Chapter 7

The door was still locked, and Trish was still a prisoner. But they were now sitting and sipping drinks and talking as though they had all been close and warm friends for many years past. Rocio was the most beautiful Spanish girl Trish had ever seen. Her hair was long and black as midnight, and there was a skin-tingling sensuality that exuded from her smooth olive-colored skin and round black eyes. Her clothes were probably self-made, but they were stylish and form-fitting and enhanced the shape of her round firm breasts, her narrow waist, her burgeoning hips and expansive but shapely ass cheeks. Her legs were long and shapely and as strong-looking as the ones on a professional dancer. Perhaps there was a gypsy heritage in the background of the girl, for despite the demure, restrained manner, there was also, on occasion, a wild look in her dark eyes, and more than just a hint of a smoldering sensuality. But the girl was also discriminatory. She could probably still be a virgin, Trish thought. Someday some lucky boy would meet her approval and explode inside her body and hear her lung-ripping screams of lust.

But the problem, as Trish soon learned, was not with Rocio but with her young brother Guido. The boy was no more than fourteen. He was extremely thin and aesthetic-faced, with the long, tapering, and almost effeminate fingers of a professional musician. Music was Guido's life, and someday he hoped to be a concert performer. But the problem at the moment was Guido's sexuality, or actually the lack of this commodity. "He's convinced he's a fairy," Rocio said with disgust. "I refuse to believe it for a minute!"

Trish looked closely at brother and sister. Rocio was without a doubt the fierce protector of her young brother, and she encouraged his musical ambitions. She explained, "The other boys in the ghetto tease him. He isn't a bully like they are. He isn't strong. He's a sensitive boy, and musically talented. This makes him queer in the eyes of the ghetto people."

The drink felt smoothly warm trickling down Trish's throat. She still didn't understand the reason Rocio had locked the door and wouldn't permit her to leave. But suspicions were beginning to whisper in her ears. These suspicions made her believe that Rocio intended for Trish to have sexual relations with Guido in order to prove to the boy he wasn't queer. And the idea didn't offend or make Trish angry. Perhaps she could save his life for the pretty-looking, young, miserably dejected girl. And ever since she had entered the ghetto, Trish had noticed that the very air reeked of sex. If she was going to have sexual relations at all, it would preferably be with this sensitive young boy. The thought of his long, tapering and sensitively attuned fingers caressing her body pinched at her flesh and made her shiver.

Trish set down her drink and smiled knowingly at Rocio. "I'm way ahead of you. You want me to prove to your brother that he's quite normal when it comes to girls."

"Yes!" Rocio almost shouted. "Yes! Oh, would you?" She pointed to the door. "I couldn't have forced you. Force isn't our way. But I locked the door until you at least heard what I had to say.'" She looked adoringly at Trish. "You helped us when no one else in the ghetto would lift a finger. You took on that gang of street hoodlums all by yourself. That's why I realized you were something special."

Guido still looked dismal. "It won't work, sis." And to Trish: "I wouldn't want to disappoint you. But I really think I'm queer. Sis had no right to interfere with the street gang. It'll only make things worse."

Trish learned that the Ghetto Guts Gang had been teasing Guido about his manliness. Rocio had reported them to the police. The police, of course, did nothing, since they wanted no trouble with the hoodlums. But the gang had to have vengeance, and hence the attack on Rocio's apartment and the attempted rape.

Trish felt overwhelmed with sympathy for the boy. The ghetto was an almost impossible environment for one with his talent. Were there other lost souls like Guido in the ghetto?

"Plenty of people and kids like Guido with talent live in the ghetto," Rocio said. "But their opportunities are few and far between. They have no outlet."

That's when Trish explained her idea to build a park in the ghetto.

"A park!" Rocio and Guido exclaimed in unison. "A beautiful idea," Rocio agreed.

"It could be a place to showcase talent," Guido said, and for the first time enthusiasm pulled his lips back into a smile and his eyes looked young again.

Trish told the boy, "You should smile more often, Guido. When you smile, you're beautiful."

But Guido looked sad again. "Smile," he said bitterly. "I'm not normal. I know it!"

Trish phrased her question with extreme care.

"Have you ever?" and she faltered.

