Chapter 2

Julie Christie is my favorite actress, mainly because I look almost exactly like her. Most people who know me say I'm her double except, of course, I'm a lot younger than she is. I suppose I should take the time to describe myself. Otherwise, how are you going to picture me in your imagination when I'm getting fucked? I mean, if I tell you that so and so shot semen onto my nipples and let it trickle down over my boobs onto my belly, you're going to want to know what my nipples and breasts look like, aren't you?

So, I'm going to try to give you a detailed description of myself. Please excuse me if I sound conceited, because I'm really not (nor am I humble, of course).

At the time of this writing, I am nineteen years old, but when the events I'm writing about took place I was only seventeen, going on eighteen. My birthday is July thirtieth. My height is five feet seven inches and I weigh one hundred and twenty pounds. (I weighed a bit less when this story took place.) I have blonde hair which comes down to the small of my back and I almost never put it up.

Now for my face. Like I told you, I look a lot like Julie Christie. My complexion is fair, my eyes blue and my face in general, slender. I have a long, thin nose with sort of flared nostrils. My lips are what most people consider the best feature of my face. They are full, especially the bottom one and they somehow give the impression of being strong, yet soft and supple. One boy once told me that my lips were the kind that most men like to be sucked by. I guess there might be some truth in that, but I really don't know. All I know is that I've sucked a goodly number of cocks and I've never had any complaints that I can recall.

Anyway, on to the rest of me. I would have to say I have an excellent figure. My bust is thirty-seven and one-half inches, my waist twenty-three and my hips thirty-six. One of the oddities about my breasts is that they are upturned even though they are big. When I stand normally, my nipples point out at about a fifty-degree angle. My breasts are full. They don't have a hollow at the top like some stand-up breasts do. They are very pale with one small blue vein just barely visible in each one, running down toward the nipple and disappearing where the brown skin of the aureole begins. The aureole is light brown in color and quite smooth. I don't have little bumps there like many women except, of course, when I'm sexually aroused or cold, when the aureole twists and puckers up into the nipple. My nipples are huge. Many boys have told me that they are the biggest nipples they have ever seen. I guess that's why they like to suck on them so often and so hard. When I am aroused, my nipples are about one-half inch across and almost perfectly round. They stand up from my breasts about a half an inch as well and they're almost always hard.

There's an old saying that if you get sperm on your body, it makes hair grow, but that's a lot of bullshit. I've had some on every single square inch of my body at one time or another, but I have no hair except on my head, under my arms and around my cunt. My belly is completely smooth and hairless. It is round and sticks out just enough to be sexy and I have a very sexy navel. In fact, some men say it's just as much fun to come in my navel as it is to come in my cunt, but I wouldn't know about that. I like it either way as long as I get a climax out of it.

Some of my cunt hair I shave off so that it doesn't hang out of my bikini, although some girls think that's sexy. Anne, for example, likes to show a lot of cunt hair on the beach. Each to his own, I say.

Even though I have fucked like a mink this last year, my cunt is still tight and men love that. My clitoris is big and quite sensitive which makes it easy for me to have a climax. But men tell me the greatest thing about my cunt is that when I flex, they can feel a kind of ring inside me that squeezes their cocks and makes the fuck all the more enjoyable. I don't know anything about that, not being able to fuck myself, but I have read somewhere that gypsies have this muscle ring in their cunts. They say that European men know about this and that whenever they're hot for a piece of tail, they look up a gypsy girl to put the blocks to. Whether or not any of it's true, I don't know, but it's interesting anyway.

My legs are long and also hairless. They are slender, but I am not knock-kneed or anything like that. I would say that my legs, too, are nearly perfect. It's a funny thing, but I used to spend hours looking at them before I masturbated. I would lie back on the bed and run my hands up and down my legs, tickling them softly from the ankle to the very top, right by my cunt. That used to get me excited and then I would masturbate. It never worked when somebody else tried it. I don't know why, but it never did.

"Buttocks are my bag." That's what a friend of mine used to say and he liked mine best of all the buttocks he'd ever seen. Personally, I would have liked a bigger ass. Mine is quite tiny, but at least it's firm and shapely. I've had many, many men come in and on my ass, so it must have quite a bit of appeal.

So that's what I look like. Picture a younger Julie Christie with a slightly better figure and that's me!

