Date: Fri, 8 Feb 2002 18:44:21 -0600
From: Tom Emerson <thomas@btl.net>
Subject: Stonington Stories - Audrey

Stonington Stories - Audrey.
(M/f, inc, mast, rom.)
by R. Forbes Emerson

       I was fourteen.  We'd just moved to Stonington.  It was September,
and the first week of school.  What I liked to do as the bus ground from
Oceanville into the lobster town of two thousand was stare out the window,
directly at the roadside.  If I let my eyes lose half their focus, the
passing thicket and alders would blur.  It was beautiful.  I wondered if
other kids did it, but you had to position your head just right for the
effect, and I didn't see anyone else obviously thus engaged as the miles
passed.

       I'd heard Audrey Robbins was ten, and just turned ten, at that.
Even if the blurring of the passing brush hadn't had it own strange beauty,
I would have stared at it for much of the half-hour trip.  So as to try not
to look at Audrey.

       The basic description is easy.  Very light brown hair, sort of
frizzy and cute; wonderful skin, long, elegant neck; pretty freckles, and a
very slow, shy smile.  Quiet as a mouse, her bright, light blue eyes a
great mystery from the first glance.

       Why didn't I want to look at this delight, me being a boy, and all?
Two reasons that ran into each other like locomotive headed in opposite
directions, but using the same track.  Which reason first.  The good news,
or the bad news.  Okay, I've made the decision.  Audrey's nose.  Not
oversized, put aggressively pendulous at the tip.  The good news?  She
could have passed for my age.  Her breasts weren't huge, but they were big,
and high, and pert.  Her waist was that of a very young woman.  Her legs,
even in school clothes common in Maine in 1960, were long; not boyish and
coltish, but slim and elegant.

       Two reasons to stare, but I didn't dare, though I did manage to
sneak about twenty looks to the mile.  Finally she caught me, flushed
slightly and smiled beautifully and quietly to herself.  She was ten years
old.

       Within a day or two of moving to Oceanville, I'd heard two specific
stories about Audrey Robbins.  One was that Normie Robbins, her cousin had
had sex with her while Mark Billings watched, but that Mark didn't do
anything because he was a Mormon (RLDS).  The second story was that she'd
had to go to Blue Hill for a few days, that's the area hospital, and,
though I don't recall it precisely, that Audrey's brother, Jack, was
involved.

       How many think this is actually three reasons to look, not look, at
the girl across the aisle?

       Fourteen may not be the best age to deal with this kind of thing,
but I tried.  This is the story of what happened.

       Because of her age, her nose, and her reputation, I was scared to
talk to her.  Even half way in love with her, I was like a clam.  Nothing
was likely to change; our routine was set in cement and she lived a quarter
mile away, so, what with the Billings just up the street, I never saw her,
other than on the bus to our once-size-fits all rural school.

       Maine is clam country, big time, so my recalcitrant outlook was, in
a way, stereotypical.  I featured myself quite the young rebel with a
cause, see, I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, so one day I sat
besides Audrey Robbins.  Nobody ever did that, but then the bus only
carried a dozen of us no one necessarily sat with anyone.  I never did,
except may Larry, who was just my age, if we had something going like
making cider or dicking around with their family's old Plymouth woody.

       Being close?  It didn't help at all, and neither of us said a word
until she got off at her house, and then it was just `bye.

       Fortunately, the sun came out on September seventeenth; a late hot
spell, maybe eighty degrees; sweet, windows open.  Like spring.
       "We could get off at the bridge, and walk," Audrey said.  Man did I
freeze everything.  I mean, I tried not to, but that just made it worse.  I
did manage to croak, okay.

       Oceanville is a high-tide island, miles of flats under the bridge at
low tide.  I mention this, because that makes the water warm, and that's
were we swim, and that's where the thing happed between Audrey and her
cousin, thirteen at the time.

       We got of at Kelsey Blastow's house, their house all but tumbled
into the Oceanville side of the channel.  Audrey led the way down over the
bank and to the shorefront, which we followed.  She said there was a path
circling north then back east into the center of Oceanville.  Why do you
think this thrilled me?  Because we were going to be taking a secluded
path?  We've got to get to know each other back.  I was thrilled by her
smooth directions.  North, circling to the east.  She was ten.  Most
children her age wouldn't know North from a gopher.  Then she tore me up.
       "Do I sound too smart?" she asked, and that was the first time in
our lives our eyes met.
       `We all have to grow up," I managed to croak.  Sure it was lame, but
what would have said?
       That such a beauty could blush was a little out of this world.  I
had meant it one way, she had taken it another.  She lowered her eyes to
her chest and said, "This is from Jack."

       I didn't have anything, however lame, to say, so we walked a hundred
yards along the boulders, then she turned us into the path, still with some
honeysuckle and ripe with that certain hotness of a trail in heavy bush.

       "I didn't mean that, when I said `grow up.'" I eventually sputtered.
       "That's why we're going this way," she said.  "There's a path off
this path, and it leads to a bluff with a mossy little glade, complete with
bubbling brook.  It's a very special place

       The way it was going through my mind, the world was a very special
place walking with Audrey.

       "Books," she said simply.  Her action was to step from the path, and
deposit hers, this way like thirty years before backpacks, and I put mine
beside here.  I was about to stand when she gave me the slightest of nudges
with her hip, and, believe it or not, languorously, that's the word, I even
knew it then, languorously, placed her texts and notebooks on top of mine.
I sixth grader's books under those of a Freshman.

       These days we have Bin Laden for terror, and he's hard to fault.
Nineteen Sixty?  `Bout the only thing out there was a kid with her books.

       "Are you scared?"  She actually asked it, obviously doing
world-class job of intruding on my thoughts.
       "Yes," I said.  Writer though I wanted to be, no other words came.
Not a one.
       "I was cold, scared clay the first time Jack brought me here," she
said.  Something had come along to warm her up, because the mystery of her
smile had turned gently warm.

       Jack Robbins was twenty-four.  No Paul Bunyan in the sense of being
heavy, but in the sense of being of timber.  He was long-limed and stood
six feet, five inches.  Just the right side of stringy.  Very big hands,
very big feet, and mild and gentle as a sleepy cat.  He'd worked with Dad
on various projects, I'd seen him many times, but don't suppose we'd
exchanged a hundred words.

