s ass. Not that I could blame her, but that was two years prior and Mrs. Bradford still held it against me. I was cordial and polite as always, and waited nervously in the foyer for Terri to appear. I imagined that Mrs. Bradford knew very well that were going off to fuck, sort of a mutual fuck ‘em and leave ‘em session, an energetic cock-and-pussy session just to satisfy our primal urges.
Terri appeared carrying a knapsack, looking the part of a late 60’s hippie chick. The daughter passed in silence not saying a word to her mother. Always the gentleman, I held the door open while Terri slipped into the front passenger seat. Moments later, we were off.
“Where to? The levee?”
“No, Jimmy. Take me to the bus station.”
“Greyhound?”
“Yeah.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes. I’ve had enough of this place. I’m going to hook up with my boyfriend and some other friends out in L.A.
“L.A.? What’s in…?
“Jimmy, don’t make this hard. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see. You couldn’t possibly see.”
“Your mom… she’s still…”
“She hates me. Really hates me.”
“Because she caught us in bed? How many years ago was that?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s more, much more.”
“You want to tell me about it?” I asked trying to sound like I really gave a shit.
“No, Jimmy, I don’t. But… we go back, you and me… and… you’re my best friend, and…” Her sentence trailed off in a whisper.
“And what? Did I do something? Sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been…”
“No, you haven’t done anything and I don’t care if you didn’t call. I could have called you when I got in…”
“Yeah, you were supposed to call me.” Her mother had a well established habit of hanging up if I called, usually with a curt, ‘Don’t call here again.’
“I didn’t call and let’s leave it at that,” she said as if that's was all there was to it.
“I’m not following you, Terri.”
“Let me just say, that I love you, Jimmy. I always have.” I could sense that she was going to go emotional on me, but she just rubbed her hand over the back of the front seat and said, “You know, we’ve had some good times in this old junker.”
“Sure you don’t want to go behind the levee? You know, for a proper goodbye.”
“How about if I suck you off while you drive?” That sounded interesting, but it was mid-afternoon and the traffic was already building.
“Not here! Come on. Let’s do it right. One last time.”
“For old times sake? You’re turning down a blowjob thinking I’ll just hike my dress up for you? Hmmm, in fact I’d love to, Jimmy. You know that… but my bus leaves in forty five minutes.”
“Take the next bus? I know! We’ll shack up for a few days at Carl’s. Hell, we could even sack up at my house… Mom’s off visiting her cousin. Dad won’t mind.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” she said dourly.
“Yeah,” I continued, “Let’s go to my house. Then if you still want to go, you can catch a bus later in the week.”
“No. Lester is expecting me tonight in Dallas. Then we’ll head to California.”
“Lester. Is that his name?”
“Yes. He’s very sweet. Reminds me of you.”
“Has a big dick, huh?”
“Yes!” she laughed. “In fact he does have a big dick and I love it.”
“I thought so,” I replied sourly. “Okay, this Lester dude…”
“Forget about Lester for a moment.”
“Is that why you won’t fuck me?”
“No, I’d love to fuck you, Jimmy, but I have to catch the bus.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No! I told you, I need to be on that bus… Today! Look, you’re the only person in this world I truly trust.”
“Yeah right… So why did you call me? Just for a ride?”
“I have something to tell you. Jimmy, you’re the only person I’ll ever tell this to. Maybe then you’ll finally understand me. I think I owe you that.”
“You don’t owe me, Terri, but okay… shoot.”
“It’s too long and too complicated. Besides I might start crying and…”
“Not the crying, Terri! Please, not the crying!”
“I’m trying, damn you, I’m trying!” There was a long pause while she collected herself. “I wrote you a letter; a long letter. And I have something I want you to have. I don’t want it anymore. When I get on that bus, I leave my past behind. No longer will I be Terri Bradford, middle-class tramp, I’ll be Honeysuckle.”
“Honeysuckle? You mean as a name?”
“Of course as a name. In a few minutes, there will be no Terri Bradford. I will be Honeysuckle.”
I thought, ‘There she goes again with all that hippie mystic crap.’ “Honeysuckle, that’s nice.”
“You think so?”
“Not really, but it is appropriate.” Glancing down, I noticed that she wasn’t wearing her signature ankle bracelet. She’d always worn it and as far as I knew she never, never took it off. “Where’s your gold ankle bracelet? You lose it or something?”
