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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no    o
o  particular order other than offering them to you in  alpha-    o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s   o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises    o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!  This story was produced as adult en-   o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.  Kristen Becker   o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Berkeley Barb (coming of age)
by Radar (c) 1990


I was a precocious kid at the age of 13 when I moved in with my father
and his roommate back in the early 70's. He had divorced my mother about 2
years before (and a messy divorce at that) and went to pursue what was
known back then a "hippie" life-style, complete with their artifacts of
the time (drugs, "free sex," non responsibility, etc.). He did still
visit me from time to time after the divorce, but the deteriorating
relationship between myself and my mother came to a head, and after
a number of times showing up at the county Family Crisis Center (usually
late at night), the county finally took me out of my mother's house,
and let me stay with my father.

Needless to say, it was a drastic change for me.

One of the first things I had to adjust to was his new life-style. He
didn't try to hide his drugs (which was only Marijuana and Peyote) or his
girlfriend. He also introduced me to his new friends, which were all
people who had migrated to Berkeley from the midwest to catch the Berkeley
"movement," though it had pretty well died off by the early 70's there,
save for the occasional demonstration on the Berkeley campus. Eventually,
he introduced me to marijuana and rock concerts (which I though was the
best combination I ever experienced), and his roommate...

His roommate was also divorced, having come from the same circumstances
as my father, and also indulging in the same things that my father was now
indulging in. He was more outgoing, though, with numerous girlfriends
(which he _loved_ to take Polaroid pictures of, and showing them around to
his friends and myself). He was always out somewhere with his numerous
dates, either at a rock concert, dinner, or at their house, since now
that I moved in, it made it inconvenient for him to enjoy his sexual escapades
at home.

I, myself, had started being independent almost a couple of years
before, learning how to get around the Bay Area (on the bus and the subway
here, called BART), and making the most of my newfound mobility. One of
the things my mom didn't like was that I "disappeared" until the wee hours 
of the morning (sometimes 2am), not knowing what the hell I was doing
out so late, being that I was so young (11-12 years old). Usually, I would
be in San Francisco, in numerous places (like Polk Street, Mission Street,
or wherever there was people hanging around). Since I didn't have any
more neighborhood friends (they had either moved or made new friends
themselves from going to different schools themselves, as I lived on
a school border line for 2 different junior high schools), I made do
with hanging out in "The City."

My father didn't mind any of this at all, since it made his
life easier, so to speak, because I was not around so much. He still
had a hard time communicating with me, as he had really abused me
(physically) when I was a little kid, and he didn't know how to
apologize for that (or even "make up for it"). So he compensated
it by giving me money and marijuana in any quantity I wanted, which
gave me even more mobility to get around. Since some of his friends
lived in Berkeley, I discovered that area in short order, and was
also "hanging out" there also.

In being so independent and precouious, I seemed to attract
women who were...errr...a little more outgoing themselves.
(I eventually did attract one a short time later, but that is another
story...). That attitude even showed up on the telephone, which I
always seemed to be answering for my father and his roommate all the
time, since they were never home, and answering machines were not common
back then.

(Well now, the story.)

In time, I found out why my father's roommate did have so many dates.
He regularly placed personal ads in a local paper called the "Berkeley Barb."
The "Barb" was, to say the least, a local "alternative" newspaper that
catered to the more radical and sexual tastes of the East Bay, with
either accusatory articles of local or state politicians, or the sexual
romps of those same people.

Well, since my father and his roommate worked, I usually ended
up answering calls for both. That included messages for Gil (the
roommate) from the personal ad.

The messages always sounded innocent enough, usually with the
woman asking "Is Gil there?" and me answering no, and then a name and
phone number taken. Sometimes there were as many as 5-10 calls a day,
sometimes none for a week at a time.

One man did call once. I didn't think it was from the ad at the
time (since I had seen the ad, and it was obvious he was looking for a woman).
After asking for Gil, he then started asking a lot of questions, like how
old I was, if I was alone at the time, and if I'd like to meet him
somewhere in Berkeley. I was definitely *not* interested in men, or
their sexual antics, and promptly hung up on him...

