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Subject: {ASSM} {ASSD} Writing Duel - McCoy vs McN -- Frank McCoy: Old-Fashioned (MF Oral Cons)
Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2003 06:10:06 -0400
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To: Cyber-Surfer@cox-internet.com
Subject: Story: "Old-Fashioned"
From: Frank McCoy <mccoyf@millcomm.com>
Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2003 00:26:01 -0500

It's now, 12:24.
One minute less than an hour
Here's the story:


And here's Frank's Entry

                        Old-fashioned
                              
     A  pinafore.  A bloody *pinafore*!!!  It was bad enough
that  Mom had stuck me in this bloody dress, but a pinafore?
Pinafores were for *kids* even in the *old* days.  I was  an
*adult* now ... almost 18, and she insists I wear not only a
dress, but clunky *oxford* shoes, with real leather,  and  a
...  a  ...  a  stupid kids *apron* that  even  little  kids
haven't  worn  for the last hundred years or so!   Everybody
would laugh at me.
     But there's no arguing with Mom.  If I was going to  be
allowed to go to the dance, it was this way or nothing.  I'd
have  selected  "nothing", only three girls  in  the  Senior
Class last year had gone to this same dance ... and had come
back with the *dreamiest* dates anybody had ever seen.   Not
from around here, that's for sure.  Most of the guys in high-
school  in  Middleton  were about  as  dorky  as  you  could
imagine; thinking guzzling beer on a balcony was the  height
of  macho  "guyness", and that any girl who  had  any  sense
would fall all over herself to let him into her pants.
     Pants ....
     THAT  is  what women wore these days.  Pants-suits,  at
the very least.  Even if a gal wanted to dress up to attract
men, it was in shorts, not some dorky dress.  Even if it WAS
a  dress, it wasn't some full ankle-length travesty like Mom
had  drug  up  from  someplace; and certainly  no  girl  who
respected  her reputation would be seen dead with  a  stupid
apron  ...  well OK, pinafore over the top.   That  was  for
*little* girls to wear, to look cute in.
     Cute ....
     I  looked  again in the mirror; and agreed I  did  look
cute.   The dress flared out in a fetching array.   Flopping
back,  I did have to agree that the puff of the middle  made
my  hips  and  bust  look ... well,  attractive.   For  some
reason,  my butt didn't stick out like I thought  it  would.
Without the stupid pinafore, I might even look sexy.  As  it
was, I just looked ... cute.
     Damn, Mom.
     Oh  shit.  Now I was going to have to remember to  tell
Father  Francis  about cursing my own  mother  at  the  next
Confession.    Even  saying  "shit"  wasn't   "something   a
respectful daughter would do."  Yeah, right.
     "Are you ready, Dear?"
     Mom  bustled  into  the  room wearing  an  outfit  that
matched mine except in color.  Where my dress was deep blue,
with  pinkish pinafore, Mom's was silky red with pale  green
apronish overgarment.  I giggled a bit; realizing Mom looked
almost like a Christmas Tree Ornament.
     "Your father and I have been ready for fifteen minutes.
We'll get on the way as soon as you're ready."
     "I'm  ready,"  I  grumped.  No point in belaboring  the
point.   Mom and I had this out days earlier.  If it  wasn't
that  I'd  never explain why I chickened out  to  the  other
girls  in  class ... especially Mary Kendecker ... I'd  have
jumped ship before now.
     
     "Oh  a capital ship for an ocean trip, is The Walloping
Window-Blind!"
     