“Yeah, I lost it. It belonged to Terri Bradford,” she said dourly. “Got ten bucks for it.”
We rode along in silence the rest of the way to the bus station on Loyola Avenue in downtown New Orleans. I pulled into the parking lot and found a secluded space surrounded by other cars.
“Sure you don’t want to shack up for a few days?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said with a hint of exasperation.
“Well, I guess this is it,” I said with some finality.
“Not quite,” Terri replied as she dug around in her knapsack until she extracted a bundle wrapped in brown paper and neatly tied with red yarn. “This is for you.”
“Thanks… I guess.”
“That’s my life, Jimmy, up until very recently. Do with it as you want, because I’m discarding it.”
“Okay,” I replied without enthusiasm.
“Now, you can do something for me, Jimmy.”
“What’s that?”
“I think you know,” she replied as her hand stroked across my crotch.
“Here?”
“Just be still. This is my goodbye to you, Jimmy.” She began to unzip me. Looking around, I confirmed that there was adequate
privacy. I unfastened my jeans, lifted my hips and slid my jeans and underwear down until my cock was free.
Terri lowered her head in my lap and took me into her mouth.
I closed my eyes, savoring feel of her hot, moist mouth engulfing first the sensitive tip of my throbbing tool, then sliding down over my cock shaft.
How many times had we done this? I don’t mean just blowjobs, but blowjobs as I sat behind the wheel of my car in some parking lot. It was almost always in the day. At night, we’d be in the backseat with my cock buried up one of her holes. Then at night as I drove, she sucked. How many times?
I looked down at her head bobbing up and down, her long honey-blonde hair cascading across my lap, partially concealing the fact that my pants were down around my knees. As her head moved back and forth on my cock, each stroke brought her lips further down my thick shaft while her tongue would swirl up and down the underside of my shaft; then on the upstroke, swirl around the head, sending electric chills all the way up my spine in response. The sound of her noisily slurping and murmuring as she sucked me drifted out the open window. God, she could suck cock!
It still hadn’t hit me, that this was the end of the road. The last sex act between us; the last sex act in a long series of sex acts stretching back across our adolescent years. All too soon I felt my balls stirring. I tried to hold off, thinking about some other thing, but it did no good… she was too good. Girl was a terrific cocksucker. My hand gripped her behind the neck. She knew that I was close and it energized her to finish me off.
Violently my cock throbbed inside her mouth as the first blast of sperm-laden semen raced from my contracting prostate, surged through my shaft and vented into her mouth. In mere seconds, the second pulse was shooting into her talented mouth, followed by a successive series of weakening pluses expelling ever-diminishing quantities of my seed.
When she pulled off, my head was lolled back and I was staring up at the tattered grey headliner while I fought to catch my breath. She let my softening cock slip from between her lips, but before she sat up, she gave it several kisses. Suddenly the door was open and she was outside.
“Terri, wait!”
“I don’t have time, Jimmy! Honest. I’ve got to go.”
“C’mon, get back in the car,” I pleaded.
“No! Goodbye, Jimmy!” She slung the knapsack over her shoulder and disappeared towards the station.
I slumped back into the seat to collect my thoughts. I couldn’t just let her leave like that, not without feeling those big tits of hers one more time. Scrambling to get my pants up and fastened, I quickly got nowhere fast. I should have just gotten out of the car to put my jeans back on, but I didn’t and I wasted valuable minutes struggling with the tight Levi’s while in a seated position pinned behind the over-sized steering wheel. Finally I did have sense to get out of the car to snap the button and zip the zipper. With my modesty restored, and precious time wasted, I ran after her.
She was nowhere to be seen in the bus station. I ran out onto the platform and checked around. No Terri. Then I realized that there were no buses to Dallas either. I looked inside all the parked buses, but Terri was not to be found. I went back inside and checked the schedule. There were no buses for Dallas anytime soon as a bus had departed an hour before. However a bus had just left. It was heading east, to Florida.
