Heads, Aches

by bluepervina - © 2007

( MF, Mf suggested, nc, ws, enem )

Maybe it was her skirt that day. A new one. Her ass hanging out. Her thong up in there somewhere, marinating, waiting for that long, slow, sticky peel.

Fuck. I'm drifting already! Getting ahead. A head. In her mouth. My head. That's what I was fucking thinking about just then, when she walked by me that morning.

Hands in my pockets, swear to God, I had to do the secret dick-shift thing that's obvious as hell. But my cock got fat instantly, from the first second of laying eyes on her. Chub, chub, chub. I needed relief!

So I got my shit straightened out (like my boyz would say, yo), and she was right there, passing by, before I could even say a hello or a good morning or a holy shit bitch are you FINE or what?!

No, nothing came outta me except more wood. Damn thing sprouted like it rarely ever did before, to the point that I knew she would see it. If she'd only look down, just a glance, just a peek... she'd fucking see it.

But being at work, you know, my pants were all zipped up and I was appropriately doing my thing. She was just walking on her way to somewhere else, not to visit with me, so I was really like another part of the wall, I guess. Because she didn't look down. Didn't even blink.

Me there forearms-deep into my pockets, kind of hunching a bit but still playing it cool, no that isn't a ballistic missile in my pants, sweetheart. I'm just an older guy, you know, osteoperosisized or whatever.

But it didn't matter. She just bounced on down the hall and out of my day.

Fuck. Now I had another night of fucking my fist and listening to the wife snore off her latest bottle of wine. I had that hallway to myself just long enough to say it out loud, you know? "Fuck."

And then I grabbed it from the outside and gave it the right kind of tug. You know. Flash of good. Pinch of bad. And get it in a groove.

It was tough not to go down to the bathroom, right then, and do the job proper. But I was supposed to be busy. Workee-payee.

Fuck.

Thirty kids in that room, waiting on me, and sooner or later I always had to go in. Every day the same. Take that step. Turn, lift the foot, go in. Get. In. There. Do your fucking job, asshole. And don't hate them. Hate their parents. Not them. Not them.

Teaching's like that. At least it was for me. Every damn day - every period - every minute. The same test of my willpower. My muscle control.

It wasn't my dream job.

But that's how I met her, so it was worth all the rest of the bullshit. Because she was there. She walked by me every day. Her ass less than three fucking feet from me. That kept me going.

Other girls in the school were hot, yeah, but not like her. I had it all worked out with her. In my head. No other girl just snapped right in there like that. She fucking lived in me and I hadn't done a damn thing to put her there, you know? One look. Boom! She's in.

Yeah, not a bad way to go crazy. I got to admit.

So all the time I would get her tits in my mouth, just chewing her thick little nipples enough, just perfectly enough, to make juice run right out her hole, right down those long legs to the floor. I puddled her. I titty-sucked her and soaked those sweet-stanked panties of hers and had her grabbing at my belt buckle. God. Right there in the fucking hall.

If only.

But that's where I went. After the ass. Those breasts.

I couldn't go in until I stood there - fuck them still not in their desks, texting like retarded Gameboy addicts and talking loud enough to almost (almost) distract me from my task - getting it in my head, just one more time after the million times before, what I would do with those impossibly round, heavy-looking, high-on-her-chest titties.

She only had them pierced when I was at home, though. There in the hall at school those little gold rings in her nipples would be too much. I really would have to stagger down to the bathroom. Rip 'em down and rope my jizz all over that stall door, you know?

In my head, God, her pierced titties would kill me if I let them in like that. I'd have a fucking heart attack. Or probably some kid would be taking a shit or calling his dealer in the stall right next to me. That would be all I needed. Good bye. Pervert teacher unmasked! Shocking details at 11.

Fuck.

*****

Wife before she drinks, she's OK. Heavier, thicker, but nasty and knows my spots, right? But that bottle's her favorite boy now, so I got to get to her early, before she gives vino that first little kiss.

I got home that day. Jumped her same as always. Ten minutes got by us and I was sweaty and sticky - should have been putting that girl to sleep for a while in my head by then. But she didn't go away. Still there strong as ever.

And my cock just wouldn't go down.

Caught my wife again. In the kitchen three sips into it. I took her right down to the floor. She was pissed. For show. For vino. "Jesus Christ" and all that went flying around the place for a minute. Then I flipped her. Got the mouth of that bottle just right. The perfect angle. Then I tipped it, real quick. And pushed.

Bottle neck right up her ass. Wine wine wine wine wine gone. And my lushy bitch was nothing but quiet. Still. Feeling it. I mean it. Feeling it.

Got her mouth then. I figured she still wanted to suck something down on that end, right? Might as well be me, since I went and cut out the middle man.

