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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Davey's Diary Booklet 1 {Kellis} (mF mm mf) [1/3]
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Date: Sat, 29 Oct 2016 03:10:03 -0400
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Davey's Diary
by Kellis
Spring, 2016


Booklet 1:  _Elaine_


Tuesday, June 10, 1952

If I decide on a title for this diary, it will be _My Dick_, because 
that's what it's about.  Since Georgie told me how to jack off, it's 
been the most important thing in my life, if not the biggest.

I got the mechanical jacker going today.  It works real good except I 
need to slow it down.  With the Erector set base jammed in the drawer
beside my bed and an old sock hooked to the extender beam with string 
and rubber bands, it jacked the sock back and forth on my dick faster 
than my fingers can.  Of course I came in about five seconds.

The speed control on the motor transformer is too coarse.  When I try to
slow it down to hand speed, the motor stops before it gets there.  Guess
I'll have to talk mom into buying me the Erector set worm gear.

After all the buzz wore off I stuck it back on the soft dick but 
couldn't keep it there until I got the dick jacked back up with thumb 
and finger.  After that it stayed on and felt fairly good for a long 
time, but I got tired of waiting and gave up.  Funny how that works.  
You try to come a second time with your fingers and I guarantee your arm
will nearly fall off first.

The Erector set motor was stinking when I quit and I remembered I got it
almost a year ago, on my 11th birthday.  Better quit running it so long.
But the first time proved one thing.  All a dick needs to come is a good
shaking.  Nothing else matters.

Dicks give you ideas.  I thought of making a jacker yesterday.  Today I
thought of writing down what I do with it.


Friday, June 13, 1952

I pulled Georgie's trick today: I came in every room of the house, even
the attic, in one day.

I woke up with a piss hard-on and jacked off in my bed despite that.  
Sometimes it feels even better when you really have to piss.  Before 
Georgie told me how to jack off I remember piss hard-ons feeling good 
when rubbed against the sheet.  But the rough cloth kind of hurts too, 
which is probably why I didn't make the connection.

You can come again in an hour or so if you don't push it, if you wait an
hour to start it again.  After breakfast I put my hand in my shorts 
sitting at the dinette table and did the wiggle.  That's when you wiggle
the dickhead between thumb and finger.  The second time is always a 
little slower than the first.

Mom turned around from doing the dishes and said, "It's unlike you to 
linger after breakfast, Davey.  Is something the matter?"

"No, ma'am, just planning my next project."  Which was the truth.  
Trying Georgie's trick had just occurred to me.

Her eyes twinkled.  Mom is the greatest.  "Should I be worried?"

I knew she was remembering the time I blew out my bedroom window making
hydrogen with my chemistry set.  So I grinned and lied.  "This time 
it'll be outdoors."

"That's good to hear."  With a nod she turned back to the dishes.

I started the wiggle up again.  The pause had been good for it.  The 
good feeling came on quickly and so did I.  Slouched in my chair, I 
enjoyed the lingering pleasure.

Mom said without turning around, "How about putting your planning on 
hold and do your piano practice?"

"Oh, Mom!" I began but stopped, thinking I could do the wiggle while 
practicing one-hand scales with my left hand.  That would be another 
room!

Then I realized that she was watching me, that is, my reflection, in the
glass door of the cabinet over the sink.  My god, what had she seen?  
Obviously nothing, I decided.  The wiggle doesn't show anything.  But 
the thought got me out of the kitchen.

I still had a hard-on and wondered if she noticed the lump in my shorts
as I crossed the kitchen.

After that I jacked off, mostly in my fist with shorts pulled down, just
about every hour.  I was smart enough to do it in the attic after piano
practice, before it got too hot up there.  Dilly's was the last room 
just before bedtime.  She's 16 and since it's Friday was out on a date 
with that senior boy.  I pulled up her counterpane and rubbed the head 
on her blanket to come.  Maybe she'll smell the peanut dick odor and get
pissed off.

What a day -- especially for Friday the 13th!


Monday, June 16, 1952

Today was the best day of my life.  That's not bullshit either!  But let
me tell it blow-by-blow.

