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From: Incest Man <incestman@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "Veronica" CHAPTER ONE
Date: Thu, 04 Jan 2007 15:32:40 -0800
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===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/mar101.html
Veronica
CHAPTER ONE
The woman you are about to meet is a real person. I
emphasize the second word -- person. This story is based
on verbatim notes taken during several interviews, during
which she consulted the rather detailed diaries she's kept
for most of her life. The alterations are only to protect
identities. The young woman in the story is extremely
unusual: bright, articulate, thoughtful, mature far beyond
her years, poised, analytical and gifted with a discernible
talent for describing people, events and situations. We --
she and I -- would like to think her memoirs will be
revealing and educational.
CHAPTER ONE
[The first time? No, I don't want to talk about that.
Maybe later -- I doubt it, though. But not now --
[The first time I *liked* -- Oh; okay.]
I was living in Toledo, on the East Side. There was Dad,
Mom, my two sisters and my two younger brothers. It was a
big old house, with brown shingle siding and a little yard.
I was -- let's see...10, by a couple of months. It was
late May. My birthday is in August.
I was always sensual -- and I don't mean "sexual." I
enjoyed sensual pleasures: the taste of ice cold pop, the
smell of fresh-cut rhubarb, the shock of fresh snow rubbed
on my face, the heat of the good sun baking into me. I
could lay for hours simply rubbing the satin edging on a
blanket or close my eyes and nearly faint from the ripe
smell of popping corn.
Anyhow, I was ten-and-a-half and finishing the sixth grade
at St. Cornelius school. We didn't have much money, but
Mom clipped coupons and Dad worked an extra night job so
all of us could go to Catholic school.
I was a fair student -- I hated to study -- and did
alright. But in the spring of my sixth-grade year, two
things happened.
For one, I discovered I could write. It was an accident --
serendipity is what my phantom stepbrother would have
called it -- because I wrote a composition on assignment.
It was about springtime. And I had a teacher, Sister
Jannera, who talked to me about it. She recognized that I
had a talent for words, and she took it upon herself to
encourage this. I can't completely convey what a
remarkable thing it was. For one thing, I was only
ten-and-change; for another, I was a girl. This was 1965
in a blue collar section of a so-called city not known for
its sophistication, and she was teaching in a Catholic
school -- a bastion of conservatism. For her to recognize
my talent and then encourage it was amazing; no other word
is really appropriate.
[My phantom stepbrother? Oh, okay. Mom was Dad's second
wife. His first had left him -- I think he drove her away
-- about six years before. My stepbrother, Dan, was -- is,
really -- five years older than me. He's not just smart;
he's scary smart. He -- Oh, never mind. He's also very
sweet and sexy. And inhibited, unfortunately. Anyhow, he
used to visit about once a year, from New York, where he
lived with his mom.]
The second thing that happened was -- Well, you may have
noticed I have these tits, hahaha! I started, shall we
say, "developing," when I was ten -- Anyhow, I wasn't much
past ten. By May of that year, I had noticeable tits,
noticeable even dressed in my white starched St. Cornelius
blouse and plaid skirt. As a shorter than average sixth
grader with a "cute" -- I hated that word even then --
round little face, they seemed bigger than they were.
Oh, sure, I'd asked about a bra -- at the dinner table,
like a dope. Dad laughed and said that with a bra, I'd
look like I'd been bitten by two mosquitoes. Sweet, eh?
But by May, I had gen-u-wine little tits, not just mounds
of baby fat. I remember using the Sears catalog as a guide
to take my measurements. Sears decreed that I needed a
25-A cup at ten-and-change. Of course, there was no such
thing as a 25-A bra, just those stupid -- and too small --
training bras. The rest of me hadn't developed yet, which
made my boobs more noticeable, since I had a 19-inch waist
and 24-inch hips.
So, anyhow, every summer, the church held this carnival --
lots of games of chance and, of course, bingo -- as a
fund-raiser and there was --
[What? Oh, yeah, that's significant because that's when I
started keeping a diary. A journal, as my phantom
stepbrother would put it.]
Segue to summer. All during the last weeks of school and
the first weeks of summer, the more "advanced" boys had
been trying to get close to me -- or, more precisely, my
tits. So here it was, late July and the preteen training
bra -- the only thing I could get that was small enough for
my bust measurement -- was just a little tight in the
elastic for me, especially in casual garb. If you recall,
cutoff tee- shirts had become popular in the summer of '65.
That's significant.
The carnival was only four streets away, but Dad and Mom
spent a lot of time there. Dad was an electrician and Mom
was a great little organizer, and the two of them were
always over at the church. Everyone said they were
terrific. Of course, no one thought to ask them about the
kids --
[Yeah, it is kind of a cheap shot. There's a reason.]