"Corn-holed another boy?" Guido finished the question for her. "No. Not really."

Trish looked puzzled. "Then I don't understand why you think you're queer."

"I'm a masturbator," Guido explained, as though that answered the question clearly.

"So am I," Trish acknowledged. "And I'm not queer."

"I adore playing with myself," Rocio chimed in. "But I'd certainly love to get fucked by a boy if I could find the right one for the job."

Guido held up his hands imploringly. "Please. If you'll let me elaborate."

"Please do," Trish coaxed.

"Nothing you can say will convince me you're queer," Rocio insisted. "But please go on."

Guido pressed a hand over his face. He felt in pain. But he still found the courage to voice his fears aloud. "When I jack off, I conjure up all sorts of visions," he said. "The vision that helps me blow the easiest is one of a mouth over a cock."

Rocio cut in. "A girl's mouth over your cock bone. That's the most normal vision in the world for a boy to have when he's jacking off."

Guido gave his sister a pitying look. "You refuse to face the facts. The ugly reality of this stinking ghetto is all around us. But you insist on living in some beautiful dream world. You insist on seeing things the way you want to see them, and not the way they really are!"

Rocio replied in a quiet voice. "The only way to survive in this ghetto for people like us-is to have dreams. Someday I'll find a boy who will take me out of here. Someday you'll become a famous musician. They are dreams. But they're worthwhile dreams. And dreams with some basis in fact. Your fears about being queer have no basis in fact at all."

"Haven't they?" Guido replied quickly and heatedly. "That cock I see when I jack off isn't my cock. It belongs to someone else."

"And the mouth is yours," Trish said, and finally understood Guido's anxieties.

"Yes," Guido said. And then, "At least I think it is."

"Aren't you sure?" Trish asked, surprised.

Guido shook his head. "In that vision I have whenever I jack off, I can see a mouth. That mouth resembles my mouth. But the face is never clear. I think it's my mouth," he said.

"That's not good enough," Rocio said with disgust. "There's only one sure way to find out. Fuck a girl." And to Trish: "Would you let him? It could mean the greatest difference in his life. And you're the only girl I've seen in this ghetto I'd let touch my brother."

"Thanks," Trish said. She scrutinized Guido for a while. Finally: "Yes, I'll let him fuck me if he is able. I feel a rapport with the boy. He's the most darling thing I've seen in this ghetto yet."

Rocio leaped up and embraced Trish. "Oh, thank you, darling. I know you wouldn't let many boys get into your pants."

Trish laughed. "I'll be perfectly honest with you. I'm still a virgin."

Guido grimaced. "I couldn't. I just couldn't fuck a virgin. All that blood," he shuddered.

Trish explained. "Oh, there won't be any blood. I broke my cherry when I was twelve. That's when I was learning the correct masturbatory techniques. I'm a real expert today."

"Let's get on with it," Rocio said impatiently. "The quicker you make my brother get a bone on, the quicker you'll convince him he's not queer. And the more time he'll devote to his music." She cast a glance at the piano. "That's his future. And he's been neglecting it too much lately."

Trish stood up. "I'm ready," she said. "Where is it all going to take place?"

Rocio nodded towards the bedroom. "The living room is still quite dampish from your fire hose. The toilet is okay if one of you kids wants a blow job. But I think the actual fuck should take place in the bedroom."

"I concur," Trish smiled. "The bedroom it will be." She turned and looked at Guido, who still remained seated. "But this is one job I can't do by myself," she said to Guido.

Guido cast a desperate look towards the locked door. "Can't we postpone this experiment?" he asked his sister. "I feel like a monkey in a zoo. Are you going to referee?" he asked his sister in a bitter and sarcastic tone of voice.

Rocio stood up. "I'm going to accompany you. Let's get on with it!" she ordered in a voice that would brook no opposition.

Guido sprung to his feet. He was used to being bossed around by his older sister. And he knew when he could and when he could not argue with her. The tone of Rocio's voice told him that this was a time in which arguments would be futile. "All right," he said in a resigned tone of voice that a condemned prisoner might use on his last march to the gas chamber. "But don't blame me if nothing happens."