“Was there a girl, hippie-type, about five six with long blonde hair on it?” The agent just shrugged. I hung around for quite sometime, thinking that she’d might be hiding out, for whatever reason. I had given up on trying to figure her out years before, but it seemed like something she might do. Then again, maybe not. Regardless of what actually happened, I never saw nor heard from her again. For all practical purposes, my all-time-favorite slut girlfriend, Terri Bradford, vanished into thin air. I can only hope that Honeysuckle was a happier person.
You might think it crass of me to want to feel her up one last time in a bus station, but that girl had some incredible tits. Big tits with meaty nipples. The kind of tits that a man, young or old, could get lost between. Big tits with hardly any sag. Stripper’s tits. She had a nice ass too, a great looking ass, but those tits! It was her tits that first caught my attention in 8th grade.
*****
Before I get into my long-term affair with Terri, I need to describe what had taken place prior to our meeting each other.
New Orleans in the 1960’s. Like almost everyone else in our neighborhood, we were transplants. Terri’s family moved there a year after my dad moved us from Atlanta. In the American landscape, New Orleans is a rather unique place. Transplants under go cultural shock when they move there.
My family visited New Orleans frequently when I was growing up, so moving there wasn’t much of a shock culturally for me. My family more or less had had ties with New Orleans for generations, even though we weren’t from New Orleans. My father came from the Biloxi, Mississippi area, which culturally was very much under the sway of New Orleans, and my mother came from the St. Francisville area, which is just up river from Baton Rouge.
But for folks like the Bradfords, it was a foreign land. For example, “Making big groceries.” At the time, in the New Orleans area, you “made big groceries” at a Schweggmann’s Giant Supermarket. As familiar as I was with things in New Orleans, even I was somewhat surprised during my first visit to this emporium of culinary delights on Veterans Highway in suburban Metairie.
In most places in the United States, it is hard enough to find wine and/or beer in a grocery store. Not so in Louisiana. In Louisiana, you could buy hard liquor in a grocery store. It is so prevalent that there are no liquor stores in Louisiana. In fact you can buy hard liquor, just about anywhere. Pull into any drug store or gas station/convenience store and you can purchase a fifth or pint of the poison of your choice. Also unlike the rest of the US, the legal age to buy liquor then was 18, rather than 21.
What made Schweggmann’s somewhat unique is that you could buy a beer or a mixed drink and stroll about doing your shopping while imbibing. I believe that in 1961, the cost of a can of beer was 25 cents, a mixed drink was 50 cents, but they may have both been 25 cents if it was “Schweggmann’s brand”. You could get loaded “making groceries”. For most middle-class Americans that was somewhat of a shock, but one that most everyone adapted to.
New Orleans is also a corrupt and corrupting place. Part of its charm, I suppose. The political corruption of both New Orleans and Louisiana is legendary, but there’s more, much more to the corruption than just that. I hate to use the term moral corruption, because much of what passes for moral corruption is no more than a relaxed approach to everyday things.
There was gambling if you knew where to look. Pornography, graphic pornography, was openly sold in the myriad of newsstands. I remember going to New Orleans with my Uncle Tee at a tender young age. Down in the Quarter there was a place called the “Penny Arcade”. It had all sorts of wonderful games and such. Flipper type pin-ball was the most prevalent, but there other games as well, like the claw-device (where for a nickel you attempted to pick up a teddy bear or a wrist watch to no avail), self-serve photo booths, and fortune telling machines to name a few. There were also the antique “moving picture” devices, where a series of stills was fanned through giving the illusion of a motion picture in stereoscopic view. Drop in a penny and watch the naked lady dance. I watched lots of naked ladies dance. It was accepted and acceptable, and no one said anything. Just as no one said anything at a newsstand if I picked up a sleazy titty mag so long as there was reasonable chance I might buy it (I never did, but that didn’t seem to matter either).
The strip joints on Bourbon Street are probably what comes to most peoples minds when they think of New Orleans and sex. Actually, that was pretty tame compared to what actually went on. There was and still is an entire industry that trades in human flesh, and I’m not just talking about call girls and street prostitutes either. Prostitution, male and female, had long been part of the fabric of New Orleans. Legal or illegal, the business flourished. For a price, the authorities looked the other way.
