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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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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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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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