Anyway, Anne and I bounced along cheerfully, talking dirty and giggling about sexy, girlish things. I had a steady, pleasurable irritation in my cunt, taut nipples that poked at the inside of my crisp white bra and butterflies in my stomach as I listened to Anne tell tall tales of erotica.

"You know that after a while homosexuals can't hold their shit any more."

"Why?"

"Well, because they've been fucked in the ass so many times that their assholes get stretched and weak. They'll be walking along the street sometime and all of a sudden, they'll shit in their pants without any warning. That's why faggots have to change their underwear so often."

"How do you know they change their underwear often?"

"Well, wouldn't you if you were always shitting in your pants?"

"Yes, I would, but how do you know they do? I mean, how do you know they shit in their pants all the time?"

"I told you, they can't help but shit in their pants. They've got no asshole left. They've fucked it all away. It's like married women who've had a lot of kids. Their cunts fall apart and their husbands can't even tell when they're fucking them. There's nothing there. They keep falling out and spewing all over the sheets."

I reminded Anne that that's what happened to Danny when he was fucking her.

"Oh, my God, I hope I wasn't born with sloppy cunt!" she exclaimed, unconsciously putting her hand down between her legs just as we passed a nun on the street. The holy woman glared at us.

"What are you looking so snotty for, you've got one too. Or have you?"

I felt like crawling in a hole.

"Well, she deserved it," Anne insisted. "They have no right to feel superior."

"Maybe she was a Mother Superior."

Anne ignored that. "Well, they haven't. I've heard about priests and nuns, you know. You know what they do?"

"No."

"The nuns masturbate with their little statues. They rub them against their cunts pretending to bless themselves. They believe their cunts are sinful and dirty, so they have to bless them directly by touching them to those little statues. Only they don't just touch them, they rub them hard until they climax."

"How do you know?"

"I know. And I also know that you have to be a queer to be a priest. If you're not queer when you go to the monastery, you are when you come out. They're not allowed to touch their cocks, so they whack off by rubbing themselves against something, just like the nuns, then they blame it on the devil. They run around the monastery naked, screaming that the devil has spilled their holy seed and they ask to be beaten for it. Then when they're beaten they climax again, only this time they say that's the devil coming out of their prick holes. That's true. They're all masochists. They once found a monk in France, dead as a doornail with a fifteen inch candle right up his hole. They didn't find it until they went to embalm him."

I liked Anne's story, but I wanted to hear something else. "What's it feel like to suck a guy off?" I asked, absent-mindedly putting my finger into my mouth and sucking on it.

"What do you mean, what's it like?" asked Anne, being very blase.

"I mean, what does it feel like to suck a cock?"

"It feels like you would expect it to feel, I guess." She intended to go into detail. I knew that and she knew I knew, but still she played her little game. "I mean, what do you think it would feel like? A cock's a cock and you suck it like you would suck anything else. I mean, what's it feel like to suck your thumb, you know?"

We walked ten yards in silence. "The head of the cock is softer than the shaft," she began, mouthing an imaginary one. "It's as soft as your cheek, only it doesn't cave in, you know. I mean, it has substance to it even though it's soft. It's about like velvet packed tight with foam rubber. The slit in the end is softer still. I mean, inside the slit. If you stick your tongue into the slit, it's softer than the head of the cock. The foreskin is soft as well and it's stretchy. But the prick itself is as hard as bone and when you suck on it you can feel a pulse against the roof of your mouth. And it twitches too. All the time you're sucking on it, it twitches faster and faster until it flexes one last time, one long stiff twitch and then it spews all that hot, salty gunk into your throat. That's all there is to My cunt was dripping into my undies. We walked the rest of the way without saying too much. For one thing, I was getting too nervous to carry on a conversation. For another, we had just about talked ourselves out. When we arrived, a friend of Danny's answered the door. He was about six feet tall and stark naked. His build was passable but his prick was short compared to Danny's. It hung about two and a half to three inches down and a bit to the right.

"Come in and take off your clothes," he said with a smile, bouncing his balls in his right hand. "Which one's the virgin?"

"The blonde one," said Danny coming out of the bathroom at that moment. His prick was just as I remembered it from the week before, five inches long, brown and smooth as silk-just waiting for stimulation. His balls were loose and swayed gently as he walked toward Anne and myself. "Take off your clothes, girls, we'll be ready to start any minute. Where do you want to do it, here or in the bedroom?"

