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From: Spangles Muldoon <spanglesmuldoon@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Psychedelic Affair
Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2003 22:10:02 -0400
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Copyright (C) 1999,   Spangles Muldoon.  ALL Rights
Reserved

This story may not be reproduced in any form for
profit or on another website 
without the written permission of the author.  The
author may be contacted 
by writing mrdouble@mrdouble.com or
mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.

Original posting date: 
Tuesday PM, September 07, 1999

A Resident Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: affair.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com
 


The Psychedelic Affair - Part One
	By Spangles Muldoon
	Spanglesmuldoon@yahoo.com

	This story is based on some incidents that really
happened. The usual disclaimers apply. If you live
somewhere that reading this kind of thing is illegal,
I highly recommend that you move. If you are too young
to be reading this, then by all means, don't. If you
choose to ignore this and read it anyway, just
remember, I told you not to. You should be out making
your own memories instead of inside someplace reading
about mine.






	You might have called us a garage band, except that
none of us had a garage and we weren't much of a band.
We were just a group of very bored junior high guys
with no talent and big aspirations that we each knew
would never come true. We were all in a similar
situation to one degree or another. We were all stuck
in a nothing, dead end town, we were all relatively
poor, we all lived on the poor side of town, and we
were all misfits.

	Small town people, especially people our age, were
very clique-ish. There were the society people, the
jocks, the ropers, the dopers, the intellectuals, the
band dweebs, and so on. Our little gang was a clique
of our own, because we weren't accepted by any other
clique, and really didn't want to be.

	We started practicing in Kevin and Johnny's basement
one afternoon, and sort of expanded things from there.
 Johnny was the only one in the group with any real
talent. He was both a band dweeb and an intellectual.
He played drums with the band, and was really pretty
good. He could read music pretty well, and was
something of an electrical genius.

	Kevin was Johnny's older brother. To this day, Kevin
is something of an enigma. Kevin didn't fit in
anywhere, not even with the rest of the misfits. Kevin
was very nearsighted, almost to the point of being
legally blind. He had very thick glasses that he
seldom wore, electing instead to go for the "cool" and
wear Ray-Ban Wayfarer's day and night. Naturally, that
didn't help his already bad vision at all. Those
Ray-Bans were one of Kevin's two trademarks. He was
also never seen without his black leather jacket. The
rest of Kevin's wardrobe was always interesting. I
guess the best way to imagine it would be to think of
it as if Stevie Wonder selected his own wardrobe and
dressed himself. Nothing ever matched. Kevin was an
expert on absolutely everything. All you had to do was
ask him. He was an expert pool player, expert artist,
expert bass guitar player, and expert anything else
you might want to mention. At least he thought so. The
reality, of course, was different.

	I played keyboards. I had no musical training
whatsoever, and played entirely by ear. I had an old
upright piano at home that I bought fourth-hand from a
church. It was much too heavy to move, so I also had a
portable Hammond organ and a Moog synthesizer. both of
which I had bought from a pawnshop. I wasn't great on
them, but at least I was almost passable.

	Bill Pothorst was our lead guitar player. He was
another self-taught musician. He had lots of style and
flash, but no real talent. To top off our merry little
band, we had Allan Robertson. He played trombone and
clarinet. Okay.... I know. Those are not typical rock
band instruments, but we were not a typical rock band.
Besides, Allan had access to a van, and the only way
that we had access to Allan's van was to have him in
the band. We all traded off on vocals and backup
singing. Our sound was, well, decidedly different.
Between Allan and Johnny, they had tweaked our
amplifiers up to a point that was deafening. If we
weren't good, at least we could make up for it by
being loud. We called ourselves The Psychedelic
Affair.

	We really weren't good, and we certainly weren't good
enough to play anywhere in public. It was mainly just
something to do for us, something to fight off some of
the boredom. Something to dream about. It was Kevin
who changed things. He was shooting off his mouth (as
usual) to some people at the local Teen Club, a place
set up downtown to keep kids off the street, and he
volunteered us to play for a dance. It was a non-paid
gig, which, coincidentally, was substantially more
than we were worth.

	To make matters worse, he conveniently 'forgot' to
tell us about it, and we didn't find out until Allan
saw one of the signs announcing it posted downtown. We
could have killed Kevin. Not only were we not good, we
didn't even have a repertoire. We could play parts of
about a dozen songs, none of them all the way through,
and only some of them recognizable to anyone but us.
We certainly didn't know enough songs to cover three,
forty-five minute sets, which was what Kevin had set
us up for.

