HOMEEd's First Taste of Minxi
[ MF, scat, ws, oral, exhib, college ]
by Ed Stercus, © 2011, all rights reserved
edere.stercus@gmail.com – please email us and
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We're trying to figure out how much we actually remember about who said what, and how, and when. It's a little weird to try to recreate conversations, but hopefully it'll come out close to the way it really was. The gist of it all is there, though. That's the important part, as far as we're concerned!
We didn't make it all the way back to the dorm.
For one thing, Minxi was messy. Her hair was wet with piss, there was semen still globbed onto the back of her head, and she was hungry.
Closer to us than the dorm was a Denny's, replete with a fully-functional women's restroom. Minxi simply walked off campus, across the big intersection, and into the harsh florescence like she went there all the time. I trailed after her like the hungry puppy I was and waited in a booth while she cleaned up in the bathroom.
Coming back out, Minxi was like a different person - new shirt, hair clean and dry, makeup on, and a wicked little smile. She slid into the booth beside me, cuddling up, kissing me long and deep. Her hand found my crotch and rubbed. A lot. Then the waitress walked up.
“Minxi, cut it out,” the waitress hissed, laying out two glasses of water. “You know George don't like you comin' round with tricks.”
Minxi calmly withdrew her hand out of my shorts and explained that I wasn't a trick. I was her new boyfriend. Maybe. “If he'll have me...” she looked at me all sidelong and pouty. I grinned, nodded, and held out my hand to the waitress. “I'm Ed.”
“Well. I'm shocked,” shrugged the waitress, shaking my hand quickly and dishing out menus. “Hope you know what you're getting into with this girl.”
What I got into, less than a minute later, was Minxi's panties. She grabbed my hand and guided it under the waistband and right into her dripping slit, where I diligently worked to bring her off as we both pretended to study the menu. She hardly made a sound, but her ass would not stop wiggling, and she slid farther and farther down in the seat until she was practically under the table.
When she'd had enough she straightened back up, withdrew my hand, and lovingly licked and sucked herself off my fingers, still wiggling her ass all around on the seat. The waitress wandered back by about the time Minxi had gotten to my ring finger, and she shook her head at us in disgust.
“Really, y'all, George is getting pissed. People here ain't all drunk and horny, you know. This is a restaurant.”
Minxi shrugged and ordered for us – pancakes and bacon on the side, with coffee – and we waited with our tongues hard at work, but we took care to be respectful and kept our hands off each other. The food came in record time. Clearly this George guy wanted us gone soon, but not until we'd ordered, eaten, and paid.
“I wanted to see you again,” Minxi told me, in between bites, still wiggling a little. “It was hard not to force it, you know? I figured it would happen when it would happen, if it was meant to be. And look -” she grinned, popping a syrupy forkful of pancake into my mouth, “here you are!”
As an aside, you should know that both of us firmly believe in soul mates, and we know that's what we are for each other. That night in the Denny's though, it was more like the flush of infatuation. There was a spark, a heat, a throbbing undeniable sense of something building up between us. All I knew was that Minxi was hot and she was wild and she liked me. I liked being liked by a girl like her.
We were nearly finished cleaning the plate when Minxi leaned over against me and reached again for my shorts, this time snapping the fly open and pulling the front of my boxers away from my waist. As I sat very still, entranced, she slowly tipped the bottle of maple syrup and let it drizzle all over my semi-hard cock and balls. “That's a little something for me later,” she whispered, placing the bottle back on the table and letting my boxers go with a snap. “I've already got a little something special ready for you...”
Crossing back to campus was a small adventure in discomfort. Ever try walking with a crotch covered in maple syrup? I had every hair either sticking or pulling in the worst way, and it itched, too. A sludge-like trail of it was gumming its way down my inner thighs. Minxi had my hand in hers, leading me on, looking back at me a lot and smiling in her wicked way.
On the other side of the northeast quad, halfway to the dorm, Minxi turned and led me behind a row of brick buildings, darkened classrooms and professorial offices. It was the philosophy, religion, and anthropology department buildings. Minxi had a key. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know what she studied. Obviously, I was being presented with a pretty big clue. It was, however, the wrong time to ask questions. I just let her drag me on.
Up some steps in the dark, down a hall, around a corner, more steps, sticky stuff driving me crazy, me walking with my legs all akimbo, trying to unstick my balls from my groin, her laughing and squeezing my hand – Minxi was like the white rabbit leading me down into her hole.
“And here we are!” It was a small office. Her name was on the door, along with another graduate student's. “This is my little haven,” she declared, tossing her backpack on one of the two desks and walking toward the far corner, where she opened a narrow door. “In here,” she gestured, stepping out of her flip flops. “This is it.”
I went in ahead of her, puzzled. It was a bathroom. A very small bathroom. She flipped the switch and a bare yellow bulb flickered on overhead. I turned and Minxi was undressing. She was already down to just her shorts. Her beautiful small breasts were turned up and ready for me, the nipples long and stiff. I bent and sucked and stroked them. She moaned.
“Did you notice?” she asked, running her hands through my hair. “Your fingers? Did you ever notice how they smelled? After you frigged me in the restaurant?”
I grunted in the negative, transfixed by her dusty, freckled skin, the thin sheen of sweat on her breastbone, the light hairs curling all over her areolae. She pulled one of my hands down into her panties again.
“Feel me again, baby,” she crooned. And I did. She was drenched.