       In five minutes of silence and raging, pounding heart, we reached
the mossy grotto, with it's sunny granite bluff, richly carpeted with a
hundred shades of light green and sliver gray lichen.  No chain saws for
maybe fifty yeas, so there were several fallen trees to accent the roll of
the tiny valley and two of these, well, crossed the brook which was a foot
wide and a foot deep.  There were probably a dozen places like in
Oceanville, hundreds on Deer Isle, and endless thousands along the New
England coast.  Still, it seemed special.


       "How old were you?" I asked.
       "It was for my eighth birthday, in '58, on August Twenty-Fifth.."
Again with the clear numbers.  I read "Car and Driver" every month and
could picture her reading checkpoints in my TR-3, if I'd had a TR-3.  Of
course, I was `picturing' lots of things in those days, so never mind.
       "Did you know something was going to happen?" I half choked, my
voice a shambles and my heart beating as it had a few days earlier when the
coronet practice stopped.  That was my brother, Ted, thirteen, and my
sister, Mary, eleven.  I was soldering when the sounds of what they were
doing intruded like a wisp of siren song.  They must have been
experimenting, because Mary's beautiful round bottom was rising and falling
in the keyhole, and Ted's big, rough hands were fondling her very tenderly.
With the tenseness of their sounds, I felt my brother was having an
ejaculation inside my sister, but I could not see their exact positions.
The strain of cuming almost silently with each other must have been
terrific for both of them, and I think it was that tension, rather than any
particular sound, which had traveled through the thin, loose door.  The
next time I heard them being willful together, there was a wad of paper in
the keyhole, so the show was over.  By this time, they had learned to share
in silence it was almost impossible to hear anything, and it was more a
sense of a very gentle motion to our small farm house that made me know
they were having their incest.  All to say I was three or four percent
`experienced.'

       We were both wearing short-sleeved shirt, and as we dropped to the
mossy log across the stream, our arms touched.  They didn't have 911 in
those days, probably don't have in Stonington, today, but it didn't matter
because I was enough on fire not to even be able to stand, much less find a
phone.  We both sat together like her cold clay.

       Audrey broke the silence.  "It will be the first time with someone I
want to marry," she whispered.
       "Has it happened to you quite a lot?" I asked.
       "A lot with Jack," she said, "once with Larry, once with Normie, and
four times with Tip McCorison."
       "How old were you when you were with him," I asked.
       "Eight, the first time," she said, "and I was him a month ago."
       "Did he go all the way with you?" I asked in what was left of my
fourteen year old voice.
       She just sidled me and smiled that wonderful smile.  Tip McCorison
was the mailman; half walrus, great jowly, toady face.  Regrettably, a
trade union personality, but there was no denying he held your attention.
For some reason my mother was always complaining about him twisting the
little metal lock on our RFD box.  I even tried to twist it once when I was
picking up the mail.  Didn't seem bent any differently than the rest, and I
couldn't budge it to bend further.  I guess if I were a real novelist I'd
go off on a literary byway about a man that twisted a thousand mailbox
licks.  Did he twist when they were new, all at once, or a little each
time, like beating a spoon against a coin.  Luckily, I wrote porn so can
leave the twisted for Jack's kitten of a sister after must mentioning that
the reaction of my mother confuses me to this very day.  She left well over
half a million.  Why would she have even noticed or cared?  Too late to
ask.

       Between you and me?  I was glad for the mailbox imagery.  It was
either that, or worry about sneaking a soaked pair of underpants past the
coastal dragon, which is as good as mom deserves.

       Of course all this didn't last; the desire to temporize, to
shilly-shally, to stay in neutral and just enjoy her company.

       "We did things a special way together," the girl finally whispered.
For some reason, we both seemed to sit and love in silence.  Since she'd
asked my to marry her, I assumed it was mutual.
       "With Tip?" I asked.  She blushed and blurted out, "God, no," then
recovered.  "Sorry," she said, "it's not special with him, exciting I
guess, but not special any more than it would be with a cow."
       When god decided to make cute girls, it was good of him to bless
Oceanville with the cutest in the world.  Now that we'd done with falling
head over heels with each other, maybe I could find out a few things.
Inquiring minds want to know.







       "I milk you to the sea.
       Milk you taboo free.

       Your hot seed to the ocean
       Carrying far off any notion

       There's a home for your milk
       but me"

       Apparently Audrey had more to her than a good head for dates and
directions.  She sang her little doggerel in a smooth, pretty voice, every
word clear as a chime.  I mean, look at it objectively.  Doesn't good
poetry tell a story?  So I was bred to believe.  But I wanted to be a big
prose champ when I grew up, so her posy just instilled in me a desire to
learn the whole story.  I'll bet even if you weren't a fourteen year old
wanna-be John O'Hara, you'd think so, too.

       "It's pretty out, isn't it?" I said.  I hate Maine.  Comes directly
from hating pine trees.  But Audrey and I were surrounded by big, swishy
ones.  They weren't half bad, and just by standing, we could watch the tide
rising in the little channel which stranded myself and my beloved on an
island.  Well, it had a bridge, and a hundred folks, so I was over
dramatizing; just in the mood to, I guess, or maybe I was just hating the
place a little less.

       Audrey said she liked the West.  I'd spent a summer near Sheridan,
horses, horses, horses.  I kind of laughed as we talked, because if I'd
been an evil seducer, horses to a pre-teen female are absolutely identical
to oats to horses.

       "Tell me about the poem," 1sugested, amazed to hear any sound
against the soft hot breeze.

       "We didn't get it from the bible," she said.  Somehow, she glowed
like a girl with a big brother whom she adored.  Somehow, it seemed that
big brother, for all his craggy random looks, was gentle with his kitten,
and read to her a lot.  She dazzled at ten?  Somebody was paying attention.

       I knew little of religion, but still though her comment was pretty
funny.

       "Tom," she whispered, "it's private here.  If anyone did come, we'd
hear them, so, if you want, we could talk with you in your underpants and
me in my panties and bra.  That way you'll be able to see beter what Jack's
done to me since he first brought me here."