     Oh  God.   It  was  bad enough *wearing*  this  outfit,
without  Dad rubbing it in by singing a tune from G&S.  "HMS
Pinafore!"
     I looked over at Dad, and my jaw dropped.  THIS was Dad
... the guy who took me to soccer, dance-lessons, bounced me
on his knee, and kissed "His Angel" goodnight when I went to
sleep?   This  ... This *gentleman*?  Polished  black  shoes
that  you  could  see your reflection in, black  pants  with
razor-sharp  creases, black form-fitting jacket that  showed
off  his muscles somehow, black TIE?, and even (Good  Lord!)
black top hat?
     "If Miladies are ready," Dad bowed to each of us, "then
may  I  have  the  honor  of escorting  two  such  beautiful
creatures to the carriage that awaits?"
     My  jaw  dropped; but I found myself offering my  right
arm, while Mom offered her left.  Somehow Dad got us both to
the  car,  opened the door for each of us, and  held  out  a
steadying  arm  as we each got in, before closing  the  door
behind  each of us.  I got the back seat; but it  felt  more
like  I  was being chauffeured to the dance than just riding
in the back seat of the Family Jalopy.
     
     The  drive took a long time, it seemed.  It was  all  I
could do to keep from squirming around in the back seat  and
wrinkling my dress.  A silky material like that shouldn't be
mistreated ... especially not if I was hoping to  meet  some
hunky guys like Sandy Malone brought home last year.
     