Turning, she pulled my face away and pressed her back against me. I kissed her neck and shoulders and ran one hand all over her breasts, while with the other I continued to stroke her engorged, sopping pussy. She reached between us, into the back of her shorts, and dug around for a moment. Withdrawing her hand, she turned and stared deep into my eyes, raising her fingers.
“Sniff,” she commanded. And I did. Then I looked. Her fingers were smeared with brown. My heart rose into my throat. I'd only ever tasted my own and a few other boys' shit – it was a natural by-product of queer fucking a lot of times, of course. It took some getting used-to, more for some guys than for others, but I was always one who honestly liked a shitty dick in my mouth. I always loved tasting my own, long before that. I'd been doing it off and on since I was a kid. But a girl's? Never! It was almost more than my imagination could handle. A girl's shit? A silly part of me really did wonder for a moment if it would even remotely taste like a boy's, like my own.
“Taste,” she murmured, almost breathless. And I did. I opened my mouth and she stuck her two dirty fingers right onto my tongue. I sucked and sucked and swallowed, suddenly dizzy, my knees threatening to buckle. The rush, as always, was intense. Amazing. Feral. Intoxicating.
When it was clear that her fingers were all clean, she took them out of my mouth and kissed me, long and hard. “Did you like that?” she finally asked. I nodded.
“Good,” she purred, pulling down her shorts and panties in one sweep and kicking them aside. “I made a little something for you while I was in that bathroom at Denny's.” She turned away from me and leaned her arms and chest against the opposite wall. “I wasn't feeling crusty enough down there from this morning, so I decided to do a little more.”
She spread her feet far apart and pushed her rump toward me. Completely naked, Minxi's narrow hips gave way to a nicely flared, heart-shaped ass, with a deep, dark crack between. I glanced at her discarded panties and saw a thick pasting of turd. Bending forward, spreading her apart, I inhaled the deep, rich, wonderful scent of the rest of that shit, packed up in between her smooth white cheeks.
“Will you lick my dirty ass?” she asked, in she sweetest, nastiest kind of way.
I was on my knees. Breathing. Leaning closer.
“Can you eat my shit?” she asked, with just a touch more authority.
I stuck out my tongue. I ran it up, one time, over the length of the turd smeared against her anus.
“That's it,” she urged. “That's a good boy. Now swallow and go back for more. Come on. You can do it.”
And I did. I pressed my face into the crack of her ass. I snorted. I sucked. I swallowed. I wallowed back there, munching, gnawing, getting at all of it. Holding her ass apart I feasted, out of my head with the seeming wrongness of it – and yet stricken deep in my soul with how undeniably right it felt, nonetheless.
I definitely loved girl-shit!
When I finished Minxi turned, patted my head, and knelt before me. She picked up her panties and held them between us.
“See,” she said, bringing them to her mouth, licking the half-dried mass until her tongue was brown and gooey. “I knew you'd like it, too. I don't know how, but I could tell.”
She put her teeth into the turd then and began chewing it off the fabric in large chunks. Every now and then she offered me a bite, which I gladly took. Soon her panties were forgotten, gnawed “clean” and cast aside. We pressed against each other kissing, tongues tasting her shit, moaning and groaning.
I finally stood and let her pull down my shorts and my boxers, setting free my syrup-coated genitals. She happily slurped and sucked until her saliva was all that was left on my glistening skin. She took me deeper into her throat than any woman or man has ever done, and when I came she let me hold her face hard against my crotch, let me pump rope after rope down into her gullet, while she held her arms limp and fluttering at her side, tears in her eyes, looking up at me happily.
When she finally pulled off me, coughing, a long thick rope of semen-laced drool running onto her glistening tits. She rocked onto her buttocks, lying back on her elbows, and spread her feet apart. I thought it was time to mount, so I moved down toward her, not sure I was still hard enough, but willing to try.
“No, silly,” she chuckled, raising a foot against my chest and pushing me back. I went upright on my knees again, confused. Then she lowered her foot and pointed at her face.
“Piss,” she said. “I want your piss.” She opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue to demonstrate. “I want to drink it. I want it all over me, OK? Do you got any?”
I did. She moaned and writhed and wiped my urine all over herself, even sitting up at the end and soaking her short dark hair in it.
When I finished soaking her she hopped up and gave me a shower of my own. Her urine was hot and strong, and I struggled to swallow as much as I could. It came down in such a heavy torrent! She just laughed and wiggled her hips over me, stinging my eyes, getting it up my nose, drenching me good.
Then we fucked. I'd love to say it was some kind of transformative experience, too, but it was really just a good old missionary-style pounding. She hooked her feet up behind my head and let me get into her good and deep, and I came again as she squealed and bucked up against me, laughing at the piss running out of my hair and onto her face, and how she had to squint through one eye to see anything at all.
Soon Minxi showed me the little storage cabinet with the cleaning supplies, so we got to work. Then we took turns in the tiny shower and dried each other off with the one yellowing towel that hung off the half-broken peg on the back of the door. Then we kissed again. Then we fucked again.
It was after 4 AM when we finally got back to the dorm.
As our relationship developed, I found out that Minxi had gone to see Annie Sprinkle's show a few years before, and it had changed her life. She had already become a particular type of fringe feminist, but from that point on - between Annie Sprinkle and all the Suzie Bright she started getting into - I guess you could say I came across her right when her storm really needed to break. The whoring hadn't satisfied her, and she was wanting … something else … and it turned out I was it.
Let me know if you liked it! That would be great.
- Ed
by Ed Stercus, © 2011, all rights reserved
edere.stercus@gmail.com – please email us and let us know if you like our stories!
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