	Still, we were stuck. It was truly a no-win situation
for us. The dance had already been advertised, and if
we cancelled, we would look like major assholes. If we
went through with it, well, we would look like major
dip shits. We had a couple of weeks, so we decided to
bust ass and try to do it. We rehearsed every free
minute of every waking hour, including more than a
couple of marathon sessions.  By the week of the
dance, we had a solid hour of music down, some of it
almost passable. It was half what we needed, but we
planned on delaying between songs to stretch the time
out, and on doing some encores in hopes that nobody
would notice. That, combined with some solo work and
some talk between songs just might get us through
this.

	We got to the teen club at two in the afternoon, even
though we weren't supposed to start playing until nine
that night. Allen parked the van in the alley and we
unloaded and setup our equipment on the stage. We
checked and double-checked everything, then we played
our entire repertoire, trying to stretch it out as
long as possible. This was out last chance to
rehearse. We timed our performance, and managed to get
just over an hour out of it. We would have to stretch
it even more somehow. We all left the club, agreeing
to meet back there at eight o'clock. I was as nervous
as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

	When I got back to the club, I went to the back
entrance as we had agreed. Allen was already there
with the van. I don't know how he managed it, but he
had an ice chest full of beer, and was sitting there
drinking one. I chugged two in rapid succession, which
calmed my nerves a little. While we were waiting for
the other guys to show up, Allen and I went in the
back door of the club to take a peek. They were
playing records while waiting for us to start. The
place was already packed. My nervousness came back
with a vengeance. We went back the van, and found that
the other guys were there.

	I still wasn't feeling too good about this, but at
this point, there was nothing we could do but do it.
We delayed until five minutes after nine to go in,
because we all knew that every minute we could kill
would be of help to us. We waited in the wings while
the teen club manager introduced us. That killed
another minute or so. We hit the stage while the
audience was still applauding, and kicked off our
intro number. We actually sounded pretty good, well;
maybe it was the beer I had drunk in the alley that
made us sound good. Anyway, the first song went over
pretty well, and before he second one, Bill Pothorst
introduced all the members of the band. I spent the
time surveying the audience. All in all, not a bad
crowd. Several very cute girls there, even a few that
I have never seen before, which was unusual in a town
of this size. Most of them I recognized. 

	The first set went pretty well. I knew we were still
heading for trouble, though, because we were playing
too many songs too fast, and weren't taking enough
time between them. There was no way we could do two
more sets at the pace we were going. During the break,
we all went out to the alley where the van was and
drank a couple of beers each. I mentioned my concerns
to them, but they didn't seem to be too worried about
it. They went back inside because they wanted to
mingle with the crowd some. I elected to stay outside
and drink another beer. I figured I would need it
before this night was over. I was standing at the back
of the van with both van doors open, and was reaching
in to grab the ice chest to get another beer when I
heard someone come up behind me. I turned to see who
it was, thinking it was one of the guys who had come
back out. It wasn't.

	It was one of the girls I had noticed in the
audience. I had noticed her for a few reasons, one
because I didn't recognize her, two because I had not
seen her dance with anyone, three because I had
noticed her noticing me, and four, because she was
really pretty. She was a brunette, about five foot
five or so. She was very curvy, but didn't have a
large build at all. I figured her for about sixteen.
She was wearing a tie-died tank top and a black mini
skirt. She spoke before I could.

	"Hi, Spangles!", she said, "My name is Cynthia. I
wanted to tell you that I think you are very talented
on the keyboards." "Thanks," I replied, "You're not
from around here, are you? I don't remember seeing you
around, and I would have surely noticed someone as
pretty as you."  I have to admit here that it was the
beer talking there. I was not the type to come on that
strong with a girl. Hell, normally I wouldn't even
talk to the ones I knew, let alone do anything like
that. "No, I'm not from here. I'm just in town
visiting my cousin Colleen." She replied. "Do you
really think I'm pretty?" she asked.

	"Yes," I responded, "If I didn't think so, I wouldn't
have said it." She moved over closer to me, and got
between the van and me. We were shielded from both
sides by the van doors. "You're kinda cute yourself,"
she said, "cute and talented."  Feeling pretty brave
now (the beer again...), I placed my arms around her
and pulled her close to me. There was no resistance to
that, so I leaned over and kissed her. Her response
was warm and passionate, and I started getting hard
immediately. I didn't have much time left before the
next set was supposed to start, but I didn't want to
quit what was happening here. I broke that kiss and
she took the initiative and kissed me the second time.
I was certainly encouraged, so I took the opportunity
to place a hand on her breast through her tank top.
She didn't resist at all, and in fact started kissing
me even harder.