Sex tourism was rampant. Whatever your inclination, there was someone readily available to cater to your wishes. For the most part, that industry was underground and mostly out of sight. Talk to any “respectable” hotel concierge and for a nice tip, he’d fix you up. The downside was if you made friends with the wrong folks, you could end up being used sexually as a prostitute faster than you can say, “okay”, no matter what your age or what your sex. Seldom was anyone ever charged, much less convicted of a sexual crime, except for outright forcible rape, or if some black guy screwed a white girl. Statutory rape… it didn’t merit attention, especially if it were “consensual” sex.
*****
FALL 1961
When we moved from Atlanta to New Orleans in the summer of 1961, I had just turned thirteen and was starting junior high school. I’d been held back in first grade due to a long illness, so I was older than most of my classmates. It’s amazing what happens when testosterone floods a young man’s body. Everything changes and depending of the quantity of raw hormones dumped into a boy’s system, things can change dramatically and rather quickly. Me, I changed very rapidly. By sixth grade I was well on my way to a gangly 6’4” and I was skinny as a walking stick. By eighth grade, had I put on bulk. I started filling out, putting on muscle at an astonishing speed. From the photographs my parents took during that period, it was an astonishing metamorphosis. In two years my appearance changed totally. One day I was a dork, the next I was shaving every day.
My dick got bigger too. When you’re racing through shoe sizes and shooting through pants it is pretty obvious, but an increasing dick size is not so readily documented. By the time I met Terri, I had a cock any young man would be proud off, but not the thick eight-incher I was endowed with shortly after. It was also apparent that I’d be fairly hairy before it was all over.
Like a lot of man-boys, I beat off a lot then, every day, sometimes two, three times. I’d beat off before going to sleep and beat off again in the early morning. If it were a weekend, I’d beat off in the middle of the day as well. I had to… to keep from going crazy.
From the sixth grade on, the number one thing on my mind was sex. With a Playmate foldout pilfered from my dad as my stimulus (not that I needed anything but my vivid imagination), I whacked off countless times fantasizing about tits. I had a thing about tits and I still do. I had a thing for tits even when I was little. Anyone who thinks that little boys don’t have sexual thoughts don’t know what they’re talking about. Little boys may not think about sex per se, but they do think about tits and taboo things, or at least I did. Dad knew what I was going through and directed my excess energy into sports.
That summer when we moved to New Orleans, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s farm north of Baton Rouge. My Uncle Bob was running a small commercial operation on the property, mostly cattle, as a sideline to his construction business. It was great being there with all my many cousins and having the run of the place. Uncle Bob’s adopted daughter was there too, sometimes. She was a real bitch, even when she was little, and now that she was a teen, she was nearly impossible to stomach. My grandmother made plain her feelings about Linda, “She’s no relation to me.”
During my extended stay, while my folks looked for a suitable house to buy in the New Orleans area, Uncle Bob took me to stay in Baton Rouge for a few days at his house. He had a very nice home in a very nice neighborhood, and it was air-conditioned. Air-conditioned homes were something of a rarity then, even in the stifling humid heat of Louisiana.
Unlike most of my cousins, I got along with Linda okay. She’d start her crap and I’d tell her upfront to knock it off. She had nothing to prove to me and I had nothing to prove to her. When forced down off her high horse, she was as pleasant to be around as anyone else, but every time I’d see her, I had to train her all over again. During that stay we were left to our own devices for long periods during the day. Pubescent kids being horny kids, we were both sexually curious about the other. We sort of struck a bargain after a few days, she could play with my cock and I could play with her tits.
Basically, Linda had seen some pictures of a mother breast-feeding her baby and she wanted me to fondle and suck her tits. I was happy to accommodate her. That was also my first experience with those devilish bra hooks. In return, I told her how to rub my dick just so. She was fascinated to see me ejaculate. I ejaculated a lot during that visit.
We played that game several times over the course of a few days, but it went no farther than that. I wanted to see and feel her pussy, but she wouldn’t go that far.
Then it was Thanksgiving and the family gathered at the farm. Linda wanted to mess around a little, so we slipped away and met up in the hayloft. It was a bit cool, but that didn’t stop us. This time she let me feel her panty covered cunt. Soon, her panties were with the rest of our clothes. I fingered her even though I had no clue what I was doing. She liked that and really went into heat.