I chose the bedroom. I felt a trifle strange at first, sitting around in the nude in front of men. My nipples were hard and erect and my cunt ran like a maple tree in spring. I was obviously the amateur of the lot because neither of the men had erections yet. Their rods dangled down between their legs as though they saw a naked woman every day of the week. Even Anne seemed to be relaxed compared to me, although I think she was play-acting just a little. She was squeezing her thighs together every once in a while and twisting her nipples absent-mindedly.

After a couple of drinks, Danny suggested that we split up. They had decided beforehand that Danny's friend, Al, should fuck Anne while Danny busted me. Anne was in accord, but I was scared.

"Don't be such a silly," Anne said to me in the bathroom, where we had gone to get ready. "What good would it do for me to be there anyway?"

I won't bother to relate the whole argument, but finally Anne convinced me to go with Danny by myself. She wanted to get balled too and I couldn't blame her for that.

In the bedroom Danny and I sat down on the bed and talked for a while to get things started. We smoked while I examined his cock in detail. Since it was the first opportunity I'd had to look at a man's penis close up, I was fascinated. It was heavy for its size and all that loose skin! It really was beautiful just to sit there and play with it.

"Would you like to suck me?" Danny asked when I had crushed out my cigarette.

I nodded rather shyly and went down on my knees in front of him. With my left hand, I gathered up his balls, with my right I took hold of his limp prick and pulled the foreskin back to reveal the smooth, blunt head. It was very light pink in color, not the purple it was the last time I saw it.

It must have something to do with how much blood circulates through it, I thought to myself as I slipped the foreskin back over the end. Danny was circumcised (although I didn't know the difference at the time) -but he did have lots of skin to play with as long as his cock remained slack. It was loose and slid back and forth over the shaft with ease, making the penis seem almost like a liquid or, at most, a jelly in my hands. His ball bag was the same.

When I had stretched the foreskin back and forth a few times, the prick started to expand. As it did so, I licked it all over and sucked it from every angle. The shaft was the first part to swell and when it had the consistency of rubber, I plopped it into my mouth, all of it! As I swished it around with my tongue, I could feel it growing and growing and, because I was holding on tight at its base with my lips, it had nowhere to go but down my throat. It wasn't until I choked on it that I let go and settled for only half of it. I started now to suck with more enthusiasm, rubbing my supple lips over the hard ridge of the head and jabbing my tongue into the sperm hole. And still it kept swelling up and up, bigger and bigger, until I could only manage to keep the head in my mouth. I sucked on it with force, trying to draw the semen out of him, but it was a long way from coming. When I slipped him out for a minute to catch my breath, I noticed that the head was the same color purple it had been when Danny fucked Anne.

Yep, that's what it is: the amount of blood that's circulating, I thought once again as I eased the slippery, glistening hard-on back into my mouth.

Danny did not let me suck him much longer. When he had had enough, he slipped his prick out of my mouth, causing my lips to slap together in a loud, sloppy noise. With one hand he pushed me gently down onto the bed. With the other he played with my clit while mounting. Once into position, he smiled warmly and whispered, "Okay, baby, here goes." A quick and effortless jab plugged up my cunt and made my heart jump in my bosom.

"Danny, you won't make it," I said, panic in my voice. "You're too big. You'll rip my cunt." I was straining my head forward to watch and I could see that only the head was between the lips of my tight little cunt. There were still eight inches to go and it wasn't just the length, but the width as well. It was like putting his prick through a funnel and I watched in mixed amazement and apprehension as his right hand, which had probably done this many times before, squeezed another inch of his bulging prick into my cunt.

I felt it come in and I felt a few more inches come in the same way, each one seeming as though it had to be the last, but each one being accommodated by that hungry little cunt of mine. When he had about four inches of his mighty manhood inside me, Danny began to move it back and forth, working up some more lubrication and easing in farther with every thrust. The feeling of his hard cock tugging at my clit and the big hammerhead probing deeper and deeper into my cunt set up a spiraling sensation that I knew was the climax coming on. Each time it came around, it was more intense. Until that time I had been lying there like a dead fish, but then the pleasure was beginning to outweigh the pain and I started to move my hips.

Up and down, around and around, I tilted my pelvis this way and that, giving Danny more cunt to fuck. And he fucked and fucked, in and out, back and forth, faster and faster until the walls of my cunt had wrapped themselves around all ten inches of his big, hard, slimy prick. All ten inches! I don't know how I did it, but there it was. Ten long thick inches of muscle and blood packed away somehow in my virgin box.