As usual on Mondays and Thursdays, about 3 o'clock I rode my bike up the
street to Mrs. Moore's.  She lives three blocks closer to town than we 
do.  She's been teaching me the piano for over a year and tells Mom I'm
her best student.  She's a pretty woman, I guess, or would be if she 
wasn't so old, about Mom's age.  She wears a colorful dress with her 
brown hair rolled up on top of her head.  Until today the thing I 
noticed most about her was her hands, bigger than mine.  She can reach 
an octave and a half on the piano!

It was hot today and all her windows were open but no breeze.  She fixed
that with a floor-standing electric fan that only blew near us.  
"Sorry," she said as I sat beside her on the bench.  "It can't blow 
right on us because of the sheet music."  And she was right.  The music
on the piano was rippling a little as it was.

After we played a while she complimented me on my left-hand scales and 
added with a kind of sheepish grin -- sheepish, according to Mom, when I
do it, "It's been so hot today that I've drunk too much.  Excuse me for
a couple minutes, will you, Davey?"

No doubt she had.  I could smell beer on her breath.  She went out the 
right hand door.

Before going to sleep last night I had thought of the places I went 
where I had yet to jack off.  Mrs. Moore's "sitting room," where she 
kept her piano, was close to the top of the list.  Quick as a flash I 
pushed down my shorts and took hold of my dick.

I had jacked off behind the fig bush right after lunch, which I guess 
made me slower.  The feeling was just starting to rise when a shadow 
fell on me from the left.

I'd been listening to the right, expecting to hear her steps on the hall
linoleum, but she had returned by the carpeted room at the left.  She 
was standing behind me, looking down my front at the purple skinned 
dickhead poking out of my fist.  I froze, thinking now I'm dead.

Her voice was very calm.  "Turn around, Davey."

I scooted around on the shiny bench.

"Move your hand away."

I let go of my dick.  It stood straight up from the bottom of my belly.
When I released it, of course, the foreskin folded back over most of the
head.

"How old are you, Davey, 12?"

"Next month, ma'am."

She said as if talking to herself, "It's small yet, but respectable.  
And uncut.  Remarkable."  She took a deep breath.  "Some people would 
say I should go straight to the telephone and call your mother.  What 
would you say to that, Davey?"

"Oh, god, Mrs. Moore, please don't!  Please, please don't!"

She took another breath.  "But if I don't ...  Davey, if I don't, do you
know what it means?"

"No, ma'am."

"It means that that pretty little penis is mine.  What do you say to 
that?"

Would she cut it off?  "Oh, god, ma'am!  Please don't cut me!"

She chuckled a little.  "Oh, I definitely won't hurt you, Davey.  
Although you may briefly worry about something else."

To my total surprise she raised her skirt slightly, went all the way 
down to her knees on the carpet, extended red nailed thumb and 
forefinger to squeeze my foreskin back and then sucked the entire dick 
into her mouth.  Did she mean to bite it off?

I grabbed her at the temples to push her head back but ...  Suddenly I 
felt the strongest thrill of my life.  When jacking off with Georgie, we
had compared dicks.  The skin that covered his dickhead had been cut 
off, we guessed when he was a baby.  As a result his was less sensitive,
which we discovered while handling each other's.  When I jacked off, I 
had to do it _through_ the foreskin.  Couldn't stand to grab the purple
head directly.  But her tongue could grab it.  I had never imagined 
anything could feel so sweet!

And it lasted!  Another jack off two hours after the last was good for a
minute at the most.  This went on and on, getting better and better.  At
last it was so good I had to squeak a little.  And then it was so good I
couldn't stand it.  My hands pushed on her temples, which caused my ass
to scoot back with its own squeak.

Her big blue eyes studied my dick then rose to mine.  "You climaxed, 
didn't you?"

I'd heard that word -- the climax of a movie? -- and realized it was 
perfect.  I said in wonder, "Yes, ma'am, I did!"

"But you didn't shoot --  Of course, you didn't.  You're not old enough.
Silly me!"

