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From: Thinking Horndog <im_a_thinker@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} Second Best 001/136 {Thinking Horndog} (nosex)
Date: Sat, 11 Oct 2003 07:10:05 -0400
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This is a novel. Codes for full novel are in the
attachment - It's a lengthy list. Since I obviously
have a long way to go in packaging them, if I'm doing
something wrong PLEASE LET ME KNOW!
Regards,
Thinker
__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Shopping - with improved product search
http://shopping.yahoo.com
<1st attachment, "SecBest1.txt" begin>
Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Second Best
Part: 001
Universe: Second Best
Summary: A full-length novel that follows several young couples
and their families through the period immediately preceding their
Senior Prom.
Keywords: F-solo, Ff-inc
Keywords for full story: F-solo, Ff-inc, M+F Ffm MF mf oral anal
bd D/s Mg-inc Fm-inc mm mmf rom MF-reluc
Chapter 1
Girls and Boys
Mandi Giannelli sighed and put the latest in her collection of
sex toys - a "butterfly" vibrator - into her underwear drawer.
She had decided to bypass her usual after school "stimulation"
session on the grounds that, while the itch between her legs was
intense after a run-in (mostly imagined - it was just an
accidental bump in the hallway) with the cute new substitute
science teacher, her mother was likely to require her assistance
in quenching her own fires later in the evening, and it wouldn't
do to go into that session previously satiated. Mandi remembered
her first encounter with her mother, Helen, soon after her 13th
birthday. She had heard loud sobs coming from the master bedroom
while coming down the upstairs hallway. Upon opening the door,
she found her mother sobbing in frustration, holding a large
dildo between her legs. "I can't manage to finish!" she wailed.
"Every time I get close, I stiffen up, and then I can't move it
any more!" Helen's husband, Marc Giannelli, had recently
divorced her, having taken up with his young secretary at the
auto dealership where he worked, leaving the highly sexed, but
somewhat largely built Helen without sexual outlets. Mandi's
assistance on that occasion had led to a pattern of support that,
when Mandi had become sexually aware, had been reciprocated - but
neither of them was in any danger of becoming a lesbian. Quite
the opposite, in fact - each considered their current activity to
be an unsatisfactory substitute for the company of males - but it
was better than going totally insane from frustration. The fact
was that Mandi had inherited her mother's sexual response -
including a tendency to go rigid and quivery and lose muscular
control just before the onset of orgasm, making satisfactory
masturbation a difficult proposition. Thus, a helping hand or a
device that could be trusted not to dislodge itself at the
critical moment (the "butterfly" came with an elastic harness
designed to hold it in place over the clitoris) was a serious
requirement for even momentary sexual fulfillment. And while
Mandi had thus far avoided penetration deep enough to rupture
her hymen, the sensations generated by an inch or two were enough
to tell her that, for her, serious fulfillment required a penis.
Mandi checked her nude body in the mirror, having just completed a
quick shower. She was a big girl - over 5'10" - with fair skin and
hair just a touch lighter than mouse brown, with some startlingly
auburn highlights. As a youngster, Mandi had been short and - well,
fat, actually - and had been teased unmercifully for it. Her
elementary school nickname, "Butterball", had stuck, at least in her
mind, turning her into a shy, quiet wallflower - even after her
growth spurt at 12 - 13 had altered her proportions dramatically.
Thus, despite the Nordic 38DD - 28 - 34 Amazon that stared back at
her from the mirror, she only noticed the slight rounding of her
lower belly, critically judging a body that now barely qualified as
Rubinesque as "ungodly huge". Her sister Denise, who inherited her
father's dark Italian good looks, ragged her constantly, calling her
a "fat cow" and "Helga the Horrible". Mandi resembled her mother
rather than her father, but Helen had always battled
unsuccessfully with her weight, and her large frame operated on
the other side of Rubinesque - Helen was a BBW, almost
archetypically. Mandi's truly overweight days were behind her,
however - but, unfortunately for her self-image, she didn't
realize the fact. Mandi stepped into her flowered cotton
panties, fastened a "no-nonsense" padded bra over her barely
sagging conical breasts, threw on a loose blouse and a
calf-length pleated skirt, then ran downstairs. Entering the
kitchen, where her mother was sitting at the bar in the breakfast
nook winding down from a long early shift at the restaurant where
she supplemented Marc's meager (and often missing) child support
as a waitress, Mandi hit the refrigerator for a diet soda. "Hi,
Mom."
"Hello, Dear, how was school?" asked Helen, glancing up from the
taped soap she was zoning out on.
"Fine. I'm going to meet the girls at Starbucks. We're trying
to decide whether to go to the dance at school tonight."
"It's a waste of time - that group of losers you hang out with
couldn't catch a date with a beer truck!" Denise stuck her head
in through the kitchen door, and delivered this unwanted
witticism, laughed, and announced "So long, Sucker, I've got a
date with Jimmy Saxon!" as she sauntered out the front door.
"I'll never understand how a sophomore can land dates with the
captain of the basketball team!" Helen wondered aloud.
"Mother, you know as well as I do what Denise's 'secret weapon'
is - it's a good thing she's on the Pill!" Mandi replied,
grinning. "She gets enough for the three of us. Unfortunately,
it doesn't do you and I any good!"
"Mandi! That's uncalled for! I'm sure Denise gets enough mud
slung at her without you delivering it at home!" Helen managed to
counterfeit a fine case of righteous indignation before blowing
it by mumbling "Even if it IS true..." under her breath. Mother
and daughter shared a grin. Denise had inherited her father's
wayward ways, as well as his looks, and at age 15 had already
left a long trail of shattered male hearts. "Well, run along.
Call me before the dance, if you decide to go. Got your cell?"