Our movements became frantic as our hips banged together, sending his prick up the fuck-tunnel into my guts. I was getting fucked for the first time. Fucked, banged, balled and screwed and it felt lovely.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I screamed into Danny's ear, throwing my belly up against him and digging my nails into his back. "Fuck me, Danny, with your hard, hard cock. Fuck me hard!" I moaned, my voice jiggling with the force of his thrusting. And he did, real hard!

He lifted himself to his hands, leaving only our genitals touching and pushed his prick in and out of me with the speed of a jackhammer. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my cunt slapping and sucking at Danny's lightning-fast rod. The only thing I could see was Danny's face twisted in ecstasy. After that, everything went blank. I remember nothing except that my whole body throbbed and tickled for a few minutes, then coasted slowly back to normal. It was my first real man-made climax! And, as if that weren't enough, Danny told me later he came just after I did. I could hardly wait to tell Anne. But I would have to wait, because, according to the sounds we heard coming from the other room, they were still fucking.

Danny and I sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other, and smoked. A few drops of semen were still oozing out of his prick. I leaned over and picked them up with my tongue and swallowed them.

"I've always wanted to know what that stuff tasted like," I said as Danny smiled contentedly. "It's not bad."

"If you want, I'll let you suck me off in a little while and you can drink all my sperm," Danny offered graciously.

When it was evident that Anne and Al were finished, Danny and I joined them for a drink. The subject of conversation was cherry-busting. All of them wanted to know how I felt, now that I was no longer a virgin. I told them truthfully that if felt almost too good to talk about. So, I didn't talk very much. My mind was somewhere else. I was trying to figure out why my mother and her friends and, indeed, the older generation as a whole, could believe that sex was dirty. How could they actually believe that virginity was a state of purity! How could they live their lives without ever contending with the facts of life? How could any woman live a satisfying life while regarding a man's cock as some ugly growth between his legs, instead of the beautiful instrument of pleasure that it really is? As I sat there in the nude, Danny's semen oozing out of my cunt, I thought about what my mother would say if she knew I was a cocksucker. What would she do if she knew that only minutes before I had been bouncing around on the end of a ten-inch prick and loving every second of it, or that I had tasted semen? What would she do? What would she say? I knew the answers only too well. What I didn't know and still don't, was why she'd feel that way.

I didn't suck Danny again. My emotional state was perfect as it was. I had had just enough sex for the first attempt and I wanted only to enjoy the feeling of liberation that had set in almost immediately after my virginity was officially taken. I was no longer a virgin in any sense. I was no longer chaste. I was no longer decent, but I was happy! I think a few people, including my dear old mother, could take a lesson from that.

Thanking Danny and Al for their services, Anne and I left the apartment and walked toward her place. It was a nice night and it was still fairly early so we stopped at a cafe to have a lemonade. We talked mostly about what we wanted to do that summer. Anne liked the idea of going to a resort because, as she said, "There's a lot of meat floating around up there." I thought that if our parents would give us the money, we should go somewhere like California. We talked a bit about Danny and his ten-inch penis, but not much. He was already fading from our minds. I suppose, a few years ago, a girl would hang onto the boy who took her maidenhood for fear of not being able to get another, but the world we live in is different. Danny had merely done me a service. I was grateful to him, but that's as far as it went. His ten-inch cock had done its duty and now I was fast forgetting the man attached to it. He, I'm sure, was fast forgetting me.

In the coffee house, a rock group called The Short Hairs was playing music that commanded us to listen, so we gave up our conversation. When the group had finished their set, the lead guitarist stepped down from the podium and approached our table. He invited himself to sit down and, feeling somewhat like celebrities, we did not object. He said his name was Wilfred Wilfred, but later told us that was just his stage name. His real name was Bob Wilfred and his friends called him Shaggy for short and Shag for shorter still.

"Partly because I shag a different girl every night," he bragged. Shaggy informed us that he and his group would be playing for two weeks at this coffee house before they left for Vancouver. After Vancouver they would be going to either Montreal or New York. Both Anne and I were impressed with his casual attitude toward travel, sex and show business. We were intrigued with Shaggy Bob Wilfred Wilfred and his way of life and when he asked us if we would like to come with them to Vancouver, we almost shit. We told him we would have to think it over, but really we were so shocked we couldn't think at all.