"Don't be so negative," Trish informed him. As she entered the bedroom, she felt very gay and carefree and extremely happy. She understood how Rocio felt about finding the right boy to fuck her. For some inexplicable reason, Trish felt strongly that she had, at long last, found the boy to let into her cunt for the first time. And she partially understood her feelings. There wasn't any doubt by now that she had a mother complex. She wanted to mother boys, men, anyone. That's why she wanted to live in the ghetto and help the less fortunate. It would be the ideal vent for her mother complex. And Guido who looked so sad, lonely and lost, would certainly respond to a girl with motherly instincts. Rocio had acted too much like a stern father for the boy. Trish would be his mother, she resolved.

Guido stood in the bedroom, shy, awkward, and reluctant to disrobe. Trish took the initiative before the approving eyes of Rocio and the furtive glances of the boy. And since Trish realized that her job was to stimulate and excite the boy, she undressed in the slow and tantalizing manner of a strip artist. As she pulled off her sweater, she let her hips grind a bit to hint at her growing sensuality. And it wasn't a put-on. For the first time in her life, Trish was actually looking forward to sexual intercourse. Of course she had once tried to make Acid Head at college. But she hadn't felt then as she did now. She wanted very much for the boy to grow savage with passion, to fill her body with his cock flesh and to explode his virginal cream in the receptacle of her love cunt. Her sweater slid off her arms and then tumbled to the floor, and she was naked to the waist.

Rocio whistled admiringly at the shape of Trish's exposed breasts. They had grown firm with desire, and the distended nipples erected as though they were begging for a suck. The nipples grew a brilliant red before the eyes of brother and sister.

Rocio prodded her brother. "Those tits were meant to be sucked," she whispered.

Guido didn't reply. Now he was staring openly, boldly at Trish. But he made no comment about her lush and naked breasts. And from the bland look on his face, it was not possible to determine whether he was responding properly to Trish's body.

But Trish didn't pay much attention to the boy as yet. She was busy creating an effect as she undressed. She let her hips grind around in suggestive bumps as she let her miniskirt drop to her feet. She stepped out of the skirt. All that remained now was her panties. Her creative mind was busily devising the proper climax to her disrobing act. Her eyes lit up. She knew what had to be done. Bending over at the waist, she dropped her panties but covered up her genitals with one hand. And then, when the panties were completely off, she held them over her crotch for just a moment. At the same time she affected a demure-looking face as though she was too shy to reveal herself completely. Then, straightening up, she flung aside the panties and revealed her totally nude body to the eyes of the Spanish couple.

"Beautiful," Rocio whispered huskily. "If I was a boy, I'd fuck you myself." Then she poked her elbow into the ribs of her backward brother. "Don't just stand there," she ordered. "Fuck her!" And before the boy could make any more comments of a negative nature, she literally ripped off his clothes until he, too, stood naked. But his cock remained soft. Unnaturally soft.

Guido looked forlornly down between his legs. His penis was not only soft but shriveled up into such a small blob of flesh that it was barely discernible. The tiny cock head was visible, but that was all. "I'm no good," he wailed. "No good. Please let me alone," he begged his sister.

"Not on your life!" Rocio said with feeling. "You're going through with the fuck if it's the last thing you do." But then her voice softened. "Guido, darling, can't you realize that your entire life depends on how well you fuck Trish? Tomorrow could be too late. A half an hour from now could be too late. It's right now that counts. What you do at this very moment. Please fuck the girl, Guido."

"I can't," he cried out like a small child. "I'm no good for a girl."

That was when Trish knew she had to intervene. Everything depended on her. An indifferent look or an inappropriate word could demolish the boy once and for all. She really didn't think the boy was queer. But at the moment she had no way of really being certain. Trish did admire the fourteen-year-old boy's naked body. He was brown-skinned like his sister, and there wasn't an ounce of fat on his lithe frame. His arms were thin and so were his legs. They looked like a bird's legs. Everything about him was boyish-looking and immature, everything but one important aspect-the cock hairs around the boy's penis. Trish had never seen such a profusion of black, curling, and thick hairs. They encircled the tiny penis like a huge black moon. And they circled lavishly up his smooth, flat belly. The hairs presented an erotic contrast to the tiny white cock head and two white balls.

