Archive name: elly3.txt (M/f-teen, first time)
Authors name: Friar Dave (Address Defunct)
Story title : Elly Comes of Age
Part 3 of 4

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This story is copyrighted (c) 1996. All rights reserved. 
This story may be posted to free sites as long as no 
changes have been made to my story, and the author name 
remains attached.
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When I awoke, I lay there for a few minutes trying to 
sort things out. The clock said 9:08. After reminding 
myself that this was a Saturday and I did not have to 
go into the place I laughingly refer to as "work," I 
began to wonder: Had I dreamed it? No; there was a wet 
spot where she'd lain. And I became aware of the aroma 
of fresh coffee (half-Sumatra, quarter-pound each of 
French-roasted Mexican Altura and French-roasted 
Colombian, dripped in a Braun Melitta-filter pot) I 
rolled to my feet, pulled on my faded blue terrycloth 
robe, slipped into my slippers (clever name for them, 
eh?) and thwap-thwapped into the living room.

Elly had opened the shutters and glorious sunshine was 
pouring in through the fourth-floor windows of my 
tenement apartment. She was doing wonderful things for 
my old, blue Dior robe (the tattered one that came 
halfway to my calves). A cup of The Good Stuff was on 
the battered old oak table next to the love seat and 
she'd switched the stereo to play through the living 
room speakers, the ones in the books shelves. It was 
something called "LITE FM" and I hated it. "LITE" means 
no calories and calories are a measure of heat; no one 
was ever going to accuse Ann Murray or Kansas of 
generating heat with their music.

On Elly's lap was the three-ring binder in which I keep 
photocopies of my published stories.

She looked up as I entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed; 
she'd been weeping. "Oh, David," she said, "I can't 
believe you wrote these!"

"Why not?" I already knew which one had elicited that 
response. "Because I like to fuck?"

Her expression collapsed. "Why do you have to spoil 
it?"

"I'm a package deal. With the beautiful story comes the 
guy who supported himself for a couple of years by 
writing brilliant, sensitive stuff like `Lezzy Bitch' 
and `Mom, Sis And Every Body'. And if that disappoints 
you, think what it does for me, okay?"

She looked down and pursed her lips. I tried to ignore 
the Parting of the Robe. She murmured, "I guess that's 
fair. I mean, you'll take me as a package deal, I guess 
I have to do the same. You don't mind being with a 
slutty bimbo who loves being fucked and cumming all the 
time." She looked up at me, beautiful blue eyes wide 
and bright.

"I don't mind and I don't think you're slutty."

She closed the binder and set it aside. I was 
disappointed that She wasn't compelled to finish what 
She was reading. She leaned forward and I got a good 
view all the way down the front of her robe. She open-
ed mind and sucked my cock, still coated with our 
juices from the night before, completely into her mouth 
and began using her tongue to wash it.

The inevitable happened quickly.

She pulled back and released it and looked up at me. "I 
get off sucking cock. Drinking semen makes me get 
over."

"I know. So does being licked or having a cock inside 
you -- "

"That's different. Then I can't stop cumming and I 
don't want to. But drinking it, getting off that way -- 
then it's just once and I'm in control."

"And the other way you're being controlled."

"No -- no, the other way I'm out of control, I can't 
control myself. That's why I started studying Yoga when 
I was fifteen -- to help me learn to control myself. I 
controlled my eating and stopped smoking and never do 
drugs anymore and hardly ever even drink. And I never, 
ever masturbate. That way nothing controls me but me 
and no one can control me or hurt me or take advantage 
of me."

"That's why you want it to hurt you when you fuck."

She nodded gravely. "If it doesn't hurt -- well, you 
saw what happened." She was blushing. "I just keep 
getting over..." She dropped her eyes. "It's not 
natural to be such a slut. That's why you're the first 
man I ever let lick me and that was just because I like 
you so much."

I frowned, pulled my robe closed and sat down in the 
rocker facing the couch. "Last night you told me you 
liked it -- before I licked you."

"No, I didn't -- "

"You're not a good liar."

"But you are the first -- "

She stopped and tears welled up. 

"How old were you when you let a woman lick you?"

"A year before I met you, my cousin and I, we -- we --"

"You liked it."

"Yes, dammit!" She shouted and then looked away. 
Softly: "I used to masturbate and get over every night 
before I went to sleep. But when Adele licked me, I 
went nuts. I licked her, too, and she went nuts, too. 
That's when I realized what a slut I am, because she 
was the biggest slut you ever saw and I was getting 
over just like her."

"How do you know she was a slut?"

"I'd seen her doing it with guys and men. She'd do it 
with any guy she saw, sometimes whole bunches of them. 
It was like she couldn't get enough, like she was an 
addict."

"Sounds like she was a sex addict, alright. And a slut. 
But you're no slut."

"How can you say that? Only a slut would get over the 
way I do.. "

"You're saying that every woman I ever cared about is a 
slut?" I growled, as menacingly as I could. It must 
have been pretty effective because her eyes widened, 
she jerked back on the couch and cringed, holding the 
robe closed. I'm terrific at terrifying insecure women 
under five feet tall.

"No! I just meant -- "

"The hell! You said a multi-orgasmic woman is a slut 
and every woman I've ever cared about has been multi-
orgasmic."

"But -- "

I pointed at the frame photo of a nude torso on the 
wall. "You've met her. Is she a slut?"