But literally on the same day, a woman called. She had started off
just like all the rest of the people calling Gil.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hello. Is Gil there?" she responded.

"No, he isn't," I answered.

"Well...do you expect him back soon?" she asked.

"Yup. He's at work now. He usually gets back `round 6 or 7," I said.

"Oh kayyyy. I was, uh, calling about the ad he placed."

A little hesitant, I noticed.

"Oh yeah, the one in the Barb?"

"You know about it?" she asked.

"Yeah. He's shown it to me. I'm used to it now."

"Huhhh," she wondered, "Does that mean, ummm, he gets a lot of calls?"

"Yup," I blurted out. Shit, I thought, I shouldn't of said that. I
probably blew this one.

"Oh..." she quietly said.

Well, I kept thinking, I ain't gonna tell Gil about this one, since I
doubted she'd call back anyway. Besides, Gil was planning to be gone that
night anyway since he was going on another one of his "dates" again...

"O.K." she concluded...I thought.

Well, time to get back to listening to the radio, since I was
waiting for the time for some more concert tickets to be given away. I was
drifting off, thinking on which concerts were coming around this weekend.
Wasn't Golden Earring going to be at Winterland this...?

"Well," breaking into my thoughts, "I didn't mean to bother you."

"Hey," I said, "no problem. I was just listening to the radio
anyway."

"The radio...? What are you listening to?"

"KFRC," I answered. It was the local Top-40 bubblegum station. Very
much listened to by every kid 16 and under in the Bay Area. They were
playing "Half Breed" by Cher.

"Oh. You don't listen to KSAN?" she asked. KSAN was the local
"underground" station at the time. Better known now as "Classic Rock."

"Naw," I answered, "only when they're giving away tickets to something."

"Tickets?" she wondered, "tickets to what?"

"Concerts," I answered. "Usually at Winterland. I'm waiting for them
to announce it. They usually do it once an hour."

In fact, the station gave them away exactly once an hour at a
particular time of day. That time was still about 10 minutes away. Plenty
of time to bullshit on the phone.

"Which concert is it?"

"I think it's Golden Earring," I said, "I'm not too sure. I usually
don't care that much who it is, `cause sometimes I sell the tickets anyway,
and just spend the money instead."

"Oh yeah, Golden Earring..." she said, "I haven't seen them yet,
but I've seen the Electric Light Orchestra and David Bowie."

"Electric Light...Oh! E.L.O!" I replied, "And David Bowie? You
saw the Spiders from Mars tour?"

"Something like that," she said. "I guess you like to go to a lot
of concerts being that you're...uh...how old are you?"

"13," I said. No use of lying about my age, unlike countless
other times I've lied to other girls I see in school.

"13!? That young?" she said with a little surprise in her voice.

"Yeah. How old did you think I was?"

"Uhhh...I thought you might have been older...or something," she
stammered back.

That nervousness again, I thought. Why does she seem so nervous?
Still keeping an ear on the radio, I heard the D.J., Dr. Don Rose start
talking after the previous song. He was making another of his famous
jokes about Arco (the oil company) again. I still remember the apology
they had to make after the last joke he cracked about them about a month ago.
Looking at the clock, I figured after the commercials and one more song,
the latest round of tickets would be given away. Time to finish the call up...

"Oh yeah..." remembering what I was going to ask, "How old are you?"

"Uhhh...How old do you think I am?"

"Well...how about 25" I said. I never was good at guessing the age
of somebody. I figured I'll probably off by a few years.

"Hmmm, try 23."

Hey, I was actually near the mark for once!

"All right! I was real close!" I said.

"Yes, you were."

Silence. I glanced at the clock. the second commercial was starting.

"Well," I started out saying, "I guess you wanna go..."

"No, not really. Did you need to do something?"

Yeah, I do, I thought. I need to get those tickets so I sell them, since
I just remembered I hated Golden Earring and that god-awful hit of theirs, "Radar
Love." Sell them and go to the Grateful Dead concert at the Cow Palace where
they were testing out some awesome sound system with zillions of speakers and
millions of watts of...