       "Are you pregnant from him," I inquired.
       "Not now," she whispered, flushing with the rarest beauty I'd yet
seen in her.  "It's his hormones.  You know, from being a man with me when
we're alone.  They make me swell up on top, and I even have a little bit
of, you know, fuzz.  I have to have gym with the eight graders because the
girls in fifth grade got too curious about what was happening to me,
especially Beth Jones, who was always the most of all, and who, by the
way," here she flushed ever more prettily, "is now back to taking gym with
me."

       I don't know what made me say it, but it turned out to be just the
right thing.  "That must make you very proud," was my comment, no trace of
irony implied or inferred by my girlfriend.  Again she looked me straight
in the eyes, lively and happy.  "You know what you asked me before," she
whispered, about if I had Jack's child in me?  Well, Beth is with her dad's
child, and they're letting it grow."

       "Can you see it?" I asked.
       "Just, I think," Audrey said.  "Mostly, I can feel what's happening
if I stand behind her and pull her against me with soapy hands, and rub
gently round and round on her tummy."
       "Do you do that when other are watching?" I quizzed.
       "We're girls," she giggled.  To her, it was an answer, to me, well,
let's not go there.
       "But are you Happy Girls?" I asked.  Might as well fight her eye
fire, somehow.  Certainly one of them was.
       "We leave that to boys," she said.  Then her pretty eyes grew big.
"I don't want to strip with you while we make out," she said, quietly.  "I
want us to do it in the bushes, then we can come back here and sit, but you
can't sit quite close enough for your arm to touch against mine like it is
now."  If I was going to sit and talk with my child bride, I thought it was
a good idea not to touch at all if we were in our underwear.  I did not
want it to be over with Audrey.  I did not want it even to begin.  Mary was
crude, low-born and unintelligent, her dog screamed and bit at me every
time I entered the house I lived in, and she was choosing to have her sex
play where I could not help finding out. Audrey was the kid sis I never
had.  Oddly, both had ugly noses.  On one, a silly blemish, on the other a
shiny Scotch horror that took away my appetite many and many an evening.
Shows to go you.

       On accord, we stood and burrowed into the bushes with her warning to
a transplanted New Yorker to watch for poison ivy.  If I'd been a different
kind of boy, I would have asked her to come protect me, but I was in love
and feeling very nice and undemanding.  Even now, it was only a little
after four, and neither of us had to be anywhere until seven or so.

       Didn't take a minute.  Adam and Eve and Fruit of the Loom.

       Audrey was ravishing.  Barbie doll legs, lightly tanned from the
past summer.  She had a real waist, slim as a daft, sculpted my the guy who
taught Michelangelo.  I'd peaked into the sweetness of her open blouse
every time I passed her seat, as, I'm sure, all the boys did, but had
usually been so entranced by the beauty of her swan neck and delicately
traced throat I'd only vaguely taken in the swell of her chest.  Must have
been some throat I thought, ogling.  Full half-orange is size, beautifully
matched, mounding generously at the top of her bra, with her nipples
showing through her silk like big strawberries.
       "Semen," she whispered nervously, blushing beautifully, "it does a
body good."  This was later modified to sell dairy products, and it's easy
to see why.  She was so beautiful, and so modest in it, I stood rooted and
recalled her phrase: cold, scared clay.  We approached within two feet of
each other.  She looked down at me, and blushed.  Surely you've heard of
scared stiff, and scared straight.  There's another way for a teen boy to
be scared, and I was with someone to teach me about it.

       "Do your parents know what Jack is doing with you?" I whispered.  I
mean, he'd done so MUCH.
       "Mom made our first date, Dad wrote the poem."
       The word `awesome' was two decades off so I made do with `amazing.'
Didn't say it, just thought as I looked into her pretty eyes.

       "Do you want to see how much Jack has done to me?" she asked,
blushing more than ever.  This was an impossibility.  She was ten.  Glad I
didn't bet.

       Audrey pulled her little-girl purple teddy bear panties down in
front, about three inches.  Her maturity was like a thousand sergeants
bellowing in my ear, alone.  I sprang to attention.  Wham, the sight of
that trace of light brown silk, even more than the precocious nipples on
her big, budding breasts showed she was of child bearing age.  I was about
like her, so we could be daddy and mommy.  Dick, judging from what I'd
seen, was about like a stallion.  I suggested a bridle to Audrey, and she
started such a fit of giggles we had to return to our log or drop and roll
down the embankment an maybe even drown in the brook, tiny as it was.

       Now she was on my left, about four inches separating us, again, cold
clay.  I was, typically, back in love and softer than I had ever been.  She
looked down at me, at nothing but white cotton, and colored, once again.
`That means you love me," she said.  Dick was like that.  Tip and Normie
and Larry never are, just big and hard all the time.

       She was right.  And here she was, making me love her more.  Making
me think of her as a whole and absolute person through and through, her
beauty fading into her beauty.

       "That's why Dad wrote the poem," Audrey said.

       I didn't know at the time, nor still do, how many families there
were or are in the world, but it was pretty easy to see my deformed beloved
came from the best of them all.  What love does.  My family shared not an
iota of it, seemed vastly embarrassed and confused my its very existence,
and my sister's beak made her a surly, bossy, trouble-sniffing, whining
lout, thoroughly disliked my almost everyone who meets her to this very
day.  Audrey was the opposite.  If I'd asked her or said anything, she
would have let that private smile be one answer for life. Jack had done
more with the child than give her those beautiful big breasts and her magic
shading of womanhood, now, at the age of ten.  What if she'd had two noses?
Then instead of Barbie it would probably be Dolly, as in Dolly Parton.  I
was glad she had just one, it left her perfect.

       Again we sat for a long time.  Beautiful and warm.  It felt good,
being all but natural.  I tried not to stare at my little wife constantly,
but I've also tried to learn algebra.  I'm far from perfect.  So hard and
long did I stare, I eventually noticed an imperfection in Audrey.  My eyes
fixed on it, and she followed my gaze to her chest.  "That's from Larry,"
she whispered.

       The left cup of her bra was not only stained, but seemed caked and
crusted with what looked like dried mayonnaise.

       She actually had a cleavage.  I hadn't disregarded her comments
about her stained garment, I was thinking about it, furiously, in fact, but
I still noticed she had just a trace of a real woman's cleavage.  For some
reason I found it very sexy.  So much heat, so late in the year.  Must have
been the reason.  Stupid thought.  I could picture us there in snow suits
in January, learning how to kiss because it was too cold to do anything
else.  I was sure by the time she was sixty and I was sixty-four we'd have
it down to a science, and, if I ever wanted to learn something slowly in my
life, it would be kissing Audrey Robinson from the time she was ten, till
six times that age.  It was hard to imagine how we'd have any kids, if we
were kissing all the time, but it hardly made a difference in how I felt.
Too scared to even get closer much less touch, much less kiss.