Anyhow, it was the Thursday before Memorial Day. Back
then, we didn't have these arranged three-day weekends,
Memorial Day fell on Saturday, so everyone got beat on the
holiday. I couldn't get too annoyed, though. We were in
final exams, and when you finished your exam, you were cut
loose for the day. I finished my last exam at a quarter
past eleven on Thursday morning, and after that, I was free
to enjoy the sudden, midsummer-like heat wave that had hit
Toledo.
As soon as I got home, I changed into my two-piece suit and
a cutoff tee-shirt. I pulled on a pair of loose white
shorts and slipped into my sandals, grabbed my Coppertone,
then went down the block to Lisa's house. We were best
friends, even though she went to Rossford Public. She was
already finished with school for the summer. Lisa had a
big ol' Coleco above-ground pool in the back yard, out
behind and to one side of the garage.
[The tee-shirt? I couldn't wear the halter for my suit in
public; it was too small. It was this little bit of
stretch fabric, and I would have looked like an
advertisement for baby sex. Besides, it cut into me and
hurt. It's not like I had really big tits or anything --
not like later -- but on top of my little-girl waist and
little-girl hips, even the little boobies I had were really
noticeable. They seemed bigger than they really were.
[Look, these days it's not that unusual for a girl to start
budding when she's ten years old. In 1965, it was pretty
rare, and no bathing suit company provided for it, because
people wouldn't buy them -- they couldn't admit that their
little honey-pies might be growing full-size tits that
young. And think about this: If they wouldn't admit to
themselves what they could see with their own eyes, how
well do you think they dealt with explaining the facts of
life to a ten-year-old, let alone talking about love,
commitment, birth control or venereal disease? So in '65,
when you grew tits at ten, you learned the unpleasant way
-- usually, from grubby-fingered assholes who just wanted
to squeeze a boob. Okay?]
When I got to Lisa's house, Brenda -- her older sister --
was just on her way out. Brenda was sixteen and had this
terrific figure and was real pretty and boys were always
after her. She was going to the marina where someone was
taking her out on a boat for a ride on the Maumee.
Anyhow, Brenda told me Lisa had gone with her mom to the
new mall, over on Woodville Road, but I was welcome to hang
out and swim. She left and I took her up on the offer. I
figured the place was empty, since Jerry -- he was thirteen
then -- had a route delivering the Toledo Blade in the
afternoons.
I raided their fridge for a beer. Yeah, a beer at the age
of ten. I'd had sips and even a half a small glass at
cookouts at home, but I was feeling a bit flaky and
adventurous, so I took the churchkey and popped a can of
Blatz. Then I changed and went out back. I was going to
get wet and then lay on the picnic table near the bushes
and start my tan. I'm a lot darker than any of my brothers
or sisters and I tan well. Besides, I liked just laying
there and letting the sun soak into me.
But the bathing suit top was still tight on me, and just
before I went out, I took it off. There was a girl in the
seventh grade who already had real big boobs, and her life
was miserable. The girls didn't trust her, the boys her
own age always giggled and older boys were always grabbing
her. I remember hoping mine weren't going to grow like
that.
Wearing just the cutoff tee-shirt and the bottoms, I went
out. I slipped into the pool. I knew the tee-shirt would
be plastered to me, but with the tall bushes all around the
yard, I figured there was no one to stare. I bobbed around
in the pool for a few minutes, then got out and lay on a
towel on the picnic table. I rolled up the bottom of the
tee-shirt till my tits were almost showing and then just
lay there, enjoying the sun's weight. Every now and then I
took a draw on the beer and eventually emptied it.
After a while, I rolled onto my belly. The towel bunched
up a bit between my thighs, but I was feeling too lethargic
to do anything about it. Besides, one of the folds was
right under my little pussy and, the pressure on my clit
felt nice and tingly.
Anyhow, I looked around: No one in sight. I pulled off my
tee-shirt and lay flat. The sun was so heavy on me that I
dozed off. I don't know how long I slept.
Suddenly, my eyes were open. What had awakened me? I
figure it was the sound of Jerry putting his bike in the
garage, because he was striding toward the back steps. He
was wearing sneakers, cutoff jean shorts and nothing else,
if you don't count the newspaper bag and the rubber pad for
his shoulder, where the strap rested.
I don't know what possessed me. Probably it was a 12-ounce
can of beer in a 62-pound body that had been baking in the
sun for too long.
"Hi, Jerry."
He froze in midstep, turned and spotted me.
Jerry was 13 and really had a nice build, all lean and with
his belly like a washboard, and he was cute. He had lots
of curly dark hair -- all plastered down by sweat at that
moment -- and his jeans were real tight. I mean, you could
practically see his ... stuff through them.