"It's very simple," he explained. "You come on the trip with us and we get to ball you whenever we feel like it. There are girls who do it all the time. They're called groupies. Their whole object in life is to see how many groups they can ball. It's crazy, man. It's where it's at."

Neither Anne nor I wanted to let on that we were apprehensive about making the trip. We couldn't let on in front of Shaggy that we were afraid our parents wouldn't let us go. I mean, that would have seemed terribly old-fashioned to him. He was only twenty, but he'd been out on his own for over four years already. He was a man of the world-the new world. He was a real dropout and we couldn't admit to him that we still lived at home and had to worry about what our parents thought. By the time we left the coffee house, we had all but promised him that we would go with him to Vancouver, although neither of us believed we would.

All the way home Anne and I tried to build up each other's confidence by spouting cliches about sexual liberation, independence and the establishment. We didn't really know what we were talking about, but we could feel it somewhere in our young bodies, probably in the groin. We could feel the need to break away from our families and join the new world before it left us too far behind. It was a decision that would affect our whole lives and, surprisingly enough, I think we were somehow aware of that, even though we were just two teen-age thrill-seekers at the time. We wanted to go-badly! But we had no idea how to bring up the subject with our parents, or whether to bring it up at all.

I said good-night to Anne at her front door, promising to call her the next day to make further plans. Then I walked the rest of the way home, desperately trying to think of a way out of the predicament.

Anne and I talked all the next day and the day after that about how to get permission from our parents to go to Vancouver, but we achieved nothing. We were frustrated, confused and nervous, but worst of all, we had the frightening sense that we were going to miss out on life entirely. We were deathly afraid that we would have to grow up in the obsolete world of our parents, outdated before we even got started. That's the way things might have turned out if something hadn't happened at my place to change the whole situation.

When I returned home for supper after my second day of consultation with Anne, I was greeted at the door by my mother, who had honest-to-goodness murder in her eyes. She was holding a pair of my panties between her thumb and index finger as though they were covered with leprosy or something.

"What's the matter?" I asked, looking at her and then the panties, then back at her.

Without answering, she took a giant stride toward me and before I knew what was happening, she drew back her arm and smashed me across the face. My whole cheek and the left side of my lips went numb. I crouched in the corner behind the door.

"Whaa ..." I tried to speak, but she cut my words off in the throat by her slapping me in the face again, only this time with the panties.

In an effort to get away from her I fell on the floor. I was there crouching like a petrified dog in the corner with my mother standing over me beating at my head with that pair of panties and yelling words like slut and whore, when my father came in.

When he had pulled my mother off me, I ran upstairs to my room and locked the door. My face felt like it was on fire and when I looked at it in the mirror, I noticed little blood specks that the force of the blow had brought to the surface just under the skin. I was amazed that my mother had it in her to hit me that hard. Usually when she was angry with me she just went bawling to my father and got him to do all the dirty work. But this time she must have been really mad and it wasn't difficult to guess what it was she was mad about. She must have found semen in those panties, because they were the ones I was wearing the night I lost my virginity.

I was frightened and hurt by the attack my mother made on me, but I was also thankful. She didn't know it, but she had just lost her only daughter. She had made up my mind for me. I was going to Vancouver with Shaggy and his group for sure now and I didn't have to worry about how to break the news to Mom and Dad.

In five minutes, my father was up knocking on my door but I refused to let him in. He pleaded in a fatherly voice once or twice, but then he got mad. With one blow he broke the lock off the door and charged into my room.

"All right, Susan, you'd better confess the whole thing," he began in stern tones, completely unaware of my feelings. That's the trouble with parents. They don't give their children any credit for having brains or emotions. All they want to do is give orders and lectures. They think that's the proper way to bring up kids. I might still be getting along well with my parents if my father had come into my room that night with sympathy in his eyes instead of anger. But all he knew how to do was lecture. He didn't know how to ask, only how to tell. And it was because of this that I screamed at him.

"Go away, you old bastard. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. I don't want to see either of you!" And I threw myself onto the bed face down and cried like a baby.

Again, no sympathy.

"It's too late to cry now. You should have thought of that before you made a pig of yourself. Who did you sleep with? I want to pay him a little visit. When I get through with him, he'll think twice about doing it again. Who is he? What's his name?"