Oops, drifting off. "No, I don't have anything to doooo..."

What the hell did I say that for? Clock time again. Third commercial...

"I...I just wanted...to talk to somebody. Do you mind?" she asked.

"Sure, I don't mind." There I go again! Why did I say that?

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked.

Why is she asking me? She's the one who wanted to talk, I thought.

"Well, whatever you want to talk about."

"You sure you don't mind talking...?" she started to ask.

"No, no, no, no!" I quickly responded, "Really, I don't mind at all!"

"O.K. It just sounded like you didn't want to talk to me, that's all"

"No...Really...I don't mind" I replied.

All of a sudden, my mind started to think: What is going on here? Why
did I tell her I didn't mind at all!? At that age, I wasn't very considerate
to others, having proved that time and time again when I hung around with my
Father's friends. Why didn't I just tell her I had to go and hang up the phone?

Oops, more silence...

"Well," I started again, "Did you...uhhh...want to say something?
Maybe ask something...or...Something...err...You know!"

The radio blared out the jingle..."Six-Ten, K-F-R-C..." I barely
caught it. The song they started...uhhh..."Show and Tell" by Al Wilson.
Second time I had heard it then. I would later think it was sooo appropriate.

"Uhhh...Oh! School. What school do you go to?" she asked.

School...which school did...Oh yeah!

"King" I answered.

"King? King what?"

"Oh yeah. King junior high, on the avenue" I replied.

`...and here is the soul of which you've taken control...' the song went.

"The `Avenue'?" she asked

"Yeah. Telegraph Avenue."

"Where's that?" she kept asking.

"Oh! In Berkeley. Don't you live in Berkeley?"

"No," she said, "I don't. Uh, I live in the City."

The City was, of course, San Francisco. Why didn't she know Berkeley?

"Haven't you ever been to Berkeley?" I asked back.

"Yes, once. A long time ago, with a friend...ummm...ex-friend."

"Ex-friend?" I said.

"Yeah...well...kinda. He was somebody I was seeing, you know...
something like that."

That song again: `These are the hands that can't help reaching for you...'

"Somebody you're seeing? Like a boyfriend?" I asked.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that...you know."

No, I don't know, I thought...

"You going out with him still?" I kept going on.

"Not really. I kinda see him sometimes, like when he comes over."

"So he's still your boyfriend?" I said.

"It's...it's kinda hard to say."

`Show and tell. It's just a game I play...' the song kept going.

"I, uh, don't..." I started.

"He, uh...He just stays over from time to time."

"`Stays over,' like overnight?" I said.

"Do you know what I mean?" she asked.

"Yeah, kinda." I said. 

At least I think I get the idea, sorta..."Does he stay with you?"

"Yeah, he, well, he sleeps with me still."

"What do you do when he sleeps over?" I blurted. Oops...

The song: `Girl, so show me, and tell me that you feel the same way too.'

"We, uh...We hold each other a lot."

"Oh," I said, sounding disappointed, "that's all?"

"No. We also make love sometimes."

"Make love? Like kissing or something...?" I trailed off.

"No, it's a little more involved than that. I guess you'd be a little
young to understand."

"Well, no, I, um...read some magazines." I said.

"What kind of magazines?"

"You know, like, uh, Playboy and Penthouse." I stammered ahead.

"You've seen those?"

"Yeah, of course. My dad gets them all the time and leaves them lying
around the apartment, so I go through them" I answered.

"You do?" she asked.

"Uh huh"

"Do you look at the pictures?" she kept going on.

"You mean the centerfolds?"

"Yes" she said.

"Yeah, I, uh, look at the girls."

"What do you think of them?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like, uh...Like do you do anything?"

"`Do anything?' I don't get it?"

"Like," she hesitated, "like keep yourself occupied?"

Occupied, I thought. How the hell do I...Oh shit!

"Oh! You mean do I, uhh..."

"Do you do that already?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Do, uh, you know...Use your hand, I guess." she stammered out.