"You think I'm too young?"

"A few months too young to ejaculate."

"What's that?"

"You'll find out.  And pretty soon too, or I miss my guess."  She 
laughed.  "That explains why you didn't worry about staining my carpet."
She caught my hands, still dangling near her head.  "Oh, Davey, you're 
perfect!"

"I am?"

She kept the hand that I used to jack with.  "This is my hand too."  She
drew it to her mouth and sucked in three of the fingers.  I felt her 
tongue scrape them.

I sat there with my lowered shorts holding my legs together, my dick 
sticking up and my fingers in her mouth.  I'm pretty sure my mouth was 
hanging open.

Spitting out my fingers, she laughed, probably at my expression.  "Oh, 
Davey, you don't know whether to shout hallelujah or make a break for 
it, do you!"

It was my turn to take a breath.  "I know one thing: I love you."

She smiled at me, shook her head and got to her feet with the help of a
hand on the bench.  "Pull your pants up, Davey, and sit with me on the 
couch."

She turned the fan to face the couch.  I sat beside her.  Her longish 
dress was high enough for our bare knees to touch.  The breeze was 
across her toward me and she smelled of honeysuckle as always.

"Davey, who's waiting for you at home?"

"Mom.  But she's not waiting exactly.  I meant to see Georgie after 
piano lessons.  I don't have to be home until suppertime."

"When is that?"

"After 6:30, when Dad gets home."

"Do you go outside after supper?"

"Sure.  If I want to.  And I do a lot.  Georgie's folks just got a TV."

She smiled.  "I see."  She studied me as if she had more to say but 
looked at her wristwatch and sighed.

"Janey Hutton is due here in a couple minutes.  In fact, there she is 
now."

The doorbell sounded.  Mrs. Moore stood up, gestured for me to stand 
also and said kind of loud, "Come on in, Janey.  Very good, Davey.  
Practice your scales and the Beethoven piece, and I'll see you 
Thursday."

I didn't go to Georgie's tonight.  I sat in my room behind my desk with
my shorts around my ankles, fingering my dick, pretending it was the 
piano teacher's tongue.  For a moment I thought about bragging to 
Georgie, "A grown woman sucked my dick!" but I remembered two things: 
Georgie's dick is bigger and she'd said mine was small.

After awhile I had to write it all down.  The greatest day!


Friday, June 20, 1952

I meant to write in here yesterday but too much happened.

I'd been jacking off regular as ever since Monday afternoon, the 
only difference being pretending it was in Mrs. Moore's mouth instead of
my fist.  But it wasn't as good as her mouth.  I wanted it to be her 
mouth so bad!  Aside from that nothing unusual happened.

Until yesterday.

I thought, "Just maybe?"  And got to her house 15 minutes early.  
Through the open windows I could hear her teaching some girl.  
"Beatrice, you really must concentrate on your timing.  Here's how that
passage should sound."  I sat on her stoop with a hard-on, fingering my
dick up the leg of my shorts, hoping she would demonstrate the passage 
of her mouth on my dick, but had to stop when the good feeling rose.  I
wanted to save that for her.

Meantime some woman had come down the sidewalk pushing a baby carriage.
I realized she was looking at me where I sat with my hand up my shorts 
and jerked it out.  I heard her sniff as she walked on.  She kept 
looking back.

After what seemed forever Beatrice burst out the door and stumbled over
me.  I guess she was looking back to tell Mrs. Moore goodbye.  She 
actually kicked my ass, caught herself and stood glaring at me.  "Did 
you have to block the steps?"

"Get out of here!" I ordered, gesturing with my thumb.

She sniffed just like the woman with the baby carriage but skipped on 
down the walk.  I stood up.  Mrs. Moore pushed the screen door open 
again and said, "Come on in, Davey."

She sat down on the piano bench, padded the space beside her and smiled.
"It's unlike you, Davey, to get here early."

My eyes dropped.  For some reason my face was hot.  "I ... couldn't help
it."

"My, Davey, so eager to study piano!"

"I wanted to ... see you."

"Why, Davey, have you found something about me to like?"