She’d already masturbated me, but my resurgent cock was urging me on. It was the most natural thing in the world. Two naked horny teenagers and no instructions were necessary. I got on top and moments later, we both were no longer virgins. I plowed through her maidenhead hardly noticing it. The feel of my cock sliding up her tight vaginal passage was the most incredible feeling in the world. We were both unthinking in satisfying that most basic of biological drives, the need to fuck. And like the inexperienced teenagers we were, we didn’t stop until the act was completed
I know I didn’t last too long, despite having ejaculated only a few minutes before. And being totally unprepared, I didn’t have a condom. Totally unthinking, I shot off in her unprotected twat. It was only after the deed was irreversibly done did the possible consequences of the act eventually came to mind.
“Oh, god, Jimmy! I’ll get pregnant! Oh, god,” she kept saying over and over as she scrambled to get dressed. Me, I just wanted her to stay naked and do it again. Right away, I liked fucking. It was only after she had scrambled down and left me naked in the hay, did any of it hit me. Then visions of me and Linda getting married and living at the farm filled my head. It wasn’t a horrific vision, as I only imagined us fucking nonstop. The reality didn’t hit me until later. I didn’t like her that much. Our lives would be ruined.
Linda pretty much avoided me like the plague the next year after that. Fortunately for us both, but Linda in particular, nothing happened. She didn’t get pregnant. Thank God, for large favors!
For Christmas, Santa Claus brought me a set of free weights. I desperately wanted to be muscular like my dad and his two brothers, Uncle John and Uncle Tee, so it was a wonderful present. Immediately I got after it with no instructions other than, “Don’t try to lift too much weight at once.” It’s a wonder I didn’t hurt myself, but then again I had somehow survived my baby crib, no seat belts, suffered no injuries due to a lack of ominous warning labels and avoided brain-damage from lead paint without too much trouble. If the pansies today had any credibility at all with their constant calling for panic at every flimsy excuse for a lawsuit, kids of my generation should have all died off long ago and there shouldn’t be any kids today.
The following year was very dry one for me. I had tasted the fruit, but got nowhere near harvesting any more. My best bet was to stalk Linda. Every time I went to the farm, I brought along a couple of rubbers I swiped from my Uncle Tee, just in case. Those rubbers never got used except as water balloons.
Things were rather uneventful for a while, even though several eventful things happened. I was in Scouts and well on my way to earning my Eagle. I was the Senior Patrol Leader of my troop and learning the basics of leadership, knowledge that has served me well throughout my life. I also met Carl Rowen. Carl lived a few blocks from me. I cut his grass and took care of his lawn to make some spending money. At the time it was Mr. Rowen to me. He was in his late twenties and was a pilot for one of the major airlines. He was married, but was in the process of getting a divorce. He hated the Mr. Rowen moniker and insisted that I call him just Carl, so for a while he was Mr. Carl until I felt comfortable enough to address him in such a familiar manner.
By the time summer rolled around again with its oppressive heat, I’d gotten to know quite a few friends. Once after I had finished Carl’s yard, he invited me in while he got my money. He was just out of the shower and naked. He didn’t even blink… neither did I.
I had seen dicks before, men’s dicks and other boys’ dicks. Never thought much about it. Other guys had dicks, I knew that, I’d seen plenty. Back up at my grandmother’s farm, there were a couple of swimming holes along a small river. The one up by the bridge, the one nearly everybody used (white folks that is), boys, girls, men and women all wore swimming suits. There was another swimming hole just downriver on my Great Uncle’s property that only boys and men went to. There it was skinny-dipping, no girls allowed.
Back before we moved to Atlanta, my dad worked for a television station in Tampa, Florida. I wasn’t even in first grade yet. Across the street from the TV station was the YMCA. Dad took me there to teach me how to swim. As was the custom then, it was men only and no swimsuits allowed. The station manager also took his son to the Y. Together, Mr. Mac and my dad taught Keith and me to swim. There were other men there too. I’d look and I’d see, but it wasn’t a big deal.
Then there was the time up in my buddy’s tree house in Atlanta. Actually it was my buddy’s older brother’s tree house. The price of admission was… well, let’s say I paid the admission and leave it at that. Hell, I was only nine and didn’t know any better.
By the time I finished high school, I knew my dad was a hedonist, but back then, I had no idea. He was just Dad, my dad. At the time, I’m absolutely certain that my dad entertained notions of a nudist family, as I remember seeing nudist magazines at the house. We never did and I supposed my mother nixed the entire notion. My mother confirmed that notion just as she was separating from my father during my senior year in high school.