	During the next kiss, I decided to step things up a
little, and dropped my hand from her breast to her
crotch, and was doing my best to feel her up through
her skirt.  Again, no resistance. I was hard as the
proverbial rock by now. I guided her backwards a
little and sat her down on the back of the van. I knew
I had to get her skirt higher if I was going to get to
finger her any at all, and that seemed to be the best
way to do it. I started kissing her again, and while I
had her occupied with that, I managed to get my hand
under her skirt. Surprisingly (to me, at least), she
actually opened her legs some to give me access. I
took advantage of it immediately, of course, and was
soon rubbing her through the thin material of her
panties. She was kissing me harder than ever and
moaning softly. I was so hard at this point that it
was actually painful.

	When we broke that kiss, she looked at me and said
"Do you want to do it with me?" "What??" I said, not
thinking that I had heard her right. "Do you want to
do it with me?" she asked again. "Yes." Was my reply.
How could I have possible said anything else at that
point. She stood up and started removing her panties.
"Do you have any protection?" she asked, "I don't want
to get pregnant." She laid her panties on the ice
chest and sat back down on the back of the van.
Protection? My mind actually went blank for a moment,
and then I realized that I did indeed have some. I had
a single condom that I had been carrying in my wallet
for what seemed like forever. None of the girls I had
been with up to that point had ever asked about it, so
I had mostly forgotten about it. I dug it out quickly,
opened my pants, ripped open the package, and rolled
it on over my painfully hard dick. She was watching
carefully to make sure I did it. Once it was on, she
opened her legs as wide as she could and flipped her
skirt up. I was more than ready.

	I took a couple of steps forward with my dick leading
the way. She reached down and guided me to her
entrance. She was extremely wet, and I slid inside her
easily. It took me a couple of strokes to bottom out
inside her. She moaned softly when I did. She was very
tight, but was definitely not a virgin. I began to
thrust in her, and she matched me stroke for stroke. I
knew I had to hurry before someone came out looking
for me. I knew I would be hurrying anyway, because I
really needed to come. She felt tremendous, even with
the rubber on.

	I began to quicken my pace, pumping into her harder
and faster. She continued to match me. The come was
boiling in my balls, and knew I wouldn't be able to
hold out much longer. Suddenly, the sensation changed.
It was hotter, wetter, and felt a thousand times
better. I began to screw her even harder and faster. I
felt my first shot begin its journey through my dick,
and it exploded into her with the force of a fire
hose. I paused for a moment with my dick bottomed out
in her, then started pumping again. Each stroke coaxed
more come out of me, until there was none left inside
me and my knees were weak and shaking. I was literally
and figuratively drained.

	I paused for a moment, keeping my dick inside her
until it was too soft to remain. When it slid out, I
noticed that the rubber was not there. It took me a
moment to figure out what had happened, but I
suspected that it had come off while I was screwing
her, and that is why the feeling changed. I had shot
my load inside her virtually unprotected. The rubber
had to be still inside her. There was no place else it
could be. I stepped back and went through the motions
of taking a rubber off, even though it was no longer
there. I knew that eventually she would figure out
what had happened, but I didn't want to spend any time
right now trying to explain it. I heard the back door
of the club open, and though someone was coming out.
Instead, I heard Johnny yelling at me to get back in
there. I hollered back that I was on my way, and he
closed the door. "Cynthia," I said, "I have to get
back inside." "Right behind you." She said, getting
up. I closed and locked the van doors and we went back
inside. I went up on stage, and she went back out to
the audience. I noticed that she didn't appear back
out there immediately. I figured she had delayed a
little bit so it wouldn't look suspicious.

	The next set went pretty good, but by the end of it
we were running out of music to play.  I kept an eye
on Cynthia the whole time, and noticed that she was
watching me a lot, too. She never did dance with
anyone, even though she was asked several times. It
made me hard just looking at her and knowing that she
was full of my come, and that the rubber was still
someplace somewhere deep inside her. I knew that I had
forced it pretty deep in her with my pounding. I was
wondering if there was any chance that I had made her
pregnant under those circumstances. I had no idea. I
also wondered how long it would be before she
discovered the rubber and figured out what had
happened. 

	I talked to her again the next band break, and she
let on like nothing had happened. I made my way back
out to the van where the guys were drinking a beer,
and of course, I caught some hell about the panties
they had found on the ice chest. I took their ribbing,
and of course, took the panties, too. I kept them for
a souvenir. We had just started out third set, which,
since we had no more songs to play, was a repeat of
our first set, when the police showed up. They said
there had been some noise complaints, and shut us
down. The audience was not happy, but we were
thrilled. I never saw Cynthia again, but I have often
wondered about her.



-- Continued in Part Two --












    *---(:>     Double for Nothing!!  Tricks for
Free!!!     <:)---*


                               www.mrdouble.com


                           Flowers On the Wall....


                         *---(:>   Mr Double   <:)---*



=====
Spangles Muldoon
A Mr. Double Resident Author

__________________________________
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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