"Oh, boy, Mrs. Moore!"

She chuckled deep in her throat and just like that my hard-on was back.
Her hand closed on it gently through the cloth.  She said, "While I 
tickle my new toy, why don't you tickle the ivories.  Let's hear that 
Beethoven."

So I fingered the chorus of _Fur Elise_ while she fingered my dick 
through the cloth.  I had practiced it often since Monday and think I 
played it perfectly.

When I had finished and looked up at her, she said, "Quite good, Davey!
I could see you really concentrated.  Shall I tell you how I know it?"

"How?"

"My new toy lost half its starch."

"Oh."  I guess it did.

Her hand stayed on my dick and she lowered her voice.  "We must be 
careful, Davey.  It's too hot to close the windows or the blinds.  If it
wasn't for that I'd teach you another subject during our half hour."

"Oh, boy, Mrs. Moore!"

She grinned.  "I think you like that idea."

"Can you teach me like you did Monday?"

Her eyebrows rose.  "That's more like it!  That's the boy willing to 
jack off in my parlor."  She shook her head.  "I couldn't believe what I
did Monday, the terrible risk with the house open.  Janey Hutton almost
caught us, you know.  I didn't know that the mere sight of a male organ
could have such an effect on me.  I think it was that purple head.  My 
first boyfriend had one.  Anyway that evening I tried to read a book, 
all the time hoping that my inquiry about your going out after supper 
had given you an idea.  But I guess it didn't."

"What idea?"

"To come see me.  At least to call me on the phone."

My eyes widened.  "I could've come --  You would've let me --  Oh, no, 
Mrs. Moore!"

She nodded.  "Oh, yes, would I ever!"

"Can I ..."

"Come to see me tonight?  I do hope you will."

"Oh, Mrs. Moore!"

She looked over her shoulder out the window.  Reaching a decision, she 
caught the leg of my shorts, pulled it up on my hip and slipped her 
other hand into my groin.

When it found my hard dick directly, she said throatily, "You bad boy!
I well remember seeing your undershorts Monday."

"Thought I wouldn't need them today."

"You thought right."  She scooted sideways off the bench, bent down and
slurped my stiffie, which was standing up sideways, into her mouth.  She
sucked a few times -- solid thrills for me -- then raised up enough to 
look at me.

"Can you come quick?"

"I'm about to now!"

Her eyes sparkled me.  "Good boy!"  Down with her head again.  The whole
thing went in her mouth and I could feel her tongue separating my balls.
In no time the sharp thrills peaked.  As she had said, it was a super 
climax, maybe even sweeter than Monday's because it was my first one of
the day.

She knew it somehow.  Her mouth got easy and she lingered while the 
thrills wound down.  I found that I was gripping her shoulder.

When I released her, she rose with a grin.  "I felt it jerk just like 
Monday.  I think you had a nice one, you lucky boy."

"Oh, Mrs. Moore ... I love you."

"Yes, you do."  She smoothed down the leg of my shorts.  "If you come 
see me tonight, I'll show you what makes you so perfect."

"When?"

"Soon as it gets dark.  And knock on the back door, will you, Davey?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned towards me.  Her arm around my shoulders pulled our faces 
together.  I had kissed Betty Jones in a Spin-the-Bottle game at her 
birthday party last year, but this time was a real kiss.  Her tongue 
pushed into my mouth and rubbed mine.  She sucked mine back into hers.
She tasted minty and she sighed when our lips parted.

"Remember that until tonight, Davey.  Now we must play with the piano 
instead."


* * *


Her house is in the middle of the block, where the corner street lights
barely reach.  I left my bike in a dark shadow but in her backyard 
stumbled over something that banged my shin before I finally got to the
door.  It opened after three taps but no light came on.  An arm came 
out, caught my hand, jerked me in the house and pushed the door shut.

"Do you have to be so noisy!" she hissed.

"I stumbled over something."

"A flower bucket, I imagine."  Her voice softened.  "Davey, I'm so glad
you came!"