     I couldn't believe the place when we got there.  Places
like  those  just  don't exist outside  of  movie  sets  and
palaces for royalty.  A stone wall with iron gate was opened
automatically  when  the  car pulled  up.   A  long  curving
driveway  led through tall trees and gardens to a  staircase
where  other cars were unloading and smartly dressed  valets
were  taking them away to some hidden parking area.  I  felt
about  as  out-of-place as a beggar off the  street  in  the
White House.
     "If your company will head this way?" invited a butler-
type  that looked too good to be from anyplace but a casting
agency.   "Your  tables are ready, and  the  party  will  be
starting in about half an hour."
     Party?  Tables?  I thought it was just a dance.
     Somehow  I  found  myself seated at an  enormous  round
table, with two other families.  One had a pretty young girl
about  my  age, also wearing a long dress (but no  pinafore)
and  the  other held two adults and two boys ...  well,  men
actually,  in outfits that almost matched Dad's, button-for-
button.   Well,  at least I wasn't the *only* person  forced
into uncomfortable clothing for this shindig.
     For  the next hour, things got pretty predictable.  I'd
been  to  fancy  parties before ... just not  *this*  fancy.
Some bigwig, dressed up in a similar but even fancier monkey-
suit  to  what Dad was wearing got up and gave some kind  of
speech about "proper" men and women, "seeing to it that  our
children  are  brought up right" and similar  bilge  I  hear
almost  every day down at school.  I tuned it out and scoped
out the scenery.  Scenery ... You know ... The boys.
     The  two  sitting at the table with us  may  have  been
picked  as  a match; with two boys and two girls;  but  they
didn't  interest me.  Especially as both of them  seemed  to
have  their eyeballs glued to the girl (her name  I  learned
was  Katie) sitting next to me.  The girl's dress had a deep
`V'  down the front; showing off cleavage that I just  don't
have  ...  yet.   Even if I did, this fucking  (forgive  the
language)  dress was cut square across the top to match  the
idiotic  pinafore.   I  shook  my  head.   Boys  were   boys
everywhere  it  seemed, even here.  They all  had  only  one
thing in mind.
     For a second I felt a hot flush as I imagined just what
those  two  boys  would like to do with that not-so-innocent
girl  batting her eyes at them.  And then I thought of  what
SHE seemed to be eager for, and a hot sticky wetness flooded
me down below.
     Oh *shit*!
     I suddenly realized I wasn't wearing panties under that
dress.   I had intended to ... really I had.  A "nice"  girl
like   me   just  doesn't  wear  a  dress  without   panties
underneath.   While I wasn't exactly a virgin  any  more,  I
still  thought  of  myself as a "nice  girl".   I  wasn't  a
"Rachel Roundheels" who would trip a guy and beat him to the
ground.  I didn't *need* to go begging for sex by teasing  a
guy  by  wearing no panties.  Only in the fluster of wearing
this  outfit  and the fact that I wasn't *used*  to  wearing
long dresses, had made me forget to put them on.
     I  often didn't wear panties when wearing pants or even
shorts.  On silky pants, the "panty-line" often showed;  and
on  shorts,  there's nothing as embarrassing as having  your
"unmentionables" stick out the sides or edges  where  you've
carefully frayed the material until it *looks* ready to fall
off and spill your bare ass out for everybody to see.  A gal
has  to  be  in fashion, even if she isn't out trolling  for
men, you know.
     Damn.  At least nobody here would know ... and besides,
the panty-line wouldn't show on my dress, now that I thought
about  it.  I almost managed to convince myself it  omission
was deliberate.  Almost.
     Still,  just the idea I was naked underneath this  thin
dress  with  only the silky fabric and stupid apron  keeping
people from knowing how bare I was underneath it, got me hot
and  slippery.  Geesh ... You'd think I'd never gone without
panties before.
     Once,  when  we lived in the country for a  while,  out
where,  "The  foot of man never trod, and  the  Eye  of  God
seldom saw," I used to go around naked in the outback  area.
Nobody  ever  saw me, and I sometimes walked  around  naked,
exploring the woods and hills for hours.  But that had  been
back  when  I  was about ten years old until  I  got  to  be
fourteen or so.  YEARS ago.  Now I doubt I'd have the nerve.
But being naked ... even in front of a guy, wasn't something
new for me.  Being naked (or just FEELING naked) in front of
a spiffy crowd like this however ....
     I'm  not sure if it was more frightening, or incredibly
sexy!
     I  looked  over to the table next to me and saw  a  guy