My dad’s youngest brother lived two blocks from my grandmother in Biloxi. Like my dad and all of my uncles on both sides, Uncle Tee (for Thadius) was a WWII veteran. A decorated veteran, he went in on the third wave on D-day, fought through the hedgerow country, dashed across France and was in the thick of it at the Battle of the Bulge. He was married too. He was lying in a hospital bed in Antwerp with a flesh wound to his butt when he got his “Dear John” letter. It had been well over a year since he last saw his wife, his high school sweetheart, and she was pregnant. She opted to get a divorce and then disappeared. He never remarried.
My grandmother was very strict about things like drinking and smoking and cursing, all the things men are prone to do, and she expressly forbid any of it in her house. Uncle Tee was equally adamant about living his life as he saw fit. What he did in his own house was his business and no one else’s. My grandmother respected that and never violated his space, and I really don’t know if my grandmother had ever set foot inside his house. If she did, I know she would have hardily disapproved. In fact, no women (except the ones that were there for sex) were ever allowed in that sanctuary, including my mother, my aunt, my sister and cousin.
Uncle Tee ate dinner (lunch for you non-Southerners) and supper with my Grandmother every day. He did the grocery shopping for her and took care of anything she needed. He was a loving son, and far from being a Mama’s boy. After supper he’d kiss her goodnight and retire to his own house. It was a place for him to go read, smoke, play poker, get drunk with his friends, peruse his stack of girlie magazines and to bed women.
Even though I was little, I was a male and I was allowed to hang out at Uncle T's with him and his brothers. Even at a very young age, I was allowed to see girlie magazines. Of course my dad made it clear to me that my mother wasn’t to know anything about that, as she would have heartily disapproved. While Dad and Uncle Tee downed gallons of Tom Collins, I got to look at all the pictures; nudie pictures of women with enormous breasts. I liked that. It was much better than the bare breasted natives in Dad’s National Geographic collection that I coveted. It is most likely the origin of my All-American obsession with big-breasted women.
Around the cluttered
kitchen table at Uncle Tee’s, my dad and his brothers talked openly about
fucking. Dad talked about fucking
Mom. Uncle John talked about fucking my
Aunt Bernice. Uncle Tee talked about
fucking this woman or that, but the stories I remembered the most were about some woman who
lived down the street who he fucked when her husband was gone. Some of the things I heard, no boy should
hear about their own mother!
My first real sexual
experience was at the hands of Dad and Uncle Tee.
I was around ten and my family was visiting Biloxi during the
summer. Mom had taken my sister, Diane,
with her to her mother’s farm north of St. Francisville, Louisiana.
I stayed in Biloxi with Dad.
My grandmother ate something that didn’t agree with her and she wound up
staying overnight in the hospital. Dad
and Uncle Tee were ready to carouse, but now Dad had me to contend with. Their solution was to take me with them. I suppose Dad could have unloaded me onto
Uncle John and Aunt Bernice, but for whatever reason, he chose not to. So off I went with Dad and Uncle Tee to the
Back Bay Club, an establishment that Uncle Tee was a partner in. I’d been there many times before, during the
day, and it was pretty tame.
Just a beer joint with a jukebox.
At night, it wasn’t so tame.
Somewhere around nine PM,
after enough tips were collected in a tip jar, the waitresses would mount the
bar and strip. Not totally nude, but down to bare tits, G-strings and high-heels. For this boy, that was plenty! After their “dance” they would circulate
topless and sit in patrons' laps for tips.
I was sitting at the end of
the bar, nursing a root beer, munching on peanuts and getting an eyeful. Uncle Tee brought the nude waitress with a wild mane of of flaming red hair around and
to the approving hoots of the crowd, had her surround
my head from the back with her enormous boobs.
I liked that! After having some
fun at my expense, an expense I didn’t mind incurring, she made her rounds to
the various tables and hauled in more tips.
The second waitress mounted
the bar and began her strip tease. While
she was getting naked, I saw my dad and the first waitress slip off into the
back. They were back there for quite a
while. I didn’t know a whole lot about about sex, but I knew they weren’t back
there just talking. I didn’t need to be
told not to mention going to the Back Bay Club,
because that was an understood and standing order.