When I heard my father talking like that, you can't imagine how glad I was to be getting out of that hole. It was like some stupid scene from a Jane Austin book or something. My father was completely unaware of how much the world had changed. I guess he seriously thought I would give him Danny's name and address. God, I still can't believe he could be that old-fashioned. But what really made me mad was the fact that my parents were never able to see things from my point of view and even if they could, they would never bother. As far as they were concerned, my feelings, my thoughts and my beliefs weren't worth a pinch of coon shit. They were the bosses in that house, and as long as I lived there I had to take whatever they dished out. Well, I made sure I would not be there long by answering my father in a way he never expected.

"Fuck you, that's who! You dizzy old bastard! Get out of my room."

I'll never forget the look on his face. Had he been hurt by my remark, I probably would have melted right there. But he wasn't. He was outraged, just like an officer would be outraged if a private refused to obey an order. That's all the relationship between myself and my father amounted to.

His face turned beet red. He came at me with his arms stretched out in front of him as though he were going to choke me. But instead, he grabbed my blouse and ripped it right off my body. I think he must have been insane at that moment, because he tore blindly at my clothes until they were nothing but a shredded heap on the floor and I was stark naked on the bed. He started to swat at me with his hands. Mostly, he hit me on the ass, but several times his hand went between my legs, which may have been accidental. I didn't appreciate it very much, all the same. He was trying to humiliate me, but it wasn't working. In fact, except for the considerable pain he was causing me, I found it all rather grotesquely funny. It was then that I dealt the death blow. I leaped off the bed and stood directly in front of him, not bothering to cover my nude body. My breasts bounced as I shouted.

"I don't know why you're trying to appear so pure, old boy," I spat, staring straight into his eyes. "I saw you fuck a woman from your office when I was just a little girl. You did it right in the same bed that you and Mother sleep in. What do you think about that? You're not in much of a position to criticize me now, are you?"

I'm sure now that he'd have killed me, had my mother not made her presence known at that precise moment, just as my father made a move toward me. His eyes were those of a wild man. His face had murder written all over it. But if my father's blood was boiling, my mother's was ice cold. She didn't say a word. She only glared at my father until, in a frenzy, he stormed from the room and thundered down the stairs. A look of pure, unadulterated hatred from my mother froze the air, but I refused to drop my eyes. I looked right back at her with an expression that was almost indifferent until she broke and retreated, slamming the door practically off its hinges. They may still be wondering how I could be so cruel, but if they are, it's because they themselves are self-centered and cruel people.

I have not seen my mother since that night. My father I've seen once but I'll come to that later. As soon as I heard my mother's angry footsteps on the stairs, I ran to my closet and pulled out my suitcase. I threw as many summer things into it as would fit, plus the most important thing I owned at the time, my package of birth control pills. Then, employing a trick everybody has seen at one time or another on TV and in the movies, I tied my sheets and blankets together and lowered the suitcase down to the ground. I pulled my bed over to the window and tied the free end of the sheet rope to it. In a matter of seconds, I was on the ground, suitcase in hand, sneaking under the windows and out to the street. As I walked away from the house I had lived in for seventeen years, I heard my parents' voices fading into the past. They were fighting about the woman from my father's office.

I had ten dollars on me and I used it to rent a small hotel room in a shady district of the city. I guess I could have stayed at Anne's place, but I didn't want to get her into trouble. But as I found out the next day when I called her, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because my parents had phoned hers and told them everything. Naturally, Anne's mom and dad wanted to know whether she, too, had been experimenting with sex. Anne could have lied, of course, but she didn't. She told them the whole truth, not so much out of a sense of honesty as out of expediency. She recognized the situation, as I had done, as a good way to make the big break from her family. And, although her parents weren't nearly so hard on her as mine were on me, she left home that same day.

Together, we celebrated our freedom by going down to the coffee house where The Short Hairs were playing to make arrangements for our upcoming trip to the west coast of Canada. For the rest of that week and the whole of the next, we stayed with Shaggy and his friends. I got fucked seven times and each time I thought of my parents and enjoyed it all the more. I fucked with a vengeance and don't think the guys I fucked didn't appreciate it. In less than two weeks, I earned a whopping reputation that has followed, or rather preceded, me right up to the present.

Susie Fucker the boys called me and I enjoyed that just about as much as I enjoyed fucking them. Anne was no slouch either. She fucked just as many guys as I did and they had no complaints. Together we made quite a pair. We fancied ourselves the two nicest pieces of ass in the city and if we weren't the best, we were certainly the busiest.