smiling at me, as if he could read every thought I  had.   I
must  have blushed beet-red, as my ears felt on fire and  my
eyes watered.
     The guy grinned back, and sent a significant glance  at
Katie next to me, who had somehow become an incredible flirt
while  I  was  distracted; oohing and  ahing  and  breathing
deeply  to  thrust  her  bosom up  and  almost  out  of  the
restraints that barely held the girl's dress together.
     I couldn't help but grin back and roll my eyes.
     I'm  not quite sure *what* it was we ate there ... Some
kind of brown meat-dish that tasted incredibly good, a half-
potato  with something green sprinkled on it, a vegetable  I
didn't  recognize, and a sticky-sweet chocolate pudding-type
of  desert.  I wasn't really paying attention.  My mind  was
too  much on the laughing eyes of the young man at the  next
table,  and how we both were giggling and snickering  behind
the backs of the company at each of our tables.
     It wasn't any surprise when the chairs were pushed back
and  music started up that the guy hurried over to my  table
and pulled out my chair to help me get up.  "May I have this
dance, Miss?" he asked, oh-so-formally.
     "Sandy.  And I'd be delighted," I murmured; holding  up
my left hand for him to take, like I'd seen done in some old-
fashioned movies.
     "My  delight, I'm sure," he replied; taking my hand  in
both  of his and touching the barest tip of my fingers  with
his  lips  in a gesture I hadn't thought existed outside  of
movies about life several hundred years ago.  "You can  call
me Tom ... as in Tom Catt."
     Again  I  blushed.  Just the touch of his  lips  on  my
fingers felt more erotic than some guys putting their pricks
inside  my  body.  Hell ... it made me feel  more  turned-on
than  the  time  Celine  had taught  me  what  tongues  were
*really* for.  I'm no lesbian and neither is she; but  Celly
showed  me  why some women are.  If I ever get a *permanent*
guy,  I'm going to teach him some of the trick Celly  taught
me  ... Or we just won't remain permanent. Partners.  Still,
I  understand that while *some* jerks won't ever  put  their
mouth's  "down  there" on a woman, while  expecting  her  to
slobber their bones like it was a stick of candy, there  are
many guys who think a woman's vagina is fully as tasty as  I
sometimes find a guy's prick.
     Sometimes.   It's  funny, but unless the  guy  gets  me
turned  on, the thought of sucking on his icky dick is  just
...  icky.  Give me the right guy, the guy who likes me  for
ME,  not  my  hot bod, and slurping his dong is a  pleasure.
Even  making him cum and swallowing it can be fun,  just  to
see  that I have him so much in my control.  You can lead  a
guy around by his dick while sucking him, and he'll agree to
anything ... almost.
     Oh God ... Talking about dicks ... Something quite hard
and pointy was obviously making it uncomfortable for the guy
leading me around the dance-floor.  Thankfully, black pants,
black suit, and outfit hid the poor guy's swollen member, or
we both would have been embarrassed out there.
     "Maybe  we  should step outside," I murmured  into  his
ear; not believing for a moment I was being so daring with a
guy  I  had just met a few minutes earlier.  Why was  I  not
surprised when he readily agreed?
     Like two teenagers sneaking away from their parents  to
have  an  illicit tryst, we both looked guiltily around  for
watching adults; then slowly danced our way out to the patio
...  and  then  hurried down the steps  into  the  garden  I
somehow knew from too many movies would be outside.
     LIKE  two horny teenagers?  Gawd, that was exactly what
we were, and I couldn't believe what we were doing!
     "Oh  God,"  I  moaned into his ear.  "I  can't  believe
we're doing this!"  Thus putting my thoughts into words.
     Tom burrowed his head into my neck.  "Oooh, Sandy,"  he
whispered.   You  smell so *wonderful* ... that  perfume  is
something else."
     Perfume?  I *never* wore perfume.  Most of them make me
itch.  I think I'm allergic to one of the essential oils  in
most  perfumes.  Then I realized what Tom was referring  to.
Oh  God  ...  My crack was running like a faucet;  dribbling
slippery goo down my legs like I hadn't done since ... since
Tommy spilt himself inside me that time when he had promised
to  pull out.  Shithead.  Only this wasn't boy-cum, this was
ME.  Gawd, I was giving myself away.
     Tom's  muscles held me close in an embrace  I  couldn't
pull out of ... and didn't *want* to.  While I was sure he'd
release  me if I ask, the last thing in the world  I  wanted
was to move away.
     Somehow  we  found a hidden bench ... I  was  a  little
surprised  at  just  how private it  was;  with  hedges  all