He looked at me, blinked and stared -- and his jeans got
snugger.
I liked the way they got tighter.
"Would you do me a favor?"
"Sure, Marie."
"C'mere."
He shifted the carrier bag around so it hid the good stuff.
I was already feeling a definite urge, though, and hiding
his crotch only left more to the imagination.
He stopped about three steps from me, standing slightly
behind me. Didn't matter; I knew what he was looking at.
"Would you mind putting some lotion on my back?" I folded
my arms and rested my face on my forearms. I knew that
folding my arms revealed the sides of my little tits to
him, and I knew he was staring at them.
I heard the carrier bag hit the grass, and then I heard the
cap coming off the Coppertone. The bottle had been in the
hot sun, and the oil was warm and sensuous. He poured some
right in the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades.
He rubbed it around in about a two-inch circle. Shy.
"More? Please?"
"...sure."
Slowly, the circle widened. I raised myself slightly to
rest on my elbows, momentarily revealing most of my tits to
anyone who was paying attention. And he was paying
attention, because the spreading of lotion hesitated, then
became erratic. I let myself back down flat on the towel.
"Lower please?"
By now, his hands were wandering closer to my sides. He
froze for a moment, then more oil hit my back, and he
started working it lower, into the small of my back and
down to the beginning swells of my little butt. I reached
back with both hands and rolled the top of my suit bottom
down about halfway, maybe less.
I could hear his breathing as he lightly rubbed the oil on
the upper slopes of my ass. I flexed my butt a little and
his breathing got heavier.
"That feels so good and I feel so lazy ...." I parted my
legs slightly. "Would you mind doing my legs. I can reach
them, but your hands feel so good -- "
"...sure."
He started at my ankles and worked his way up my legs. I
have good legs and always have. He was enjoying kneading
the taut muscles, and I was enjoying the manipulation. I
let my legs part more when he reached my knees, and the
higher his hands went on the insides of my thighs, the
better I liked it, and the more my legs opened. Part of
what let me like what was happening was that he was a
little intimidated by it, I was the leader and the
aggressor, so I was in control. This was new, and I liked
it.
And then he was massaging the lotion into the smooth flesh
adjacent to the crotch of my suit...and his fingers began
to brush my now-soaked slit through the material. I hummed
tunelessly and pushed up and back a little. He took the
encouragement and worked one finger under the edge of my
snug suit and began rubbing my cunt lips. It felt great.
I raised my butt a little, but he didn't know what I was
seeking.
"Mmmmmm -- hold your finger right there for a minute," I
said. He froze, undoubtedly afraid I was going to stop
him. Wrong-o, Jerry.
I pressed my cunny down so my clit was rubbed against his
finger. I gasped, "Right -- there -- is the -- place --
okay?"
He started rubbing my swollen little clittie and it wasn't
more than 30 seconds before I was groaning, and my hips
were moving. Another 30 seconds, and I was clenched in a
tight little orgasm. I shook for a moment, then relaxed
back onto the towel. My hips were still moving, and his
finger had lost its place. Now he was probing my cunt
lips, trying to find the opening.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said soothingly. I reached blindly
behind me and felt his hard belly, then trailed my hand
down to catch the waistband of his cutoffs in my fingers.
"C'mere." I led him around to stand beside the pool table
and turned my head to face him. The bulge in his cutoffs
was impressive. I ran my hand down to it and pressed it
through the denim. He sucked in a breath.
"I liked that," I said. "Did you like it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Do you jerk off?"
"...I guess."
"You're not sure?"
He blushed madly. "Well, sure."
"What do you think about when you jerk off?"
I was rubbing my hand back and forth over that promising
bulge.
"You know -- doing it."
"With whom?"
"Girls."
"Any particular girls?" I rubbed a little faster.
"Not really." He was lying.
"What do they look like?"
"Y'know -- all grown up."
"With big tits."
"Yeah."
I rolled onto my side. He stared at my tits. I sat up,
fought off a moment of wooziness caused by the heat of the
sun, the heat in my crotch and the single beer. His eyes
followed my tits, drawn to them as if they were magnets. I
brought my other hand over and unsnapped the waist of his
jeans. I tugged the zipper down and then pushed his shorts
down. He was bare underneath them. His cock came out, so
stiff it was almost bouncing off his belly. It was a nice
13-year-old's cock, about five or six inches long and
average thick. He had some nice soft hair around the base
of it and his balls looked hard and tight. I gripped his
dick lightly -- the first time I'd ever wanted to touch a
hard, naked penis; I felt a little sizzle of excitement run
through me -- and began sliding my hand on it. His knees
began to tremble.
"Bigger tits than mine, huh?"
"You have real nice tits for a kid -- " he blurted. "I've
been watching -- "
He suddenly realized what he was saying and clamped his
mouth shut.