Cum. Half a bladder of piss. She was a professional drinker. I knew she could take it as good as ever. And she did.

The rest of my kidney cocktail I gave to her hair and that spot right above her left eyebrow where she's got this red freckle that bugs the shit out of me.

She didn't get up, either. Just fell asleep after a little bit. Fucked up beyond all self-respect. As usual.

She's drunk bottles with her ass at least once a week now ever since. At least that I know about. She gets Fridays off. Maybe that's a regular play date for her and vino and he's ass-fucking her even more? And what do I fucking care, right? She's always been a happy drunk. Very serious about drinking, but happy about me. So I like. And we fuck.

And I get the girl out of my head for a while each day.

But that day no. Not even after the kitchen.

*****

I went out on the bike. Not a Harley, goddammit. Who the hell do you think I am?

No. I went out on my training bike. My 15-billion-speeds triathlon ultralite bike with way too fucking many sprockets and gears and weird places to put bottles and gps and half a fucking toolbox. That was my bike. For the triathlons I'd never get around to doing. But I had the bike.

And on my bike, five miles later, there she was.

Convenience store. Coming out. Cigarettes just disappeared into her little purse. Red Bull gone in a gulp. Fuck.

Her ride, an older kid. Of course. He was smoking without shame, hanging his hand out the window with ash off the cig-tip so long I could see it from a block away. What a master, that guy. But he drove something he couldn't afford without drugs or rich parents. And no tattoos I could see, closer I got. So she was slutting with richboy, more than likely. Not a deadend dealerboy.

This one part of me got the warm fuzzies for like a second over all that parental-protective shit. And then my head again, wacking me right back out. I'm yanking him. Jerking richboy off his lazy ass. Right out of his seat. I'm driving her to fucking Mars. Her mouth's on me. I'm flooring it to 220 and gaining altitude.

Fuck.

I stood there straddling my bike right next to them. She knew I was there. Had to. She got in the car and looked right at me. I had my helmet off by then. Had my racing tights on. My chest like a fucking mountain. I was praying that. My thighs under that spandex, yeah, like fucking rocks.

And my chub chub chub chub.

And nothing I could fucking do.

Then "Whatever". His voice. Pissed. Cigarette flying.

She's back out of the car. Two seconds later, nasty screaming tires. The car's gone.

"Nice bike, Mr. Ferguson."

"Oh. Yeah." She knew my name. I could've come right then. But a split second later... duh. Of course she knew my name. I fucking taught at her school. "That's me - I mean, uh, thanks."

Smooth, Mr. Mountainchest. Stupid sure is charming. Especially in professional educators. In spandex. With wood you could see from outer space.

But she shook her hair out a little and just nodded. Staring at my bike. Staring at my cock.

"Nice. Nice bike." Well now who was going stupid? What the hell?

"Yeah. Thanks again."

"I never say hi to you at school, do I?"

"No. It's OK though."

"But you say it to me. Every day."

"Yeah."

"Jenny has you second block."

"Oh yeah. I got her then."

"She likes your class."

"Really? That's cool."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"So 'hi', I guess."

"Hi."

She got all "sorry" this and that about richboy. Me seeing their breakup and all that. But she hadn't planned it for then. She'd seen me, though.

"So I knew it'd be all right. Dumping him right then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I knew you'd take care of him if you had to."

"Damn right."

Her house was wherever. She never got around to that. Didn't seem to care. We just talked.

I had her ass around my nose. Her thong wrapped around my cock. She squeezed her own tits. Bending over. Giving those holes to me.

Meanwhile I just listened. Nodded. Watched the whore-her in my head. Fucking me. Oh... yeah... what a bouncy little cowgirl....

God - don't stare at her breasts! Don't rearrange yourself! Fight the urge to push it a little left. Damn spandex and me standing there only half there really. But she didn't know it yet.

There was too much of it all. It was too real with her right there.

I had precum - fucking cocksmear! - staining through at the head.

It was only a matter of time. Goddammit. News at 11.

I was pedalling finally. Woke up. Made my escape.

Or tried to.

"Gotta go. Five miles more. You know."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Then grading papers. So fun."

"Yeah. Hey -"

"Say what?" I was out to the street by then. Fifty feet from her. My cleats were in good. The pedals were ready for some real work, for once. I had to ride her out of me. Had to get to it fast. Else I'd be jacking off behind some bushes real soon. News at 11.

Fuck.

"Well. I don't know. Forget it."

I was turned around. Heading back. Standing in my stirrups. Legs of steel, baby. Cock and stain and shame, right out there in front. For her.

Just look at it. I don't care. I'm gonna fucking tear out of here and climb a tree. Fuck a squirrel. Fuck a bird's nest. Fuck it all.

I was too far gone. Too horny. Way too hard. I didn't care. And besides, we weren't in that hallway anymore. And fuck the news.