If my grandmother found out, well…
For that matter if my mother found out… I kept my father’s trust and kept my mouth
shut.
One day, after we had moved
to New Orleans, my dad was talking to me man-to-man, you know, a father-to-son sex education talk. The topic was fucking, fucking girls in particular, and how I should never talk
about the girls I fucked. I reminded him
that he’d talked about Mom with his brothers quite a bit. He said that was different, they were his
brothers, not just some jackleg he just met.
“Brothers,” he said, “have no secrets from each other.”
“What about me?” I asked.
He said, “Son, you don’t
have any brothers, just a sister.”
“I don’t mean that,
Dad. You told me all about what you and
Mom do. I’m not your brother.”
“No, you’re my son. As my son, I expect more from you than I expect from Uncle Tee or Uncle John, and we all expect a lot from each other. If you want to tell someone about fucking some girl or feel that you have to tell somebody, you can always tell me. I will keep your confidence. Besides, I’d enjoy hearing about who you’re screwing.
“My point is, Jimmy, that if you kiss and tell like most guys do, you won’t get nearly as much pussy as you would if you kept your mouth shut. It always gets back to the girl. Even if you don’t give a flying shit about her, her friends will hear and their friends will hear. You get my drift? What you and some girl do together is not for public consumption. Give her some respect and allow her to keep her dignity. Just because she gave you her pussy for one night, doesn’t give you the right to ruin her reputation.
“You talk, Jimmy, you
pay. Just fuck the girl and keep quiet
about it. I promise you, more than likely she’ll fuck you again because you can
be trusted.”
I almost told him about
Cousin Linda and me at Thanksgiving, but thought better of it.
*****
FALL 1962
The school board had just opened a new junior high when I started in 8th grade. Kids from several different schools were carved out and put in the new school. Everyone in my neighborhood went to the new school and I pretty much knew everybody from my neighborhood at that grade level.
I first saw her in the hallway, between classes. Long blonde hair, very straight with classic pixie bangs and those big tits! Every guy who had developed any hair gawked at her. She was pretty to be sure, but she was stacked. She was dressed in a denim jumper that proved to be one of her favorite outfits, and she wore a thick gold ankle bracelet that was sexy as hell. Except for the last time that I saw her, she wore that ankle bracelet every single day that I knew her. It was her signature jewelry.
A few weeks into September, I was astonished to see her boarding my school bus. She sat up front with another girl while I was in the back with the other hooligans. I was absolutely amazed when she departed the school bus at my bus stop. My god, she only lived only a few blocks from me!
Next morning I tried to strike up a conversation, but she ignored me. I can’t blame her, I was still rather goofy looking then and very awkward. No doubt I acted goofy too. Try as I might, Terri wouldn’t have anything to do with me for months. All the while, things changed as the testosterone did its magic. I started to shave and I put on muscle; lots of muscle. I was beginning to look a lot like my beefy uncles and my older cousins.
Thanksgiving rolled around and the family gathered at the farm. The tensions of the Cuban Missile Crisis had eased. Naturally that was the big topic of discussion.
Linda was there, but as usual, she was acting the part of superior bitch. While my dad and my mother’s brothers talked about how Kennedy’s ineptness and wavering at the Bay of Pigs came close to getting us all killed, I got her alone out on the porch. “Hey cuz, wha’cha doing?”
“Nothing! And nothing with you.”
“Is that so? Why don’t we go to the hay loft and talk this thing out.”
“Talk? Yeah, right! You want to talk! Don’t make me laugh, Jimmy.”
“Okay, I don’t want to talk, but I’m sick of your attitude.”
“Oh, and what attitude is that?”
“Being a nasty pain in the ass.”
“Look who’s talking,” she snapped.
“I don’t want to talk, and I bet you don’t either.”
“What does that mean?”
”You know exactly what it means. I know
your secrets and you know I keep them.
Now, you and me, we’re going to hay loft and do it again, cuz.”
“No way! You almost got me pregnant, you know.”