around,  and  only a curved entry, as if intended  just  for
lovers  to  find  seclusion.  Then I  felt  myself  blushing
again;  realizing the bench *had* been put  there  fur  just
such  trysts.  I was sure that if I looked, I'd find several
such  hidden  nooks  by  each of the  patio  exits  ...  and
probably  more private places hidden all through the  house.
Such  decadence  ... Such attention to the  needs  of  horny
teenagers!
     I  became aware of something else ... two fingers which
had  somehow  sneaked  up  underneath  my  dress,  and  were
approaching the off-limits part of my anatomy.  It was  time
to  either stop things firmly, or accept the inevitable.  It
just  wouldn't  be FAIR to stop poor Tom,  once  I  let  him
finger me properly.
     Instead of closing my legs, pulling my skirt down,  and
telling  Tom  firmly, "NO!  Not on the first date!"  at  the
very  least,  instead  I found myself sagging  back  on  the
bench,  spreading my legs a bit, and ignoring the fact  that
my  dress  was almost to my waist and the scratchy  pinafore
was  being  pushed almost up to my face.  "Tom ...  Tom,"  I
moaned  weakly  in  protest; while still sagging  lower  and
allowing  him yet more freedom where first one and then  two
fingers  had entered my wetness.  "I don't think  we  should
...."
     "Shhh,"  he  hushed me; a finger from  his  other  hand
caressing my lips.  "You like it, don't you?"
     How  could  I  disagree?  The two, then  three  probing
digits  were stretching me so deliciously ... almost like  a
miniature  cock ... Twice as big as Tommy's, in fact.   "But
we shouldn't," I complained weakly.
     "I won't do a thing you don't want me to," he promised.
     "Oh  God."  I'm sure the Recording Angel put that  down
as a prayer.
     "Just  let  me ...," Tom directed; lifting my  dress  a
little further, to bare my midriff and bellybutton.   For  a
moment  he  stood there just staring at me ... I  felt  like
adoring me ... and blushed to be so-admired while in such  a
compromising  position.  God, you'd think  I  was  the  most
beautiful thing he'd ever saw!
     Then  Tom was pushing my legs apart.  Oh well ...  What
could  I  expect.  Here I'd practically led  him  out  here,
welcomed his advances, lifted my skirt, and spread  my  legs
for his fingers ... is it any wonder the kid wanted a little
nookie?   For  suddenly I thought of Tom as a kid  with  his
hand  caught in the cookie-jar, and my furry snatch was  the
cookie-jar.  Now wasn't the time to slam the lid  on,  after
inviting his fingers in.  <Sigh.>  Still, I had *hoped*  for
a  little  more  finesse.  I spread my  legs  even  further;
trying to hide my sigh of disappointment at the shortness of
the  foreplay.  If this ever became something more permanent
(and I wasn't sure it ever would be, if Tom came as fast  as
his  advances were) then I'd have to teach the  kid  how  to
treat  a  woman  right before sticking  it  in  and  jerking
himself off in her.
     Only  ... Only ... Only Tom didn't "stick it in".   His
pants  weren't  even unbuttoned!  I felt a slightly  stubbly
face  dip down between my legs ... and suddenly knew  Celine
was  an  amateur!  While the two of us had fun together,  we
did  each other out of friendship, NOT because "eating clam"
was  all that great a turn-on to either of us.  Tom however,
was  eating  me  like my pussy was the most delicious  thing
he'd  ever tasted, and the delight he had in tasting me  was
reflected  in  the  way he savored each tasty  drop  of  the
slippery ooze I couldn't help producing.
     Once I jerked; vaguely irritated that my orgasm was  so
soon.  Then a second time; this time clenching his face into
my  body.   The third orgasm took me completely by surprise;
and  I  was  vaguely  aware of a woman wailing  in  complete
ecstasy ... I think it was me.
     "Oh  Please, Tom," I moaned.  "Please?"  I wasn't quite
sure  what I was asking for ... Thankfully my lover was.   I
no  longer  thought of Tom as a boy.  After that  incredible
orgasm,  he  was obviously a man among men; and all  or  any
boys  I had after this would always be measured against this
one.   I  felt an insistent pressure against me "down below"
and  knew if I didn't object I was going to be fucked.  Yes,
fucked, there was no other word for it.
     However,  if  you think I was about to  object  to  Tom
putting  his  prick in me, then you're crazier  than  I  am.
Stop  him?   It was all I could do to keep from  raping  him
instead of him raping me.  This however, was far from  rape.
But it WAS fucking, plain, simple, and yet complex.
     I  felt  the man's prick slowly inch it's way  into  my
body,  as  my body stretched and then welcomed the  slippery
invader.   God, did that feel GOOD.  Out about a  half-inch,