       We were like an old and devoted married couple, together again after
a thousand years.  It did not feel cool, a word more recently bent.

       Dick Robbins obviously loved the twerp as much as I did, and he had,
we've already been through this, obviously functioned well when they were
together.  What was his secret?  Or was it their secret?  Had she found a
way to fill her needs from him, or had Dick taught her to accept his needs?
It hit me at that moment that the mystery of Audrey's smile was honesty.
She had no secrets.  She had a brother who nurtured her, apparently three
males had been with her to stabilize her as a woman, and new she had a
slim, lively boyfriend, except he read too much.  That's what those smiles
on the bus were.  Incest.  Being awakened, as other girls were not, by the
forbidden spray of seed.  Well, it wasn't all THAT romantic.  Mary had
probably had ounces of her brother's hot sperm, and she still had a
personality suitable for freezing water for the fishing fleet.  Not that
Stonington had a big fleet, but you get the picture.

       "When did Larry do that with you?" I asked, done with philosophizing
for the moment.
       "Just a few days before you moved here," she said.  "If I'd known
you were coming, it wouldn't have happened."
       "He didn't rape you, did he?" I quizzed.  Nah, Larry was lively and
likeable; a little silly and unread to be with this little bookworm, but
the definition of harmless.
       "No," she whispered.  "I let him do what he wanted.  I even wanted
to be with him.  Jack was pretty persistent that I have a real boyfriend.
He's scared of warping me or that I'll grow up walking sideways if he's my
only regular partner.  I kind of like Larry.  He'd just broken up with
Marilyn Green, and I saw his family drive by, they were going to some
Mormon shindig; I knew he was depressed, so I went and knocked on his
door."

       Lucky Larry.

       "No one answered, but I knew he must be there, so I went looking."

       There was an image to muddle the brain and fry the soul.  Ten year
Audrey sneaking around the Billings' rambling home-made farmhouse with
little rooms sort of poked here and there like a funhouse.  Audrey had
developed so quickly, eight to fourteen in the time it takes most girls to
go from eight to ten, she must have been highly hormonal.  It's amazing so
little happened between them, but then, she did have Jack.
       "I'd never been in their house before, but I guess a house is a
house, and if one is persistent, well, who knows."  She giggled at herself,
then went on in that quiet voice that made me want to go to New York for a
Manhattan directory so she could read it aloud to me.
       "I found him curled up in his bed; bad case, because no one ever
sleeps `till ten in the morning here, not even teenagers."  She'd be a teen
in another three years, herself, and I thought she might do well to respect
the institution a little more than she appeared to, but I didn't say so.
Every couple has its bones of contention, and I was glad ours seemed to be
so minor.
       "I was wearing a skirt and I took if off so it wouldn't get
wrinkled.  I folded it over the back of a chair, and crawled into his bed
slowly, like a snake.  He stirred some as I eased up along side him.  "Call
me Marilyn when you cum-off," I whispered over and over again as I felt him
up.
       "He was so different than Jack, boy not man, hairless and soft and
smooth as a baby, where Jack is matted and crinkly like a big man animal.
It was sweet.  Larry must have been up all night crying in whatever it is
Mormons drink instead of beer, I mean they drink chicory instead of coffee,
because he was sound asleep.  I had the strangest feeling as I slowly
straightened him lengthwise in his bed; I felt like a big sister comforting
a little brother, even though I'd freshened with Jack, that's what we call
it when we're together in the morning, freshening me for the day, and it
beats any other shower a girl could take.  Anyways, I was very fresh, ten
minutes from a man who was definitely my brother feeling fraternal for a
man who wasn't.  Something like that.  Anyway, Jack absolutely drenches me
in the morning, so I was still very slick from him.  I got my hand wet, and
found Larry inside his pajamas.  I started doing what I do with my brother
when I want to see him sperm, you know, just very gently, my hand all
slippery.  Larry had a boner when I found him, he's a pretty big boy, and I
loved the feeling of him swelling and getting stiff as a piece of wood.
Sometime, like once a second, I'm very glad I'm a little girl child.
       "I kept whispering, `I'm Marilyn, cum-off.'  He began to come awake,
and I whispered for him to keep dreaming, not to open his eyes, and that I
was Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn., and that I wanted him to cum, cum, cum."
       "We sorted floated together for awhile.  It was cozy under the
covers with him, big sis comforting her little brother.  Almost exactly
that, but it didn't last long.  Larry was hard as hot iron, men are the
opposite of steel, the hotter they get, the harder they get, and he was
harder than Jack or Tip or Normie.  He sneaks more looks at me than any of
the other boys in town, so I knew he liked what Jack had done to my chest."
       Here Audrey broke from her story to explain something.  Nobody had
ever seen HER.  Jack's idea.  She always wore a bra with him, though he
allowed her to pull it up in their last minutes.  She pulled it up with Tip
McCorison, too, when she was sure he was too far gone to try to peak at
her.  Audrey holding her men, yet still being lively enough underneath them
to peel herself naked to feel their roughness against her rose buds, then
protecting her privacy immediately after, or maybe even during, her males'
climaxes was an erotic picture.  One I was apparently not going to get to
see because she said I was going to be the first boy she was naked with.
Fine distinction.  Mighty fine distinction. Also, she said she was going to
let something happen with me in her mouth, another part of loving Jack
insisted she save for a real boyfriend.  My cup runneth over, my penis
lieth soft.  Had we even been friends for an hour?  For a second I envied
Larry and every boy on Deer Isle for simply knowing her or being within
miles of Audrey as she grew in her sure, quiet way.

       I'd just spent two years on a big thug of an ocean going yacht.  She
drew almost nine feet of water and weight thirty-two freaking tons.
Couldn't go anywhere in her, so it ha been a lonely voyage.  I don't thing
many mid-teens would like to get up at four in the morning and horse a big
slug along at, maybe, on the best of best days, five bleeding knots.  I
know I didn't.  No this.  The stillness.  Still at little bit getting used
to so much dry land.  Audrey Robbins. Amongst all the boring pine, by god,
something to pine for.