"Her?" Disbelief.

"What about Livinia?"

"Who?"

"The Filipino woman who used to work in the Laundromat. 
Is she a slut?"

"But she was always nice and pleasant and polite and 
never -- "

"That's two. You've met both of them, talked with them. 
By your definition, they're sluts -- because they're 
multi-orgasmic."

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"You read a lot, Elly. There've been hundreds of 
articles in women's magazines about women being 
naturally multi-orgasmic."

"I don't read those articles. They start me thinking 
and then I want to get over too much." She blushed. 
"Even just talking about it, now, makes me -- you 
know."

"Horny."

"I can probably get over just by thinking about it and 
imagining it, I think."

I stared at her for a long time. "Elly, I know women 
who'd kill to be able to do that."

"Really? Are they slutty?"

"Nope. Elly, what do you do when your sweetheart wants 
you? Make him hurt you?"

"He can't help it. He's so, you know, big that it 
always hurts to have him inside. We hardly ever do 
that, because he likes to have me suck him off. I like 
that."

"I know."

Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing me at the 
moment. Pornographic images were in her field of 
vision. Her nipples were swollen points jabbing the 
front of the tautly held robe. Considering that the 
robe is terrycloth, that's pretty impressive.

"And I like you," she said suddenly. "You listen to me 
and talk to me. But you're telling me to take a chance 
and give in to being a slut."

"When you wanted to lose weight, you didn't stop eating 
completely did you?"

She shook her head. "I just learned to eat regular 
meals and eat the right stuff."

"Same thing. Get crazy only when it's right for you and 
do what feels good with the right people. Use your head 
the way you did when you were dieting. You're acting 
like an anorexic -- someone who's compulsive about not 
eating so he can avoid being fat."

"So you're telling me that you don't think I'm a slut, 
that it's natural for a woman to get over so much and 
that the way I'm doing it isn't really healthy for me."

"In my humble opinion."

She looked up at the Library Wall. I watched the robe, 
to see if the nipples were going poke holes in it. I 
didn't think so, but I wasn't willing to put money on 
it.

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"Think about that while I get some coffee."

"Mm-hm."

I stood and went over to stand before her. She 
refocused her eyes on me. She was slightly flushed and 
her breathing was shallow. "And one other thing," I 
said.

"What?"

"While I'm drinking my coffee in the dining room..." I 
took her hand put it over her cunt and squeezed. She 
gasped -- but didn't try to stop. "I want you to touch 
yourself."

"I don't know -- "

"Please, as a favor."

I didn't have to wait for a reply, because her fingers 
were al-ready moving of their own accord. I would have 
preferred to stay and watch, but I wanted my coffee -- 
and to keep the conditions I'd set.

I fed to so-called cat and sat down to drink my coffee. 
I did not look at the clock and tried not to scald 
myself with haste. I also tried not to visualize what 
was going on in the living room.

I remembered Elly as I'd met her. She was mentally 
rather mature for her age -- 16 -- and sold donuts at a 
local store, over near the subway. Her poise and 
perception and literacy had impressed me. Becoming 
acquaintances and even friends was odd.

Odd because I am truly repulsed, physically, by 
overweight females. (Don't take this as sexist, please; 
I suppose that overweight males repulse the vast 
majority of women, too.) That made it easy to be a 
friend to her, to be a confident and, occasionally, an 
advisor -- because I knew I'd never be tempted to hit 
on her and she could sense that I was safe.

As time passed, she would sometimes call me late at 
night, after her strict (Old Country Polish) mother had 
already turned in. She knew that I stayed up late and l 
encouraged her to call. There was something fragile 
about her. She needed a friend, a man whose interests 
weren't confined to fucking her, or who -- like me -- 
wasn't at all interested in fucking her. Considering 
her weight, that was no problem for me.

After she left the donut store, sometimes we'd bump 
into each other. More often than not, it was at the 
local video store. We'd chat a bit while we walked as 
far as my corner (she lived much farther east, in the 
old end of the neighborhood) and one night we stood and 
talked for almost an hour. Neither of us wanted to stop 
sharing of ourselves.

She'd ask about my girlfriend -- though "main squeeze" 
was more like it, since my girl and I had sort of an 
open relationship -- and I'd ask what new love was in 
her life. She was a hopeless romantic, falling in and 
out of love weekly, but usually had to worship from 
afar. Eventually, we simply lost touch with each other.

Her footsteps in the hallway snapped me back to the 
moment. I finished my coffee and looked up, expecting 
to see her come into the dining room. Instead, the 
steps changed direction and then I heard her bump into 
the doorjamb -- she is Polish, after all -- and then 
heard her hit the bed. I heard sheets rustle.

Then: "David, please come here." Her voice had a quaver 
in it. Being not nearly as dumb as I look, I 
immediately went to her. When I got there, she had the 
covers pulled up to her neck. Only her flushed face, 
framed by disheveled hair, was visible. Her hands were 
moving beneath the covers, though, clearly cupping and 
gliding over her breasts, then sliding down her torso 
to move at the juncture of her thighs. 

I closed the door and looked down at her from the foot 
of the bed. My cock was already throbbing hard beneath 
my robe. 

"I just kept getting over until I had to have you. 
Oooo... What would make you hot?" she breathed. Her 
eyes were half-closed. The heaving of her breasts 
beneath the light blanket increased. "C'mon -- tell 
me."

Continued in part 4

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