A drop of saliva formed somewhere deep within Trish's throat and then slithered out between her lips. Trish knew that she'd never be happy unless her mouth closed over the adorable but tiny cock head and she could feel the wiry bite of the cock hairs against her face. Trish reclined on the bed and threw open her arms. "Come to me, sweets," she told the boy. "Let me mother my baby."

Trish actually looked like a young mother. And this look as well as the tone of her voice acted like a magnet on the hoy. He walked slowly towards the bed and nestled into her arms. Trish held him close to her bosom as the boy's mouth opened and closed on a nipple. Trish closed her eyes. "Ahhh," she murmured ecstatically. "My sweet boy is sucking on his mommy's tit."

At first the boy was shy. He felt embarrassed and self-conscious about being cuddled in the arms of a girl who was play-acting as his mother. A mother was something he had never had. Rocio had raised him, and she was too busy being breadwinner to mother him. She was more like a father or older brother. In some inexplicable way, this girl knew his needs. And he no longer had to be ashamed. "Suck your mommy," the girl kept repeating in whispered pleadings. "Suck your mommy good."

After a few minutes, Guido opened his mouth wider and sucked more of the tit inside his mouth. Then he sucked in almost half of the tit flesh and began to lap it. And while he was thus engaged with her tit, Trish dropped her hand between his legs and took hold of the shy and wrinkled penis. It seemed to wince at her touch and withdraw all the more. But when she began to rock him back and forth as though he were a child and speak to him in baby talk, the penis of the boy became less wrinkled, less shriveled. The flesh began to bloom like an awakening flower, or rather toadstool. When the shaft finally began to slide out and the cock head expanded, the penis did take on the appearance of a toadstool-a rather anemic-looking toadstool. The cock flesh was white and sickly looking, and the consistency of the bone wasn't good enough to penetrate the cunt of a female. Yet there was hope. Life was flowing into the male appendage and swelling it out with a form and character of its own. For many years it had remained a miniscule-sized instrument that was good only to pass water through. Occasionally, when the boy masturbated, the shaft attained a certain rigidity. But that stiffness lasted for only a few seconds and quite often he didn't even achieve a climax. That's why he never knew whether the mouth in his sexual fantasies belonged to a boy or a girl.

But now, as he assumed the role of a small boy in the arms of a loving mother, Guido's penis slid out into prick-like proportions. Every now and then Trish would rub the cock head against the hairs of her cunt. On her part, Trish had no trouble whatever in getting a hard-on. An excitement she'd never before experienced plucked at her clitoris until the shiny sliver of gristle had erected and pulsated for attention. From the pit of her genitals, pulsations beat out a crescendo of lust until vaginal secretions oozed out of the cunt crack and became entangled in the fluffy cunt hairs. The hairs now glistened with a rich brilliance that almost blinded the eyes of the onlooker. Yet Rocio couldn't tear her eyes from Trish's cunt. She thought, What a wonderful gift I've given to my brother. Why doesn't he fuck that magnificent cunt? Why doesn't he adore it? He's the luckiest boy in the entire world to be the first to feel that charming receptacle of love.

The reason Guido had not as yet mounted Trish was a very good one. His cock still wasn't stiff enough to accomplish a satisfactory penetration. And Trish was growing impatient. "Fuck me," she began to moan. "My cunt's burning up for the taste of a hot cock. Please put it in."

"I can't," Guido's lips trembled. And when the now lust-fevered Trish appraised the raising member, she agreed. The cock had to be stiffer.

"Don't worry, son," Trish reassured the boy. "Mommy will fix." And she did. This time, Trish's head bobbed down between the boy's legs, and like a hungry fish after bait she spread her soft, ruby-red lips apart and engulfed the still flexible cock. The flesh of the cock head was soft and had a bittersweet taste to it. Her mouth traveled farther down the shaft, At the base of the pole, Trish's taste buds were assailed by an entirely different kind of sensation. Here the flesh was sweet, as sweet as a bonbon. And that's where she applied the greatest pressure or suction. But she didn't concentrate on just the one spot. She pulled her mouth up the shaft and almost, but not quite, over the head. With the tip of her tongue, she probed the eye of the cock until the boy cried out. And when he cried out, his cock became rigid with pure and unadulterated lust. The bone hardened and the flesh grew red and then crimson, and then a dark crimson. Every inch of the stiffly erect cock flesh looked as though it had been stained with the juice of a million dark berries. Manhood surged through every muscle, organ and pore of the boy. Even his face became hard and shining and reflected an inner self-confidence that until then had been noticeable absent. "Fuck," he breathed aloud. "Gonna fuck you," and he pulled Trish's head away from his cock. For the first time, he was in charge of the action. The boy became a man!