Oh, I thought, I thought she actually meant that I did it with a girl or
something like that. I'd been `using my hand' as she said for the last year.

"Yeah, I do, but, uh, I don't use the pictures."

"You don't?" It was her turn to be confused, obviously.

"No, I don't. I, uh, read the stories."

"You do!?" she said, surprised.

"Yeah. The stories are a lot better than the pictures."

As a matter of fact, I had read the stories ever since I could remember.
It had took a while to understand what most of the `lingo' was, but Xavier
Hollander's column took care of all that, in excellent detail, I might add!
And her column sometimes had the best stories. But mostly, it was the `Letters'
column that I had read, since the `knowledge' that the letters were `real'
made it a lot more exciting than the fiction inside (except for a story I
still remember to this day about a few people who were called "Wavers" and
could hypnotize their partners that it was the best sex they ever had...but
that's another story). Of course, once I found out the `Letters' were
also fiction themselves...

I explained all the above to her.

"But the pictures don't do anything?" she asked.

"Naw, not really. It was kinda weird at first, but they all look the
same now."

"Do you remember any of the stories?" she said.

"Yeah, some of them."

"Like which ones?"

"Well," I hesitated for a second, "there was one in Xaviers column
about a somebody who was just divorced and had moved into an apartment by
herself, and she started fooling around with a boy."

"A boy?" She asked, "Like a young boy?"

"Yeah, he was 14, and was just out at the pool in the apartment
building, and the woman comes over and sees him just sitting on the side there,
and she decides to sit next to him. She then starts talking to him and then
goes swimming. He then sees her, uhhh..."

"Her what?" she pressed.

"Well, he sees her bikini creep up her, uh, you know. In the middle there."

I was still too embarrassed to say `pussy'.

"You mean her vagina" she said.

"Yeah, that." I almost stuttered back. "After that, she then takes him
inside the her apartment and, uh, you know, `makes love' as you say."

Also too embarrassed to say "fucks him".

"Does the letter go into detail?"

Detail!?! Of course, I thought. Some of the best detail I could
remember! That's why _I_ remember it!

"Uh, yeah, kind of..." I slowly said.

"I never read anything like that. Can you tell me what it said?"

"Like how? You mean, like, you want to, uh, hear all of it?" I asked.

I just realized she didn't seem nervous anymore. She even was talking
a lot softer now, like somebody who was putting you to bed, or something like that.

"Well, OK. Uh, where was I...?"

"She was coming in from the pool into the apartment." she reminded me.

"Oh yeah! That's right! She had brought the guy inside and asked him
if he wanted anything to drink, and he said yes. She had brought out a coke for
him and then asked him if he wanted to get out of his wet swimming trunks. She
said that she had one of her ex-husband's robes, and he could use it if he
wanted to. He said he didn't mind and went off to the bathroom and took his
trunks off and put the robe on. He then came back to the living room and saw that
the woman had put a short robe on also. She then started to ask him if he lived
in the area, and he said he lived upstairs in the apartment building, and then
she asked if he had a girlfriend, and he said he didn't. She then asked if
he'd been with any girls at all, and he said no. As she was sitting there,
she decided to open up her legs a little since she was sitting almost across
from him on the couch, and she had taken her bikini off, so she was showing
him her pu...uhh..."

"Don't worry. I've heard the word `pussy' before' she said.

"Uh, ok." I said back. "So, like I said, she was showing him her,
uh, pussy since she didn't have anything on underneath the robe, and it was
real short to begin with. She saw that he was staring straight at it, and
she saw that he was getting a, uh..."

"...a hard on?" she asked.

"Yeah, a hard on. So she decides that she wants to fuck, uhh..."

"No, no! That's allright. Come on! It doesn't bother me. Really!"

"OK" I said. "She starts thinking that she wants to fuck him, so she
starts to move closer to him and starts opening up her legs wider so that he
can see everything, and she then puts her hand on his leg to see if he'll
do anything, but he didn't get the message. So, she keeps moving closer and
keeps moving her hand up the robe and has it on the top of his leg, and he
still doesn't do anything..."

"Would you have done anything then?"