then  in  almost two.  In out, in out, until  Tom's  swollen
member  was buried in my belly, and we both looked  down  at
the  incredibly  erotic sight of my tummy being  pushed  out
each  time  he slid in, and flattening each time  he  pulled
out.
     No,  tom  didn't have some monstrous 12"  dick  like  a
porno-star.   In fact, two of the three guys I'd  previously
had  sex  with, had bigger pricks.  But none  of  them  felt
better,  or  more in-place inside me!  It felt as  if  Tom's
penis BELONGED inside me for the rest of my life.
     In out, in out.  Oh God ... I was going to cum again!
     "Please?"  I whimpered again, "Please?"  This  time  we
both knew exactly what I wanted.
     "Oh  God,"  he moaned back; echoing my unspoken  words.
"I can't ... I don't ... Oh God."
     I  couldn't figure out what the problem was, as I  kept
pulling Tom into me harder and harder.
     "I've  GOT  to pull out," he groaned.  "It would  be  a
shame  to knock a nice kid like you up; and I don't  have  a
rubber."
     It took almost ten seconds to figure out what he meant.
Ten  wonderful seconds of glorious sex.  In, out.  In,  out.
God, it was good!  I made a firm resolution NOT to miss  out
on  such  wonderful ecstasy any more than I could  help  it.
In,  out.  In, out.  God, I was going to cum; and if  I  did
there  wasn't a chance Tom wouldn't cum too.  No guy I  ever
heard of could hold out against the squeezing tightness of a
teenager like me milking his prick in the throes of  orgasm.
I hurriedly counted the days since my last period ....
     "Do it," I finally gasped.  "Cum in me."
     "Are you *sure*?"  I knew Tom was fighting to hold back
with everything he had.
     I  nodded;  barely able to groan out an answer.   "It's
OK,"  I  assured him.  "My period was just a little  over  a
week ago, so I'm pretty safe."
     "Oh  God."  This time it was Tom's turn to moan, as  he
buried his prick in my belly.  While it was true this wasn't
my best time to conceive, there was always a chance, even in
the worst times of month.  Still, I wasn't about to make him
pull  out  when (as far as I knew) the chances  weren't  all
that good.  NEXT time we met I'd be on the pill, if I had to
browbeat Mom into it.
     A  slurp,  and  Tom's prick jerked  inside  me.   Once,
twice,  and  then I wasn't counting any more, as  my  fourth
orgasm of the night overtook me.  This time it was right ...
proper man/woman sex, with the man's prick properly belching
thick  white cum filled with sperm into the woman's  waiting
fertility.   God,  did  that  feel  good.   A  prayer,   not
something obscene.
     Damn,  it's  a  good  thing this  *wasn't*  my  fertile
period,  as  I  would have been knocked-up  for  sure.   The
resolution to have Mom get me on the pill moved up higher on
my priority-list, ahead of remembering to get laid like this
more-often.   A  baby before marriage just  was  NOT  on  my
agenda.
     Regretfully,  we both pulled apart.  A thick  river  of
white goo flowed out of my ravaged vagina for a few seconds,
then slowed to a sticky trickle.  Damn ... Neither one of us
had  a  handkerchief  in  these old-fashioned  clothes.   We
looked at each other and giggled; then Tom slipped his prick
inside  his  pants, while I dropped the long dress  over  my
leaking slit.  Hopefully, nobody would notice.
     Tom  and  I passed each other notes about phone-numbers
and  other  important things while we  headed  back  to  the
party.
     "Oh  ... THERE you two are," announced Dad, as  he  and
Mom  headed our way.  "For a moment there, we thought  you'd
gotten lost in the maze."
     "Maze?" I asked.
     "Yeah  ... The gardens were designed as a lovers' maze,
where  men and women could hide out and ... Well, you know."
Mom blushed almost as red as I did when saying that.
     I  looked closer at Mom and Dad, while a trickle of cum
slowly  slid  down  to one ankle.  Dad  looked  flushed  but
bright-eyed, while Mom ... Pure and respectable Mom ... That
was  NOT a silvery dribble sliding down HER leg, now was it?
No ... couldn't be!
     For  some reason, on the way home, even though the  car
smelled  intensely  of male cum dripping  down  my  leg  and
through  the  thin  fabric of my skirt, neither  one  of  my
parents said a word, or even asked me what I had been doing.
     
     Oh  yeah  ...  Mom got me on the pill, and  Tom  and  I
expect  to  be married next year ... right after graduation.
Tom  sleeps over now, about two times a week; and Mom  never
says a word.
     The things you don't know about your parents!
     
     

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  (_/   / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

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