“Not this time. Just in case you wanted to let bygones be bygones, I’ve brought some rubbers with me.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I did. C’mon, you won’t get pregnant. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, I was getting laid for the second time in my life. Dad was right, I had kept my mouth shut about screwing her and now we were screwing again! We fucked several times and I wanted to fuck her again, but we had good enough sense to quit when my condom supply was exhausted. She still wanted more, so we licked and sucked each other. It was a grand Thanksgiving Day!
My uncles and father were still in heated discussion when we reappeared in the house. No one had noticed our absence, but everyone soon noticed how pleasant Linda had become.
At the randy age of fifteen I had several casual girlfriends. We’d smooch at parties, but that was about all. I discovered that a girl’s breathing increased and she got more adventurous if I kissed and nibbled at her ears. It was with this new knowledge that I happened to be at the same party that Terri was. We danced and we smooched. I got her motor running nibbling her ears. I never expected it to go any farther, but she drove me crazy rubbing those jugs against me as we danced and driving her tongue into my mouth.
After that party, her attitude towards me changed dramatically. I liked her, and liked her a lot. She liked me too, and we became known as a pair.
I met her parents and her two younger sisters. I liked them all and they didn’t seem to have any problem with me. Even though Terri and I weren’t in any classes together, we had the same teachers for several subjects, and we’d get together at her house for homework sessions and whatever else we could get away with.
Mr. Bradford, I particularly liked. He was affable and took a genuine interest in what I had to say about this and that. This would be 1962 and I followed my parents’ lead in things political, and being Southerners, they were Democrats, New Deal Democrats. The Bradfords were Republicans. I’d never run across Republicans before. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that they weren’t all “big business moguls”, that they weren’t all beholden to “big business interests”, and that they weren’t all carpetbaggers. In fact, they looked and seemed to be normal folks.
In public or around her folks, Terri was a very proper girl. “No PDA,” she’d say. Translated that meant “no public display of affection”. Out of sight and with a little privacy, she displayed lots of affection. The problem for me was getting the privacy.
With her mom and dad and two sisters around all the time, there was certainly precious little privacy at her house. At my house, I had my older sister, Diane, to contend with. When my folks were away, my sister ruled the roost. Me, I was glad when Mom got home from work so Diane would cease browbeating me. Even if I had the house to myself, no way would Terri ever go there with me. So things languished on for a while, as it did for my other peers. With only a bicycle as a set of wheels, my options were definitely limited.
But there were always the parties and the school dances. There was a second party a month or so after the party where Terri and I first hooked up. The home where this party was held was very large, with lots of places to smooch in relative privacy. I don’t ever recall seeing the parents. They were there, locked in their own bedroom watching Johnny Carson I suppose. It was a very small party with maybe five couples altogether. Terri and I danced, rubbing up against each other while dueling with our tongues. The girl who was giving the party was on a sofa, lip locked with her boyfriend who had a hand up her blouse. The others, I don’t really remember other than that they were there. Terri and I saw what was happening on the couch.
Taking my hand, Terri said, “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where?” I dumbly asked.
“Outside?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Out on the patio, there was no one around. We kissed and then Terri took my hand and put it on her breast. Well! I wasn’t going to say, ‘no’. We found a redwood chase lounge and settled in for a heavy petting session.
In no time, I had her blouse open, her bra loose and pushed over her tits. Those tits! Holy smokes! What tits! For the first time my eyes feasted on those magnificent orbs. Big, round tits and firm, capped with thick dusky pink nipples and wide aureoles. Tits made for some touchie-feelie. Tits made for sucking. Tits made for face wallowing. Big tits made for tittie fucking. My mouth latched onto a fat rubbery nipple. Little did I know at the time just how many times over the next few years would my mouth suckle on those nips.
She only said ‘no’ when my hand slid up her skirt, between her legs and pressed into her panty-covered pussy. Even so, she let my hand stay there, trapped between her tightly squeezed thighs, but still worming around. All too soon it was time to go home as Mr. Bradford came to pick us up. By that time her nipples had swollen appreciably. And it was early! Almost an hour early. Of course I couldn’t say anything. On the ride home, Terri sat between her father and me. I couldn’t help but wonder if he picked up on her aroused state, but he didn’t say anything to me. He just dropped me off and that was that.
I expected that Mr. Bradford would say something to me the
next time I was over, but he didn’t mention anything. In fact, he invited me to
go sailing with them on Saturday.
To be continued...
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