Guido exerted his newly found manhood with a number of deft maneuvers that left Trish gasping and his sister Rocio brimming over with admiration for her brother. Rocio's faith in him was now being justified. Guido wasn't queer!

First of all, Guido the man literally plundered Trish's naked body. His eyes became inflamed with lust, his breathing quickened, the skin of his body tensed like a jungle cat about to make a kill. Guido struck out. He dived downwards toward the lower extremities of Trish's body, where he turned her over. The cheeks of her ass loomed up before him. They were curvaceous cheeks, firm but pliable, smooth-textured but with several tiny imperfections which quickened the senses even more.

Guido, the young Casanova, slipped his arms around each cheek and spoke to her ass as a lover would normally address the face of his sweetheart. Guido, the novice lover, was allowing his sexual capacities to have full and natural reign over his senses. And these natural senses told him almost immediately that he had a distinct and lustful preference for anal love. "Darling," Guido murmured to Trish's cheeky ass, "you're adorable."

Trish quickly caught on to the game. She moved her cheeks closer to his face and whispered, "Kiss me, darling. Thrill me with a great big wet French kiss."

"Oh yes," Guido sobbed. "Yes, I'd love to kiss you, my precious," and he closed his eyes as he stretched out his tongue to French kiss his sweetheart. Trish spread the cheeks of her ass to accent the tongue. Then, constricting her muscles, she closed each cheek tight. Then, by further constricting her rectal muscles she pulled the tongue deeper within the orifice of rectal love. When the tongue was halfway down the rear tube, Trish relaxed her buttock muscles and let the cheeks drop apart again. Free of the ass flesh, Guido partially withdrew his tongue and peppered the sides of each cheek with a series of light but heated passion kisses. And as he became more deeply immersed in anal love, the bone of his cock slid out towards a higher elevation. And with this movement, the cock flesh became even harder and darker. The entire prick, head and shaft a-like, commenced to pulsate so violently that Rocio was afraid her brother would drop his load on the bed instead of Trish's cunt.

Trish sensed the danger, too. Reaching back, she took hold of the cock, which almost leaped out of her grasp. By now the cock skin was so sensitively attuned to the attentions of a young female that the cock juices within started to boil and threaten an immediate eruption. Guido pulled his head out of Trish's ass and closed his eyes tighter than a clenched fist. "Oh no," his voice rose up into a plaintive whine. "Oh no!" But it was already too late to take remedial action. The juices of lust were already streaming up the shaft and towards the exit at the head of his cock. "Oh no!" he screamed again. He had wanted so much to be the perfect lover. And now this! A premature ejaculation on the bedsheet like any adolescent kid who played with himself.

"Don't let yourself come so soon!" Rocio called out agitatedly to her brother. But she knew her admonition was an exercise in futility. Once a man, and especially a teenage boy, started to blow his cock, there wasn't anything that could stem the tide of the cock juices.

But Trish had no intention of being so easily cheated of Guido's cock cream, which was his first and true expression of his virginal passions. Flipping herself backwards like an electric eel, she managed to get her mouth over the cock head at the exact instant when the very first drop of cream squeezed its way out of the eye on the cock head. That first drop was so hot that Trish's lips were almost scalded. And before she could withdraw her mouth, a river of cream thrust itself upwards like a geyser driven skyward from the bowels of the earth. The roof of Trish's mouth was first spattered and then inundated by gobs of blistering but rich cream, which remained intact even as it dropped down her throat.

The cock cream from a teenage boy was the sweetest-tasting liquid that Trish had ever sampled. And now she drank every drop with the voracious appetite of a parched camel. She sucked and gulped until the shaft stopped discharging, and still she continued to lick the flesh dry of the virginal dew. The cock of the boy finally wilted, grew softer and shorter, and finally returned to its normal, flaccid self.