       My young beloved resumed the story of how she'd handled Larry
Billings.  He was a nice looking teen, open friendly fox face, lively eyes,
just off blond hair, worn, as was the norm then, an inch or two long.
Except for the Emerson clan, of course; we were army buzzed by Mom, no
bowl.  Great.  Teens love to look like bowling balls.  Apparently Audrey
didn't care, but then, she did seem astonishingly intelligent.  Anyway,
Larry was tall, very well built, and, though I'd never seen him bare
chested, in all probability as hairless as I was.  In all respects he might
have made Audrey a very serious lover, but he tended to be talkative and
immature; silly.  "Silly," I thought to myself, "how about me.  I'm so
giddy I'd have to be bitten by three mambas to reduce me to silly."  Of
course I didn't say this, because Audrey was back in Larry's bed.

       "We sort of cuddled and wrestled for about half an hour.  I kept
whispering for him to keep his eyes closed and pretend I was Marilyn.  He
wanted to be in my belly, boys will be boys, but I didn't want that with
him.  Finally, I got him to put his hands on the headboard so he could be
off me, then I sort of cuddled my way beneath his stretching torso, like a
put trying to find its bitch.  When he was firmly in position, I pushed a
pillow up under his chin so he wouldn't see me, and so he'd be comfortable
in his position stretched over me.  I'd never had a boy against my nipple
and I though it might take a long time to get used to the feeling."  And
yes, her eyes did sparkle when she said this, she was being playful.

       "I wet my hand and found him again.  I unbuttoned my blouse, and
then got him free of his boxers. Larry's a nice big boy, or at least bigger
than Normie, who's the other boy I've seen [Jack and Tip being men]. Of
course," she blushed, "I didn't actually see him, but I could tell by the
feel."

       That would be something like a firm grasp of the obvious, wouldn't
it?

       "I brought him to my tummy, the made circles with him, whispering
for him to be still.  `Wait to cum-off,' I kept coaxing, getting him closer
and closer to what I knew he wanted to see.  Then I adjusted both of us so
we'd be comfortable, and I let him have me.  I took him under my bra and
against my nipple.  I took me just a second for me to reach down and get my
right hand with Jack's sperm, then I was with Larry exactly the way I
wanted to be, pulling his foreskin back about three inches and having just
the tip of him in my wet fist.  Then it was just a matter of getting the
very tip of his big penis against my nipple and holding him with my wet
hand, and letting him be a boy."

       "How long was he with you that way?" I asked.  I'd had voyeurism
when I'd heard the soft sounds between Ted and Mary, but this was better.
       "Half an hour," she whispered.

       Picturing the blond, fair-skinned and well built Larry, his head
lolling in a pillow on his arms, which were braced on the headboard, with
his hips moving against the child buried in the blankets beneath him, and
the intimate thing he was doing, almost made me get a boner.  (If you ever
feel this much love for a girl, break all the rules of sense and decorum
and marry her.)

       The almost thing didn't last in regards to the physical state of my
adolescent arousal because she told me after a few minutes she felt their
time together would be more complete of she shucked Larry of his boxers so
she could feel him naked against her.  While he was readying himself for
this experience, his face still buried in the pillow, Audrey fully
unbuttoned her blouse and spread it from her chest.  In a minute they were
together and Audrey said it felt much better taking him on that way.  So
now my picture of his gently surging body as he molested the child's big
strawberry right nipple with the tip of his big, super hard boner became
even more vivid.  No offense to Audrey, but I did get big and hard.

       "Jack gets that way sometimes," my mouse said when she saw the big
tent in my briefs.  Good.  Meant he didn't love her any more than I did.
Philosophical point: if absolute love led to absolute softness the world
would be empty, the fact that isn't says a lot.

       "What was the end like?" I asked.  I'd never seen my brother
ejaculate when he was filling Mary's needs for male companionship, so I was
more than casually interested.
       "Just wet," Audrey whispered with a deeper blush than her usual
pretty curtsey of coloring.  It must have been very special
       Her account was graphic.  "He was a real man, not a boy.  He didn't
go all crazy and urgent like Normie or Tip, he just kept moving the tip of
his penis against my nipple, then suddenly the friction was gone and is was
rubbery and lively like our souls were sharing each other with no skin,
especially the first half a minute or so.  Then there kept being more of
him like there is with Jack when he's inside me.  My bra got soaked.  I
felt his sperm flowing between my chest and my arm like a warm river –
so much I even wondered what Marge would think when she found such a big
cum stain so high on the bed, plus, if he was going to be able to get back
to sleep in a wet bed.  After about two minutes I could tell there wasn't
any more left it, because he started getting sticky where I was holding
him.  I pinched his waist to let him know I was leaving, and eased back to
the floor.  I whispered for him to keep his eyes closed, and picked up my
skirt.  I was barefoot, so I was ready to slip out of the house, but on the
way, I checked every room for a mirror so I could see what he'd done to me.
I even lifted up my bra and looked at myself.  Then came the next most
exciting part which was slipping out the back door, through the thickets,
and back to our own back door, even crossing the road, totally wet all over
my right front with thick white sperm so I could show Jack what a good girl
I was and how I'd followed his wishes almost as soon as I knew them."
       "What did Jack say?" I probed.
       "Get outta town," Audrey giggled.  They use that one along with the
dairy one.
       "Seriously," I persisted.  He must have said something, sooner or
later.
       "In the morning he suggested not washing my bra."

       Indeed, she was the child from heaven.  No half naked statues
needed.  Elaborating on the thought, the rare female who looked better,
somehow, with her chest clad.  Maybe it was something to do with the
laundry soap her mom used.  How would that be as an ice breaker between boy
and mother-in-law?  Asking her whether it was Tide?  Duh'uh, in Penobscot
Bay, Casco Bay, whatever bay it was, the tides are sixteen feet, what would
any housewife use?  Still, it might be better than gaping like a fish when
I met the mother of this total creation (with her perfect nose).  Speaking
of which, I should mention her dad here.  A sixty year old version of Jack,
not quite his size, but big and handsome, nonetheless.  I would never ask
my little bride about him and I was sure she'd never tell.  Of one thing
there could be no doubt, he was the source of that wondrous, soft glowing,
common inner smile.

