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Message-ID: <63037asstr$1406974202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Bawdy Bloke <nospam@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Leaning from the Past (MF, exhib, humour)
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Date: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 06:10:02 -0400
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Taken from my blog at http://bawdybloke.com/story-learning-past/

It is often joked that my gender "never learns." We make the same 
mistakes over and over again, as if the presence of a soft, dangly organ 
between my legs negates the ability for me to process new information. 
They joke, all the girls do, that "men never learn."

And indeed, when you hear of tales about Simon, it's understandable why 
some women think like that. He was a drinking buddy of mine and as we 
used the shortcut through the woods he would always need a pee at the 
same place; by the oak at the side of the path, looking out over the 
fields with his head resting on the branch of the tree while his bladder 
was drained. It was his routine.

Until the farmer erected a new fence. A new electric fence. His howls 
echoed around the valley, his tortured cry as dozens of volts shot up 
his piss and fried his cock. He cried, begging for it to stop, his hands 
trembled as his stomach convulsed to bring several pints of England's 
finest ale onto the woodland floor.

He should have learnt his lesson. Two weeks later, what the silly drunk 
bugger do? His went for a leak in the same place.

He hadn't learnt his lesson.

His second trip to A&E with his hands clasped around his electrified 
cock that he simply hadn't understood the lesson from his past.

But then that's not limited to just the men of the species, I present 
Rainbow. She was a lovely young lady, if somewhat blessed with an 
unfortunate name. Alas, her parents were undergoing a marijuana-induced 
hippie phase at the time of my friend's birth and Rainbow Summer Fisher 
was blessed with a lifetime of sniggering.

It didn't bother her too much; much of her upbringing could be described 
as wild and anarchic; her life blessed with heavy doses of liberalism. 
By the age of nine her hair had more colours than I had coloured 
felt-tip pens in my pencil case. By the age of twelve, her uniform was 
tie-dyed and by fourteen she was almost expelled for taking the tower 
block hostage to protest at the crisis in the Balkans and the genocide 
of Bosnians.

But as she counted down her teenage years, her sense of rebellion was 
exhibited through a "make love not war" attitude that made her the talk 
of the college.

I had the privilege on her eighteenth birthday. I don't shag friends, 
and I certainly don't shag wild friends: I have no idea where their 
craziness will take me, but that night she wanted to be wild. Her 
parents had left her the run of the house while they were at 
Glastonbury, and she invited dozens of her friends to drink, smoke and play.

I may have been her first kiss at twelve, but the young naturist had had 
many lovers since that moment on the school trip to the butterfly 
sanctuary: her kaleidoscopic hair was a magnet to the winged creatures 
then, our tentative kisses broken by the fluttering of wings on her hair.

Her hair had got brighter since that day, now matched by the faint daubs 
of bodypaint on her naked form running through the garden. She hugged 
every visitor, squeezing her breasts against their clothed bodies. She 
squealed drunkenly, flirted obscenely and caressed teasingly. She was 
the centre of attention and she loved it.

She loved the octopus-like hands of Geoff, the smarmy smile he gave as 
his fingers delved into her pubic hair as she sipped cocktail from his 
lap. She loved the feel of his erection poking against her thighs and 
the feverish attentions of the sex-crazed student. She adored the touch 
of his fingers against her clit, squealing loudly as her desperate 
longing overwhelmed her.

His clothes were little more than a mild annoyance; her mouth swept over 
the tip of his cock seconds after his Tarzan boxer shorts were discarded 
in her garden. The satyr bucked his hips as lips sucked him into 
delirium. They were both achingly horny, desperate and rampant. She just 
groaned into her mouthful of man as another prick slid along her crack, 
pushing into her hole with no resistance.

I'd never seen anyone fuck like this, but Rainbow was no ordinary girl; 
squealing, groaning, orgasming as she beckoned everyone to "make love" 
in her parents' garden.

She wanted an orgy. And she got one.

Minutes after her first, my rubber-encased cock was guided into her 
sopping pussy by the lust-saturated crazy. We groaned in unison as her 
cunt kissed it lovingly and she caressed it with gentle squeezes. I 
could smell her arousal, slick wetness trickled onto my balls as I 
pulled on her waist, pivoting deep inside of her. I focused on the curve 
of her back, patches of multi-coloured bodypaint made runny by the 
glistening sweat on her skin. I rubbed my hand over her peachy bottom 
and smacked it, giggling as the sound echoed around our friends in the 
garden.

Her cunt pulsated in shock and quivered with anticipation as I ran my 
hands over her buttocks, pinching them and pulling her frame back to the 
root on my cock. I was plunging to her very depths, my cock alive at the 
brink of orgasm, groaning and squalling as her trembling cunt sent me 
careering over the edge.

I saw nothing; just felt the avalanche of pleasure engulf me and sweep 
me into a world of shuddering delight. A groan escaped, several waves of 
cum were pumped into the tip of the condom as my cock trembled in her 
young pussy. "Happy Birthday," I muttered, looking up to see two 
uniformed police officers looking down at us.

Our friends were nowhere to be seen; they had obviously hot-footed it 
over the fence as we had been oblivious to the ensuing issue.

A neighbour had complained; drunk teenagers, many taking drugs while the 
Vagina Monologues were being played out on the grass next door. I got a 
caution from the Police, a bollocking from my family.

Lesson learnt: one does not fuck crazy girls.

Only, being arrested for the first time while your shrivelling cock is 
deep into a naturist hippie is something that is bound to heighten the 
bond between you and the said naturist hippie. A shared experience, a 
building of trust, and Rainbow and I got even closer.

She was desperate to orgasm under the stars in the full moon; we went to 
the top of a hill, and sat next to the fence. She got me to use her 
special G-Spot toy, and she squirted.

Straight onto the electric fence.

Her screams woke up the hounds of hell; her language bluer than the 
streaks in her hair. And I am now in A&E, my lesson about not being with 
crazy girls because crazy things happen? Not learnt.

But as she contemplated being healed and ready for a second shot in 
twenty-eight days time, what a lesson to not learn!

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