"Yes, it's in my purse - although Denise took the fresh battery
out of the charger again" grumbled Mandi. "See you later."
"If you go, catch me one, too. I'm getting awfully tired of
dating rubber!" Helen laughed.
Mandi giggled, "I'll see what I can do, but the fish haven't
been biting thus far!" as she ambled through the door.
"Makes a great joke - too bad I was serious..." Helen sighed as
she resumed her interrupted viewing of the soap.
Mandy popped through the door at Starbucks and looked around,
discovering her girlfriends grouped in a booth at the back.
Making her way over, she announced herself "Hey."
"Hey, Mandi," Dolores Brown WAS brown, a rich cinnamon color
that came from her mother's East Indian and father's black
genetic mix. Where her fiery temper came from was anybody's
guess. She had made a name for herself for her verbal and often
physical abuse of her black suitors, which is how she entered
Mandi's circle of friends despite her exotic beauty. Dolores was
5'7", and her mother's genes allowed her to avoid both the
narrow, flat-chested and the large pillowy black female
stereotypes. Indeed, she was classically beautiful, with long,
slender legs, 36C breasts, and a narrow waist - but the local
male audience had learned to steer clear after she had kneed a
couple of them in the testicles for making unwelcome advances.
The fact was that Dolores found the posturing and machismo of the
local black males to be an affront. She had no interest in being
"treated like a fuckrag" as she put it once in conversation with
Mandi and her other girlfriends, and made no bones about it. So
potential suitors looked elsewhere, rather than endanger their
reputations as "baad bruthus".
The third member of the trio looked up from her soda and smiled,
"Hi Mandi." Jackie Hardesty couldn't have been more different.
The thin, narrow, freckled redhead was always somewhat sheepish
around boys, largely due to an unfortunate incident when she was
a sophomore, and the nickname it generated. "Jackoff Jackie" was
the result of an overconfident jaunt to an upper class party
where 5 members of the football team drugged her and attempted to
gang-rape her. Barely conscious, she managed to stay in her
jeans, but ended up vaguely cooperating in the throat-fuck
blowjobs and masturbation session that resulted from her
befuddled attempts to make her assailants happily settle for less
than a gang bang. While she ended up little the worse for the
wear, either physically or emotionally (indeed, she had developed
a taste for cock, she sheepishly admitted during one sleepover at
Mandi's), her reputation was shot, and later adventures in dating
ended poorly as what dates she managed to attract expected
immediate sexual gratification.
As time went on, this unlikely trio gravitated to one another
(basically through repulsion from other groups) and became
inseparable, each drawing comfort from the others bemoaning their
own miserable fates. At this point, however, desperation was
beginning to set in. Each was a senior, and each had seen their
seventeenth birthday come and go without a successful dating
experience. The Prom loomed in just over two weeks, and none of
them had been able to attract an escort. Thus, it was in a
gloomy frame of mind that the trio began their council of war
over strategies for remedying the situation at the school dance
that evening.
"Look, we gotta go - there's no other way we're going to get a
decent look at what's available!" Dolores insisted.
"What's left over, you mean..." interjected Jackie gloomily.
"Yeah, well, leftovers are leftovers, and seen from their
direction, guess what WE are?" Mandy pointed out. "If we go
tonight, we can at least discover who can dance and who can't -
that should keep things from being too embarrassing. If I'm
going to have to seriously consider making myself available to
anybody brave enough to ask, I might as well avoid saying yes to
someone with three left feet."
"Isn't that 'two left feet'?" Jackie asked.
"I meant what I said. With my luck, he'd have three."
"We ARE going then?" Dolores wanted it made plain.
"Yeah, I guess so. What are you going to wear?" replied Mandi.
"I'm thinking that it would be smarter if I showed up in a
dress. We should all probably dress to show off our best
features." Dolores batted her eyes, and fluffed her soft curly
hair playfully.
"Like you have any BAD features!" chided Jackie. "What am I
supposed to put on display?"
"A lot of those freckles, I think," Dolores responded. "Got
anything in a tube top? The narrower the better. Make it
obvious that what you DO have on top is real. Plan to show off
those legs of yours, too."
"Yeah, they're YOUR best feature." Mandy agreed. "What do I do?"
Dolores gave Mandi a slow once-over. "You really don't have a
problem. You've got pretty much everything a boy could want -
just more of it than most of them can handle. Why don't you
settle for showing some cleavage and a skirt like that blue one
you showed me last week? Something above the knee... Oh, and
flats. The LAST thing YOU need is more height. You legs can
handle it."
"Well... I don't know about the cleavage. I've got a white open
back blouse with a built-in inner support, but I'm afraid it
might not be enough to handle things while I'm dancing..."
"That's assuming you GET to dance!" Jackie put in, merrily.
"What's the worst that could happen?" Dolores replied. If one
of those gets away from you and a boy sees it, you're BOUND to
get a nibble. They can't resist. Besides, you got to get out of
THAT 'Mother Hubbard'! What's it made of, whalebone?"
"Hey, take it easy!" Mandi colored. "No need to be nasty!"
"I'm sorry Hon," Dolores apologized, "but your worst problem is
that you hide your light under a basket. You've got everything
you need to make a boy sit up and take notice, but you hide it
under stuff made for old folks and nuns. Loosen up! It'll do
you a world of good!"
"She's right Mandi. 'Let it all hang out!' We're fishing here -
be sure you bait the hook!" Jackie laughed.
"OK, I'll meet you guys out front at 8:00, and I'll try to look
sexy. You be sure you do, too. If one of you shows up in jeans,
I'm going home!" Mandi admonished.
"No sweat." Dolores replied, "See you there!"
"Later, Mandi" Jackie called, as they parted in the parking lot.
<1st attachment end>
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