       I really did keep trying to stray my mind from the big clever,
`rubbery,' since she'd used the word, palm working at me.  She helped.

       "I felt like such a big girl when I slipped back into the house and
tiptoed into my room where Jack was going over my book report."

       Audrey was a ten-year-old.  I was in love with her.  I could prove
it.  All she had to do was look at my waist, and she would know.
"Sometimes," she whispered, "when you're inside me, I may call you my
brother's name.  Don't be offended."

       "Do you call his name to Tip?" I asked.

       She smiled.  "Just the last time.  It's getting better with him."
       "Are you going to be with him, again?" I asked.
       "That's up to you," she said.  "Tom," she went on, "with Jack, it's
out of your control.  You can always look at me, ten years from now, twenty
years from now, and you will never have to wonder Is my wife having an
affair.  With Normie, it was just the one time, plus, he's got a super
girlfriend, so the issue is unlikely to come up.  With Larry?  Yes, if he
gave me a ride for some reason, and we got stuck, and ended up spending the
night alone together, and he wanted me, it would happen between us,
probably inside me.  But I would never go looking for him.  With Tip, it's
up to you.  Jack's penis is nine and a half inches long, and very slim; Tip
is seven inches long, but almost like a potato with a big head."  She
giggled.  "It's just being a woman.  He's big, he's thick, he's hairy, he's
heavy and he crushes me under him, and he's with me for an hour before he
nips me here."

       She actually moved, turning so I could see, yes, there was a slight
fading scar that could have been left by a man.  I was very glad he'd left
some for me, didn't understand how, or why, which made me even gladder.
One nip of her luscious, pubescent, clear-skin perfection and I'd feast to
the end of the meal.  Curse myself, afterward, but feast.  No, I was not
about to have oral sex with my darling little Audrey.  Just kidding.

       "In the summer," Audrey went on with a light giggle, "we have dances
and all the women who have been what I guess is the world's ultimate
postman wear bare shoulders.  The husbands go around looking for the
freshest little wound.  It adds considerably to the evening, and the
m.c. had to use the microphone and say, I know, folks, I know, but try to
stay `till eleven; the bands come all the way from Winterport and we have
to...' he usually lets it lie there.  Knows it won't do much good; knows
his wife, Abby, will be grinning with all the other women the next
morning."
       "Have you been to a dance – like that?" I asked.
       "No," she said, "I'm not old enough.  Why?  Would you like to take
me?"

       I was having dreams of being a happy husband, and Audrey kept
helping.

       "Yes," I said, "I'll take you to the next one."
       "I'll go," she said, directly.
       "Do you want a fresher wound?" I asked.
       "That, husband-o'- mine," she replied, "is absolutely entirely your
choice.  It's what makes it exciting."

       I tried to picture it.  Hundreds of women at a social.  Many with
bare shoulders, some undoubtedly wearing special dresses for, well, special
occasions.  Husbands checking neighbors, wives checking daughters.  Along
with a little music, some lights, and a punch bowl, it might make an
evening.  And what, pray tell, would be the reaction of a fourteen year old
outsider bringing a freshly wounded child?  At the time, I remember being
very glad I'd locked on to my career choice, which happened to be, in case
you hadn't noticed, that of Writer.  Maybe if I didn't have the chops for
the great American novel, I could cop out with a great Stonington novel.
Since it was proceeding at the good old Hollywood rate of a page a minute,
I felt good about my chances.  All I had to do was stick around my sprite,
and stay out of the way.

       Of course that was the easy part.

       Back to the hard part.  "Is Jack really that big?" I asked.  Audrey
blushed.
       "That's why I am like I am," she said.  "The doctors told me when I
was in Blue Hill.  When he's being manly with me, his tip goes through my
cervix and enders the inside of my womb.  That has two effects, first, it
makes us want to be together as man and woman very frequently, and, second,
his semen pools in my womb so his chemicals go into my blood more than if
he made his cum-off in my vagina, like Tip does."

       :"What's the different in the feeling between Jack and Tip?" I
asked.
       "Jack makes me feel like a sister," she said, "doing a private,
intimate thing together, with all grace, affection and tenderness.  Tip
make me feel like a she wolf under a pack, especially in the second half
hour."  Hey, I asked.
       "You," she said, "will make me feel like a wife."

       Any questions?

       "Tell me about Blue Hill," I suggested.
       "That was in the spring of this year," Audrey said, an indefinably
soft glow in those pretty eyes.  We had a family conference for Jack's
birthday on May tenth.  We were ready to give each other a child, but,
because of my age, it couldn't be a full child.  Dad sat with me and showed
me pictures of a developing fetus.  I picked one that looked about the size
of a salamander.  I love animals, and don't even like it when Jack gets
venison out of the woods, but I thought maybe we could sacrifice a
salamander to make each other happy.  That meant I could be pregnant from
my big brother for about six weeks.  There was another reason.  We wanted
the whole town to know about us, and there was no way to spread the word as
completely as by having an incest abortion at the hospital."

       I'd wondered about small town life from books I'd read.  Wondered
it; if I'd like it in a rural setting, versus the suburban setting I was
used to.  I had my answer and the ultimate answer to Audrey, too.  She had
no secrets.  I mean, how can you love someone if you don't know what to
live.  It's impossible to love a secret.  I'd have to try to remember that.

       I didn't have to ask if she'd been happy that six weeks, that would
have been the stupidest question in the world.  But she knew I was asking
and she looked me in the eyes.  "I'll be happier when it's your child," she
whispered.

       "What if it comes from Jack or Tip?" I asked.
       "What if it does?" she asked, a little scared, maybe.
       "Lord, Aud," I said, if it comes from you, if you'll mother it, I'm
not concerned who the biological dad turns out to be."

       See how I was fitting into small town life?  And it didn't matter.
Except for my siblings and myself, all children in town seemed loved and
fussed over.  How could it possibly make any difference who's seed was cast
here, there, or the other place?"

       I wondered if the ethos had anything to do with the seafaring nature
of the coastal town.  Men way off and out of sight; who would ever know for
sure, so why care, in the first place?  Wouldn't that make community life
vastly less stressful?  Wouldn't women with secrets to share find wild
husbands to share them with?  Sure, it might mean a postman could have a
lot more than his `share,' but how could that be helped.  Cocksmiths always
got more, and for the most part died, alone.  Perhaps the perfect solution
would be a sterile post man.  I mean if my wealthy mother had Tip on the
mind to the extent she worried about minor damage to a ten-dollar mailbox,
maybe there should be limits.