She pulled me up on tiptoes against her -- she's half a head taller -- 
and I got my second real kiss.  This one left my face wet all around my
mouth.

When we broke, she took my hand and led me into the dark house, 
explaining, "It's still too hot to close the windows or the blinds.  
It's cooler in the basement.  And private."

Down the stairs we went.  She pulled on the light.  It was a small room
with a coal furnace at one end, a big wet sink, some shelves with jars 
on the walls and a single bed about the size of mine at home.

She was wearing a housecoat and fluffy slippers.  She sat on the bed and
said, "Show me my pretty new toy, Davey: all of it."

That didn't seem fair.  "Can I see you too?"

"You first."

I would've grinned if I dared.  That was what Lucy had said a couple 
years ago when she offered to show me hers if I'd show her mine.  But I
kicked off my sneakers, shrugged out of shirt and pants and let them 
fall atop the shoes, then straightened up to face her.

She looked me up and down and said approvingly, "Erect already!  You 
know something good is coming, don't you, Davey?"

"Yes," I answered with a hopeful grin.

"Oh, you perfect boy!"  Her nostrils flared.  She caught my shoulders 
and pulled my chest down against her face.  I felt her wet tongue and 
heard her sniffing.  Her nose ducked into my armpit.  "All boy," she 
breathed, "and all mine!"

I wondered.  "Do boys stink?"

"To most women my age it's a good stink."  She backed me away from her.
"I expect you'd like to see how a woman really looks."

"Oh, yes, ma'am!"

She stood up, threw off her housecoat, stepped out of her slippers and 
returned to the bed, now on her back, hands behind her head, knees drawn
up and feet planted on the edges of the bed.

Her expression was solemn.  "Look your fill, Davey."

When I licked my lips, she added, "And touch too."

She was an incredible sight.  Once when I was six or seven, while 
hugging her hips, I looked up under Mom's loose pajama shirt and saw 
the bottoms of her big tits, which struck me dumb.  Mrs. Moore's were 
bigger with brown nipples smaller than moon pies but larger than Oreos.
She was gleaming skin and all curves: calves, thighs, hips, round belly
and those super tits.  She had crinkly, dark brown hair high between her
raised legs.  Below it was an up-and-down slit with thick lips of dark 
red skin.  My eyes concentrated on that area.  Her pussy, I thought.  
The floppy lips looked gross and really strange.

She smiled a little.  "I believe you have a sister, don't you, Davey?"

"Yes, ma'am.  She's 16."

"Then you should have some idea how girls are different.  And now is a 
good time to ask you something.  Don't you think it's silly, with you 
staring at my naked twat, to call me ma'am?  My name is Elaine."

Twat?  I gathered she meant her pussy.  I repeated her name.

"Elaine," she continued, "given me by my French mother.  Use it on 
informal occasions such as this.  But it's 'ma'am' the rest of the 
time."

"Yes, ma--  Yes, Elaine."

"Come here, Davey.  Don't you want to touch me?"

Oh, boy, did I ever!  But I was hesitant at first.  My hand contacted 
her knee and slid cautiously down her thigh.

She giggled.  "I don't bite.  Here.  Pretend you're a baby."  Her hand 
cupped the nearest tit and lifted the nipple towards me.  I dived 
straight for it and sucked all of that big nipple into my mouth.  

Listening to adult conversation, which had recently got a lot more 
interesting, I heard Mom tell Aunt Tilly that she had weaned me when I 
started biting, to which Aunt Tilly said, "You gave him the breast that
long?"  So I had apparently tasted a nipple before but this was the 
first in memory.

I sucked hard but got only spit.  She took my hand and pulled it down 
her round belly.  I felt wiry hair then something complicated and wet.
My fingers were between those floppy lips.  She used the heel of my 
thumb to rub herself there.

"Ooo, baby, I like this!"

I let go of her nipple long enough to ask, "At the top or the bottom?"

"Both."  She giggled.  "But I hope you don't expect milk.  Come up on 
top of my chest where I can suck you.  Then I'll show you where to suck
to get something for your trouble."