"Of course!" I lied. Honestly, I would have been just as scared as the
kid in the letter was, but even I didn't admit that to myself back then.

"So, where was I? Oh! Yeah, she has her hand right next to his, uh, dick
and he almost drops his Coke and he grabs it just as she grabs it also, but she
had grabbed his robe with her other hand to balance herself, and it pulled off.

"So he was naked?" she asked.

"Yeah, she opened up his robe when she pulled on it. So she was sitting
there staring at his dick and they just froze for a second and he says he's
sorry about that, and she says about what? And he says about his you-know-what,
and she says your hard-on, and he says yeah, and she says that he shouldn't
be sorry at all, that there was lots of other ways to apologize other than
saying sorry, and he says how, and she puts her hand on his dick and says
that `that' could apologize for him in more ways than one, and she then bends
over to kiss him..."

"French?" stopping me for a second.

"`French?' I don't get it?" I ask back.

"Whaddya call it...? `The tongue'?"

"Oh, yeah, she gives him the tongue" I continue. "She then asks him if
he's ever done it with another girl, and he says that when he said he never
had a girlfriend, he'd also never been with a girl, period. She then says
if he ever wanted to know what it was like to be with a girl, and he said
yeah, that he'd jacked-off looking at pictures but he'd never fucked a real
girl. She then said that he was about to find out what a real girl was like,
and after taking his and her robes off, she had him lie down on the couch,
and she leaned over his face and made him start licking her pussy..."

"Have you ever thought of that?" she broke in again.

"Thought of what?"

"Thought of licking pussy?" she asked.

"Yecch, no. It sounds nasty" I answered back. Little did I know, it
would eventually be my absolute favorite position, better than anything else!
That was a ways down the road, though, at this point.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to stick my tongue there at all! Who knows what it may
taste like" I said.

"You'd be surprised" she answered.

Heh heh, it was eventually a surprise...

"Anyway, uh, where was I?" I asked.

"He was licking her pussy" she reminded me again.

"Oh yeah. She was bent over him, like I said, making him lick her,
and then all of a sudden, he came all over himself."

"That fast?" she asked.

"Yeah, a little fast, huh?" I asked back.

"Yeah, well, I knew a few like that...Anyway..."

"Hmmm, yeah. Anyway," I continued, "she didn't get upset about that,
since she understood that he's never been with a girl before, and so, keeps him
going at her pussy until she comes herself. She then slides down him to give
him another kiss, and at the same time, slides his dick into her pussy."

"Are you sure you've never been with a woman before" she asks again.

"No, never. Not at all" I reply.

"But...But you know all the moves, errr...everything that a man
would do in bed. You learned all that from the magazines?"

"Yeah, nothing else." I answer.

"Wow...Ummm, anyway, where were you?"

"Uh, oh! Yeah." I said, "She was sliding down and eventually touches
the head of his dick with her pussy, and starts teasing it to see if she can
get it hard again, and it does get hard almost immediately. She waits for
it to get hard enough so she can slide it into her pussy while she's still
kissing him all over his face. He keeps feeling her trying to get his dick
in her pussy, and thinks that she can't find it, so he goes ahead and just
thrusts it in and starts pumping right into her. She's trying to control
him, trying to keep it slow, but he's just going at it, and he starts cumming
in her in a minute or so again."

"Is that it?" she asks.

"No, not really." I said, "He finally calms down and they go at it
again that night, and keep going at it for the next few months until either
she moves or he moves, I don't remember."

"Wow!" she exclaims. "That was really a hot story."

"It was?" I asked.

"Yeahhh," she said, breathing heavily, "I'd forgot all about my childhood."

"Your childhood...?"

"Well, I...errr...forgot how horny I used to be when I was about
your age." she said.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," I kept going. "I seem to be like that
all the time."

"Like what?" she probed. "You mean...horny?"

"Yeah, really bad lately."

"Hmmm," she said. "I want to ask you a question, if you don't mind?"

"Like what?" I asked back.

"Like, uh...Have you ever been with an older woman before?"

Holy Shit, I thought...