       I'd spent the odd hours in church, and, in fact, had been the guest
of the Billings at services just the last Sunday.  All religious orders
seem to incorporate morality, so I chose to relieve myself of any thoughts
of my mother by searching my soul for perversion.  I actually came up with
an answer.  It's not what you do, it's how you chase.  Audrey was living
proof.  I had chased her by sharing her seat on the bus, mouth shut.  She
had lead, I had followed, so I looked real deep, as common people say it,
and, since I could conceive of no situation wherein I wouldn't let the
so-called lesser partner lead, gave myself a clean bill of health.  What I
ended feeling was very proud I'd been chosen by such a lesser to be led by
her.

       Audrey was a good leader, my raves not withstanding' I mean, in a
practical sense.

       "We can do the poem, if you want," she said.
       "Just tell me," I managed to croak, suddenly absolutely petrified
totally out of my little mind.
       "Stay in your underpants," she guided with the touch of a feather.
"Stretch yourself across the brook."
       Again, she moved, for the first time since showing me Tip's token of
conquest.  She first pointed, then rose to her feet.  That I had legs was a
marvel, and I stood.  We walked a few yards down the brook to just past a
waterfall the size of a shoe box.  At this point, the mossy banks with
their arms of pine tree roots were not quite to feet across, a lower bank
on the left as we splashed, barefoot, downstream.  Here Audrey positioned
my exactly as she had Larry Billings in his bed.  I stretched across,
making a bridge, but with my arms folding under my chin.  My long boy
thighs were well supported by the one bank, with the tiny stream running
under my waist.  Downstream was a languid pool, about thirty feet long, and
leading to another little waterfall, or so I assumed.

       "Are you comfortable?" she asked.
       "Doing fine, for a dead man," I whispered.
       "Jack claimed the same thing," Audrey giggled.  "And he was, too.
Compared to Larry, he was dead and cold as a mackerel."
       "If Larry had known..." I began, but it seemed to obvious a thought,
why waste the breath.  Breath.  Never in my life would I need so much
breath, and, somehow, I knew it.

       Audrey Robbins lowered herself and came to rest on my back.  Her
right arm went around me, and she found my left nipple, apparently just
left around for her pleasure.  As her full ninety pounds came on my back
she whispered.  "I'll rub a little so you can feel what Larry did with me,"
she said.  With this, she massaged my right inner shoulder blade in an
almost imperceptible circle.  It did feel scratchy.  "That won't last long
when we start to sweat," she informed me.

       We lay there for minutes and minutes, both her arms tenderly around
my muscley boy torso, her breasts spearing my like torpedoes that could
turn the tide of a naval war.  I could feel wetness on my lower back from
her.  A lot.  "Listen to mine, and it will start yours," she whispered, at
the same time, reaching in front of and into my briefs.  (When balls come,
underpants go.)  She freed me, frightened little pup that I was, in a few
seconds, and again coached me to listen.

       I lay dead still.  What else would one do in heaven?  The moss at my
nose was verdant, too late for mosquitoes, but a few suicidal dragon flies
rasped around, no doubt little interested in a ten year old girl mounted on
a fourteen year old boy, who'd managed to stretch himself a tiny little
stream.  Audrey was right about the listening.  "Don't be scared," she
whispered, "I did this with Jack and he liked it once he understood the
symbolism."  Liked what? I was going to ask when I realized Audrey was
urinating.

       I could probably stop this story right here.  How many votes?  See,
and you go around blaming me, at least culturally, if not individually.
Hah.  And I'm not blaming you.  You don't see any troubled waters, Audrey
and I appear to be getting along well, considering the difference in our
ages, but you do see a bridge, and what is more instinctive than crossing a
bridge?  What instincts? you scoff, but then I send you to the mirror, and
all is again silent for the story teller and his bridge over gliding water.

       She started very gently, letting me get used to the flow, then had
her way with me, soaking my underwear and puddling in the deep cleft of my
strong teen back.  Vixen, she must have been planning this from morning,
and drinking like a galoot.  I wasn't complaining.  I'd never even read of
a more intimate act, and I read obsessively.  Now her flow was full and
fulsome even through her little-girl panties.

       Just as she said, the noise ripped through eight or nine thousand
layers of the onion of consciousness, and I began sharing the experience.
The two of us outdid the rivulet just upstream of; hell, it was no contest.
What sound does a tree make if it fall deep in the forest?  How about
mortars at close range?  No wound was going to cut the splash of the two of
us.

       Audrey knew just how hard to hold me to make it last and last.  How
did I know death was at hand?  Because I knew I'd never want to do this by
myself again so I would simply blow up and pop.  Painful?  Like I cared.

       I suppose it didn't even last much over half a minute, the full
flood from both of us sharing what we were doing. but it was a lifetime.

       Moment over, my thoughts were at the exact moment of Audrey's
comment on symbolism, when she answered like Radar in "M*A*S*H" (film)

       "Patience," she whispered.  "The water has to run crystal clear
again before you can splash in the stream, again, and, to complicate
matters, I have to get your underpants (she could use any word she chose)
rinsed out or your mom will have my hide.
       "Don't look," she added, "hide your eyes in the moss like Larry did
in his pillow."  Lord, she was a soft-spoken creature.  Talk about wife
material.
       I didn't look and she was off me, perhaps clinging a bit more than
necessary as she left about her first spousal task.
       I was glad this wasn't the tropics as I lowered my face into the
rich moss, hoping I could sneeze any visitors away before they became a
nuisance.
       Audrey was slow and sensual bringing down my underpants (when in
Rome.)  She reached in, all the curiosity of a child to find me, and pull
me back into the soaked cotton.  Even when she had dismounted and was
rinsing them, then rinsing me, she stood with what must have been her right
leg pressed firmly against my waist.  Boy, did that feel good.  Hey, I
almost wrote `Gee.'
       How about this? I thought to myself, listening to the sounds of my
beloved at the ancient blending of woman and water.  I could sense the
stress in her body, as she rung my garment dry as possible, and I missed
her sadly for the moment she took to hang my once again white briefs on a
branch.