She guided my butt on top of her chest, over those big tits, and sucked
my hard dick right into her mouth, balls and all, making me squeak with
the thrill of it.  Here I was, naked in Mrs. Moore's basement, sitting 
almost on her neck, my knees on her shoulders, her nose in my belly and
my boy stuff in heaven.  I think it took me all of two seconds to start
coming.

She could tell it.  She eased her suction and giggled again.  When the 
climax was over I hitched back so she could talk and said, "What's so 
funny?"

She licked her lips, eyes twinkling up at me.  "I've learned something 
nice about you.  When you come, you squeak like a mouse."

"I do?"

"Which pleases me.  That's as hard to know of a prepubertal boy as of a
girl.  Once he begins to ejaculate, of course, the problem goes away."
Her eyes lit.  "Until then let's have fun.  Crawl down between my legs."

"Crawl like a mouse?" I said, not liking her metaphor.

"And put your face right down above my twat."

Okay, I'd be a mouse.  She lay with her knees spread and drawn up.  I 
crouched between them and enjoyed my first close-up of the much folded 
flesh.

"Do I stink, Davey?"

"N-no."

"I'm curious.  How do I smell to you?"

"Like a flower.  And a little like pee."

"Honest boy!  The pee part is real.  But you won't notice it in a 
minute.  Watch what my finger rubs."

Her finger touched a lump of flesh under a sort of hood near the bottom
of the hair.

"It's called a clit.  Lick it with your tongue."

"Why?"

"After a bit you can suck it, which would do for me what my sucking does
for you."

"Oh."  In that case ...

It was salty and the pee smell was stronger.  After a bit it seemed to 
thicken a little.  I licked faster, remembering her tongue on my 
dickhead.

I heard her say, "Ooo, Davey, that feels so nice!"  Then her cool thighs
closed on my ears and she shuddered.  I kept on licking.  Her hand 
slipped around my head.  I got the sense she was trying to guide my 
tongue, up, down and sideways.  She began to shiver.  Dimly I heard her
say, "Now suck!"

She was right: I got something, tasteless but too much to be only spit.
I didn't suck long before her whole body twisted and her hands forced my
head back.  With my head raised I could see between her tits.  Her head
was thrown back with tendons standing out in her neck.  She was saying,
"Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!" over and over.

I sat back and looked at her twat.  The clit was wet and almost red and
a line of drool had run out from between the thick lips.

She raised up.  Her face was red and her eyes wild.  She caught my 
shoulders and pulled me atop her.  Her right hand found my dick and 
pulled on it until ... I felt it slip in between those floppy lips.  Her
hands clutched my hips and began to pull back and forth.  Then I 
realized what was happening.  I was fucking a woman.

I was fucking a woman!  God, I still can't believe it!

We kept it up for a pretty good while but I didn't come and I don't 
think she did.  When her hands released me, I backed away and sat up 
between her legs to look into her watching eyes.  We were both panting.

She shook her head.  "Davey, I'm afraid you're too small for me."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. -- Elaine."  My tongue felt thick.

She smiled.  "I really don't want to hurt your feelings.  I love you 
anyway.  And if you're willing there's something else you could do to 
make up for it."

"Anything you want, Elaine."

She showed me her hand with the fingers straight but bunched together 
and the thumb pressed into them.  "Shape your hand like this."

"Which one?"

"You're right handed, aren't you?  Make it the right one."

When I did, she caught the wrist, said, "Keep your fingers stiff," and 
wiggled them between the fat lips and into her body.  I could feel the 
warm, wet flesh parting for me.

"Now make a fist in there," she said, staring into my eyes.

I closed my fingers.  She took another hold on me farther up the forearm
and pushed my hand deeper inside her until my knuckles pressed something
lumpy.

"Oh," she grunted followed with a smile and a giggle.  "I wish you could
see your face.  Why didn't I think of a mirror?"

She began to move my hand in and out like it was a dick, just never 
pulling it all the way out.  Her insides felt like smooth, soft pebbles,
if that makes any sense.  She got wetter.  Pretty soon my fist was 
making squishing noises.  Now her odor was hot and a little bit fishy.