"So you've been watching me, huh? Looking at my tits,
huh?"
He nodded. I skinned my hand up and down his cock quickly
a couple of times, then stopped and wriggled out of my
bottoms. I sat naked in the sun on the picnic table in
front of him.
"Would you like me to jerk you off?" I asked, again
gripping his dick. "Would you like to touch my tits and my
cunt again?"
He nodded.
"Then I want you to do something for me." I stood on the
grass beside him. He was much taller than me. He smelled
of sweat and Coppertone and excitement.
"Anything!'
"I want you to kiss my pussy -- right where you were
rubbing with your finger."
"You mean -- with my mouth? Down there?" He sounded
dubious.
I nodded. "Lay down on the picnic table, and you kiss me
down there while I jerk you off."
"I dunno," he said. "I can jerk myself off."
"So can I, but I can't lick my own pussy."
"And I can't suck my own dick..." That sudden boldness
surprised me, but not enough to put me off. His hands were
wandering over my tits. He was surprisingly gentle after
the first careful squeezes -- testing their firmness -- and
his caresses were exciting me even more. When he began
playing with my nipples, I decided.
"Alright," I said. "I'll suck you and you suck me."
He nodded and stepped out of his cutoffs, then climbed on
the picnic table and lay back on the towel. His dick
throbbed furiously in the sunlight as I climbed over him,
facing his feet. I straddled his chest with my knees and
back up. He was so much bigger than I that my legs were
quite wide open. I felt his hot breath on my mound and
stretched forward till his dick was touching my mouth.
He began to kiss and lick my cunt, and I gasped and opened
my mouth. He hunched his hips up, and about half his hard
teenage dick was in my mouth. I closed my lips around his
dick as he closed his hands around my little butt, and then
I closed my eyes and sucked for oil. I didn't know -- then
-- all the little movements that make a good cocksucker,
but this kid didn't notice. I put my hands on his hips to
moderate the thrashing of his fucking movements and sucked
and pulled with my lips. I knew it was going to be about
20 seconds before he came.
Even so, I started cumming first. He didn't know anything
about cunt licking, but he knew how I responded the first
time his tongue brushed my clit, and he knew I sucked
harder when he did that, so he got a liplock on the little
bud and went to town, trilling his tongue tip over it as
fast as he could.
I started cumming and didn't stop, not even when he worked
one finger into my cunt. I felt a little tension and a
moment of discomfort, nothing more, and I was distantly
surprised it hadn't hurt more. But since I was on top, and
I wasn't being controlled or forced or anything -- well, it
really didn't bother me. On the contrary -- my pussy
grabbed that finger and squeezed it. I came then as I cum
now: clenched and almost frozen, bucking toward the source
of pleasure -- in this case, his lips and tongue and
finger.
The combination of that finger-fucking and his prolonged
arousal along with my desperate sucking sent him over the
edge. His hips jerked, driving half his dick into my
mouth, and then he was cumming. I hadn't planned to
swallow, but there was no escape before he started to flow
and I swallowed by reflex and then the deed was done, so I
kept at it. His semen was so thick!
I was sucking and cumming, and he was licking and cumming,
and both of us were moaning and cumming. I kept swallowing
-- it was swallow or drown -- and he kept cumming, more
than I'd suspected was possible. When he finally stopped
spurting, I sucked as hard as I could, and from somewhere
in his teenage balls summoned forth a last gob of sperm.
He groaned, and his hands fell away from my butt as I
released his spent -- but still half-hard -- dick from my
spermy lips.
I lay sprawled on him in the hot sun for a few minutes, my
pussy backed against the underside of his chin and my hips
slowly, languidly revolving. His dick stayed half-hard
against the side of my face.
Finally I climbed off him and got down to the grass. It
felt crinkly and warm between my toes. I was still
tingling.
He sat up slowly, as if exhausted. His face was slick with
my juices, as were the insides of my thighs. I gathered my
stuff -- and the empty Blatz can -- and turned to him. He
was climbing down from the table. "I need to clean up,
Jerry. Can I use the shower in the basement?" I knew
about it because when I stayed over with his sister, we
frequently sat up in their basement recreation room -- such
as it was -- as late as we could get away with.
He nodded. "Sure. You know where everything is?"
I reached out and gently stroked his half-hard dick a
couple of times. "I do now." His prick began hardening
again. Thirteen.
He took his shorts and stuffed them in his delivery bag,
and we scurried into the house. I headed down the basement
stairs for the shower. I heard him climbing the stairs to
the second floor, to his room. I knew there was a full
bathroom up there and figured he'd use that one, and I'd
use the one downstairs and that would be that.
I figured wrong.
MARIE2
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