       Again she crawled on my back, the slight dampness of her panties
noticeable in contrast to the bare skin of her belly and thighs.  Her
nipples were still muted by her delicate bra, which helped with the burning
sensation.  In a minute and a half or so we were clean, pretty dry, and
very comfortable, her arms once again about be tenderly and lovingly.

       "I'm back," she whispered.  "You can stop looking for the tiny black
widows that nest in the moss."
       We giggled together and it was so sensual, she found her signal and
a second later, without appearing to rush, found me.  Perfectly.  The first
pulse of life, she had me, neither gently nor firmly, but just as she had
when I spent long moments urinating through the clasp of her dainty
fingers.  It took maybe ten year-long seconds to get much harder than I had
ever even dreamed possible.  Bigger, too.

       "Larry's a little bigger than you are," she whispered, "but he
doesn't get to be a daddy with me."
       I'd drink to that.

       "Do you want to find out why I didn't wash myself very much?" my
love asked, whispering the question in my ear.
       "Yes," I whispered back, so far gone in outright shock I figured I
might as well be a big boy and get used to it.
       "Just a second," she said, and released my penis.  I felt the
movement of her, she seemed to slightly twist at her hips, then she was
back, and back on me, her right hand now warm and very slick.

       "Jack and I were celibate last night," she whispered, "so I'd be
this way with you.  He sprayed everything in me this morning as his gift to
his brother-in-law."

       Made me feel like part of the family.

       "The water's beginning to clear."

       Her view with her so tender and lightly freckled right cheek on my
left shoulder had to be better than mine, so I trusted her.  She was really
having me now.  Having sex with me.  Her right hand was just a little
toying, but warmly engaged in masturbating me.

       "Jack likes to spread more," she coached me in a whisper.

       I worked my feet away from each other to the maximum distance
possible.  I could see why.  So she could really have me as a lover.  And
she did, panting as she stroked me like an impatient whore (I guess); like
a maid who wanted her milk, like a fisheries workers stripping milt from
salmon.  Kissing my back wildly now, her hands going with my aching
hardness, taking us to the same place at the same time, whimpering don't
wait, don't wait.

       At the first splash of my cum jetting into the brook, she pulled me
back gently and held me tight.  With each sizzle of my hot teen spray she
gurgled, tensed, and throbbed in a tiny orgasm.  Feral.  Grunting every six
or eight seconds as my seed got its hot start to the cold infinity of the
Atlantic, with its picayune manner of salt.

       It ended slowly, and three times I made her gurgle with what had,
absolutely had to be a final show of my love for her.  The love didn't
fade, but boys will be boys.  Then we were still but for our panting, and
she coached me to look at what I'd done.  Using strength borrowed from a
ten year old, I rose on my arms in a half push up to follow her gaze.  "You
may not be as big as Larry," she whispered softly, but you have more semen.
The congealed puddle now inching with the flow of the stream looked like it
might have been left by a big animal.  Was that me?

       "As much as Jack?" I asked, her breathing now beginning to return to
a moaning pant.
       "Jack's six foot four," she said, "he weighs two fifty.  Be happy
with Larry."
       "How much more?" I asked.
       "Maybe four times as much," she said, giving me a reassuring hug.
Glad she included it.

       It was time for another game of patience.  We'd done an excellent,
if not perfect job of waiting for our urine to clear from the brook, so now
we had to be perfect.  What we did was hold both hands, reaching across the
narrow pool in the mossy rocks, and side step very slowly along as my big
puddle of cold cum meandered toward the waiting ocean.  It took patience.
Twenty minutes of staring at her heaving breasts still safe in her soiled
bra, me naked, erect because I'd never begun to lose my wooden hardness.
About half way along the pool, she spoke with a giggle.  "This will give
time for you underpants to dry," she said.

       There was a final act to our little drama.  When my cloud approached
the second little waterfall, we stepped ahead of its slow journey, Audrey
leading the way.  Over a slight drop, all ferns and lush verdure to where
she left me for a moment, turned and bent to reach into a cleft of the
granite ledge.  I heard a tinkling sound and in a moment Audrey stood
again, turning to show me a pretty little silver cup.  I sensed her want as
she approached, and lowered to the moss.  She knelt opposite me, and if
we'd leaned forward I would have been able to kiss her in her pretty, if
now lanky hair.  We shared the little cup in our hands, panting as my
maleness drifted to where the rivulet dropped.  For all the passion it
inspired in us, it could have been Niagara.

       "Catch your sperm and our taboo," she said, raising upright on her
knees and glowing hot into my eyes.  I almost missed the guys, all two
hundred million of them, because she was reaching behind her.  A warning
look, and I was back in focus.  There they came, and with a syrupy splish,
there they were ours for the moment.  I looked up from my beautiful little
duty and Audrey was bare-chested, blushing furiously.

       It fondled her immature breasts, dipping from the cup, first for
Larry's right nipple, then my left one.  She asked for some of the taboo
where Jack's was.  I fingered her with sin, we sipped lightly of the cup,
and returned half my seed to the flow of the stream.

       I masturbated her gently with fingers as slick as her's had been
when she masturbated Larry to a climax the week before.  The gentle jacking
I did made her moan for me, and I stood, reached her and layed her,
stripping her finally naked, placing her wet panties with the soiled bra.

       She spread widely for me, hips high off the ferns and moss of our
little nest.  I lowered myself, found her baby girl pussy, and entered,
grunting like a pig at her tightness.  "That's from the hospital," she
gasped as I took her fully, then rose on my arms to look into her glowing
eyes.  "They made me tight again after what Tip did to me, it just takes a
few stitches."

       It took me well over a minute before I could move even a fraction of
an inch without cumming-off again.  As we lay there, she quizzed me.
"Tom," she asked, "would you like to feel what it's like when Jack's inside
my womb?"
       "Yes," I panted.
       `If I lie under him, and he moves a little to his left while he's
one me, you could kiss me, and let your tongue come into my mouth, then I
could nibble you a little and see if we could transfer the feeling between
us that way."
       "As long as I don't have to do it with the mailman," I panted.  We
both laughed, and I came-off inside Audrey, falling in love once again.
       Her eyes flew open at the violence of my first cum in her belly.
"Tom," she gasped, "do you like boys?"

Posted by Thomas@btl.net