"Can you believe this, Davey?"

"Believe what?"

"That your fist is pumping in my stomach."

"You made me!"

She giggled.  "I sure did."  She let go of my wrist.

"Keep pumping!" she ordered when my hand stopped.  Of course I obeyed.
"Ooo, that's better!" she said, tucking her hands up behind her head and
arching her back.  She giggled.  "I find it hard to believe myself.  I 
never imagined getting fisted by one of my best students, and here is 
your fist making my bellybutton jiggle.  What a sweet fist!

"That's not entirely true.  I saw on the keyboard that your hand was the
right size.   Then I caught you masturbating in my parlor and knew I'd 
hit the jackpot."  She giggled.  "You're playing in your piano teacher's
crack, Davey.  Did you ever imagined such a thing?"

"Maybe in her _cracks_!"

"But I don't have more --"  She giggled again.  "Are you referring to 
the cracks between the piano keys?"

I giggled too.

"Back down a little, will you, Davey?"

When I had hitched lower in the bed, still pumping, she said, "Now you 
can send me to heaven."

"To heaven?"

"I should say, paradise.  Bend forward and lick me like you did before 
but don't stop pumping."

The taste was rich.  My tongue found the lump and stroked it.  She began
to shiver.  "Oh, Davey, that's it!  Oh, god, fuck me, fuck me!"

My arm was getting tired.  So was my tongue.  She had fallen silent and
her body was rigid.  I raised up to look at her.  Her eyes were clenched
shut, her face was red and she was gasping.  I realized she wasn't hurt
-- this was how women come!  I burned with envy, withdrew my hand and 
sat back on my haunches to finger my dick, now so hard it hurt.

She seemed to collapse but it was only relaxing.  Her eyes opened and 
found mine.  Slowly a smile formed and she giggled.  "You look worried."

"That was paradise?"

"Bells and whistles, the whole works.  Davey, now I love _you_."

I held up my wet fist.  "Do dicks get this big?"

"Probably."

"You never ..."  I couldn't finish the question, but she understood.

"I tell you this much: young fists are just as good as a penis and allow
more than just the penis does."  She meant the licking while pumping.

She raised up and reached for her housecoat.  "Grab your clothes and 
come upstairs, Davey.  We'll take a quick shower together and I'll give
you a Coke."

Her shower was in the tub.  She put a stool in first, turned on the warm
water and sat on it, arranging me standing so that the shower streamed 
over her head to fall on my chest and run down my belly.

Taking hold of my still hard dick, she grinned up at me.  "Not 
satisfied, are you?"

She sucked up the whole works, balls and all, and her nose punched my 
lower belly.  The light was very bright in her bathroom.  That's a 
powerful sight with every detail visible.  Her head bobbed enough to 
show me the base of my dick and her eyes looking up under her eyebrows.

That was the strongest climax I ever felt.  I would've fallen in the tub
if she hadn't been holding my hips.

She served me a Coke in the bathroom while she had a beer.  I couldn't 
keep my eyes off her tits.  I asked her, "Elaine, can I keep coming to 
see you?"

"I hope so -- for your piano lessons."

"At night."

She chuckled.  "You want to come see me at night?"

"Oh, please, Elaine!"

She laughed a little.  "Such enthusiasm!  I can tell what you want to 
see.  What can we work out?  I'm sure you have other things to do on the
weekend.  Your lessons are on Monday and Thursday."  She cocked her head
at me.  "I need to warn you, Davey: I can't give you my _special_ 
attention on every piano lesson."

"You _can't_?"

"No."  She smiled.  "I'm sure you'll be disappointed if I don't."

"Oh, I will!"

Another giggle.  "I promise we'll make arrangements to compensate you if
I don't."

Before she let me out of the bathroom she kissed me with a lot of tongue
and spit while I squeezed her tits.  "Oh, you lovely bad boy!" she said
as she let me go.  "Make sure you duck down below the windows as you go
through the kitchen."

I fucked a woman tonight.  But I still won't tell Georgie.


END of Booklet 1
Contact kellis@dhp.com

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