"Well, you know, I'm old enough."

"What?"

"I am. That's all."

"What?"

"You know. I see it."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So I'm old enough."

"No. Not really."

"Yeah. I am."

"Sweetheart. No."

"You don't believe me."

"No no no that's not it." Fuck.

"Well. What?! I. See. It."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be."

"Well I am."

"Whatever."

"You're just-"

"No I'm NOT."

"Yes you-"

"No I'm fucking NOT!"

"Hey. Sweetheart, settle down."

"No I won't. I SEE IT RIGHT THERE DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"God! Be quiet! Please!"

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to do? Huh?"

"About what?"

"Oh my God mister. Jesus."

"Listen, I'm just going to turn around and-"

"I think you're hot."

"What?"

"I think you're hot, OK?"

"Well thanks."

"Jenny talks about you all the time and she thinks you're hot too and I just get too shy to say hi back is all. Fuck. Sorry."

"No. It's all right."

"You're like so cool."

"Sweetheart. Come on. I just stand there in the hall."

"No. No you don't. You don't just stand there."

"Well, I'm not Mr. Awesome Teacher Changing Lives in the classroom, I'll tell you that. I don't know what Jenny says I do in there... but really. It's not much."

"No, not your classroom. Your looks. Your looks at me. The way you watch me. That's cool."

"I'm sorry I stare."

"No. It's totally OK. I love it. I really really love it."

"You do?"

"Yeah. It makes me so wet, mister. I get so so so wet because of you."

"You do?"

"Yeah I do. Every day I walk by and you stare and smile and say hi and I just about fall down trying to walk away 'cos I know what you're watching and I want to walk so good for you. Oh God I can't believe I'm really telling you all this!"

"You don't have to-"

"Yeah I do! It feels so awesome to like talk with you like real talking like what I think about all the time, you know? Like a thing we have together. Like a couple. Talking and doing stuff. You know. I think about it all the time. I just could never do it at school. God. I'd die talking to you there."

"Sweetheart, you really don't ha-"

"Yeah I do! I do! I want to do it. It's like all I've thought about all year. No matter which boy comes down from the high school and picks me up, you know? It's you driving. It's you. Kissing me. You know. Touching me."

"Please don't tell me any-"

"Anymore about what? About fucking those boys? About wanting to fuck you? Why not? The way you look at me every day - how else am I supposed to feel? Why wouldn't I like being wanted so bad like that? Do you know how it makes me feel? Do you know how happy you make me, just smiling at me and showing me how pretty and sexy I am? God!"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop it! Just stop it! Why is it wrong? Why? Why can't I love you? Why can't I love how you act so shy and so nice and so sexy and cool just standing there? Why can't I want to fuck you?"

"Because it's against the l-"

"I don't care!"

Fuck. Right in front of the convenience store and like fifty people watching. I swear. They were already selling the snacks inside. It was perfect. Made for fucking TV.

I had to go.

Pedalling that hard never hurt any sweeter than that day. And she screamed after me for at least five blocks. Then traffic was too loud to hear her anymore. But my cock still could, I guess. It still pushed and strained to get a better feel. For the air. Her vibrations on that hot, rushing air.

Five miles at the speed of lust. That's what I did. Five miles in a single throb.

*****

Got home. Fucked the wife. Again.

She was on the couch by then. Still naked. Still a little damp. Stank.

In the kitchen: performance art. Splatters of wine-brown sewage streaked across the linoleum. A couple larger chunks of wet, melty excrement reigned over the largest puddle of waste, near the centermost spot on the floor. That was the plop point, I guess. The farthest her spasming colon could shit-spit.

No way I was cleaning that. Besides, wife knew she was sloppy. She had no problems taking repsonsibility and cleaning up after herself. Usually the proof of it wasn't that dramatically painted halfway across our breakfast nook, though, but I figured she'd still mop up.

Anyway, so got to her on the couch, and she was out. Heavily done in. Snoring. Drooling a bit. But I pushed my dick in anyway. Not like it was the first time. Not for that. She didn't care. Like I said.

And next morning, I'm sick. At least that's what the sub heard. I even coughed. Stayed home. Watched wife stagger off to work, rolling her eyes at me. The mess I made. It took her an extra hour to get ready. What the hell had gotten into me?

Ah. Ages old, that one.

And what was still in me, after all? That was the thing. What wasn't going to ever go away?

And what could I ever do about it?

*****

Ninety-four minutes later. Doorbell.

There she was.

Coming off the bus at school, she hadn't seen my car in the lot.

She snuck off campus. Never made it past her locker. Walked straight to my house.

Good little girl had done some homework, it seemed. She'd been prepared, had the right knowledge, put it to use. She stood there in my doorway just smiling.

Fuck.

by bluepervina, © 2007

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