When at long last Trish pulled her mouth and face away from the shriveled piece of meat, her eyes and face were shining with a glow that warmed her entire body. She, too, had finally expressed her true sexual self. And she now understood the meaning of true sex, and of true love as well. In order to receive honest passions, one must give honest passions. And for the first time in her entire life, she had honestly and without fears or reservations given her passions to the troubled youth. There was only one last act to consummate now-the fusion of naked body to naked body. But as she turned to express this desire, the door of the room was flung open, and an intruder, angry-eyed and trembling, barged in. The intruder was Acid Head, Trish's roommate.

The gangly, awkward-looking boy clenched his fists. "My old man is willing to help us with the park. I hate his guts, but I got down on my knees and begged." He waved an agitated hand towards the bed, towards Guido. "Is this what you do to me when I'm gone?"

There was no denying the evidence. Guido was still stark naked, and his wet cock was still in a state of shriveled shock from the eruption. The boy looked exhausted from the effort of the blow. And Trish's face was still wet with the residue of the torrential pour of cock cream. Trish didn't try to deny the evidence. But she did explain. "It's just something I had to do," she told Acid Head. "I gave. He gave. Oh, Acid Head, it was beautiful."

Before the stunned Acid Head could think of an appropriate reply, Rocio walked over to him.

Naturally, as though she'd known him all of her life, she took his hand. "If you're going to blame anyone, blame me," she said, and she explained that she had instigated the relationship between Trish and her brother Guido, who could no longer be accused of being queer.

"Forgive my anger," Acid Head said apologetically. "I didn't understand." And he still didn't understand how it was possible for him to be so quickly and deeply attracted to Rocio. It was more than a mere surface attraction, too, more than an attraction to her great beauty.

And Rocio felt the same towards Acid Head. The boy had suffered because he was too sensitive for the ugly world in which they had to live. But together they could make it less ugly. She didn't withdraw her hand. They knew they were going to get together. They had to get together. In the heart of his genitals, Acid Head felt a reawakening. Even Trish had never been able to make him get a hard-on. But the love he felt for Trish was too brotherly for great passion. This heat that now surged through his body for Rocio fevered his body. He simply and honestly was on fire to fuck her. And these lustful thoughts for the body of Rocio stroked his penis into a full and durable erection. His lips parted slightly when he felt the cock shaft slide out and stiffen for the first time in many years. "This is for real," he told Rocio.

Rocio was warmed by his passions and responded. She squeezed his hand. "Yes, darling. This is for real." In a minute, and no longer than a minute, Rocio and Acid Head would disrobe.

Trish felt happy for the couple. But her own needs were still unfulfilled. She simply had to have a fuck after that wonderful bit of fellatio on Guido's cock. His first true blow job had been too much for the boy. Guido had fallen fast asleep on the bed.

Then Trish was struck with an idea. "A beaut of an idea," she told herself as she dialed a number on the phone.

The man who answered the phone had a familiar voice. He was the president of the country club, the same man who had tried unsuccessfully to rape her. "Of course I'm happy to hear from you," he told Trish. And when Trish explained her park project for the ghetto people, the president replied, "I'd be delighted to help you with the park, dear. But let me refresh your memory. I only help people who help me. And you know how you can help me." He spoke those last words with a smile, for he fully expected the girl to slam the receiver down. But she didn't.

Trish replied with a sparkle in her voice. "Of course, I'll help you, darling. I give. You give. That's what life is all about."

President Fowler still couldn't believe his ears. He decided to be blunt. "I'm talking about your mouth over my cock!"

"Of course, darling," Trish said demurely. "We're both talking about the same thing. But you will help me with the park?"

The president couldn't keep his voice from trembling. He could still see those full, red, and perfectly shaped lips that looked as though they were made out of velvet. He had trouble with his breathing when he said, "Of course, of course, I'll help. But when? When?"

"Right now!" Trish roared into the phone. "I'm on fire for a fuck."

"Be right there," he breathed heavily. Trish's exuberance lashed his penis into a throbbing erection. But before he hung up, Fowler had to ask, "What's happened to you, Trish? You're so different."

"I've grown up," Trish said.