Chapter 3
In the morning, Richie Garrison pushed the door to the bathroom open and yelled down the hall, "Isn't anybody gonna get that?"
Not hearing an answer, he grunted an oath of annoyance and reached over to pull up his pants. He really hated to be disturbed on the toilet, especially when he had his pants all the way down. Not that he had actually been going to the bathroom, but he had been busy beating his bishop. And the interruption meant he would just have to postpone whacking it all the way home until later.
"Hello," he said as he held the thing up to his ear. "What do you want?"
It wasn't a particularly polite way to answer the phone, but then neither were the surroundings. Mrs. Livingstone's Boarding House. He thought places like that had gone out with bottled milk and stick shift cars until the day his father had brought him here. He had been about fourteen. Maybe it was two years ago. He didn't remember exactly since he and his dad had moved around so much since he was a kid.
"She ain't home now," he shouted into the phone, trying to sound like a tough old man. "She'll be back by six o'clock, though. Supper is served around six thirty, most nights. Call back then."
He slammed the phone back down, onto the wall. It was pretty bad, not having a phone of your own. Having to answer for old Mrs. Livingstone. She wasn't a bad sort, though, even had taken to mothering him a little. Not that he liked it, or even wanted it. He-didn't remember his own mother. But his father insisted she had been a pretty woman. He kicked a flap of frayed carpet with the toe of his shoe and debated whether to go back in the bathroom or just sit down right here in the hall and get down to business. Someone might come home. It was getting that time. The other boarders all had jobs outside. That's because all of them were over forty. The thought of one of those grubby old guys catching him with his whang out gave him a shudder. No telling which one of them might be queer. He stayed as far away from them as he could. He liked women a whole lot better anyway. And at the age of sixteen and one month, he'd had a few, too.
A month after his dad plunked him down at Livingstone's he'd gotten his first hard taste of pussy. It was off a hooker, too. At least he was pretty sure that's what she was. Stayed out very late at night, finally drove Mrs. Livingstone to throw her out and her luggage onto the sidewalk after her. It had been quite a scene.
"Don't want your kind around here, girlie," she said, drawing her bushy eyebrows together and shaking her broom at her. "I'm a decent working woman and I don't like your kind. Give the place a bad name."
"I'm a decent working woman, too," the girl shouted back at her, bending over to pick up her battered suitcase, "and I don't exactly like prudes like you. So long, Grandma."
Richie had had to stifle a laugh as he stood in the front hall way watching the show There was Mrs. L., shaking that old broom at her and hanging off the front steps, cursing a blue streak. And there was Lulu, strutting off down the street in her shiny tight black skirt and mesh stockings. Her platform shoes clacked along the sidewalk like loose change in a dryer. If she hadn't been a hooker, she sure could have fooled half the neighborhood.
"Getting all my guests worked up and never even let me in her room to change the sheets on her bed."
The old woman continued to mutter under her breath as she disappeared back into the kitchen. "Dinner be ready in a half hour," she screamed up to no one in particular.
God bless that goofy old lady, Richie thought. No matter what happens at her flea bag boarding house, dinner is always on the table at six thirty sharp.
He went back to his room and flopped down on his bed. It had been quite a day. He couldn't forget the look on old Mrs. L.'s face either when she had walked in there and found the two of them together. Her darling Richie and that harridan of a whore of Babylon. She must have been a witch to have seduced little Richie. The child she swore to his father she would look out for. And him only a boy of fourteen.
Lulu hadn't exactly seduced him. He sort of asked for it. But that much he never told Mrs. L.
He remembered the day she came there. He had been sand lot baseball and had gotten home just about dark. The girl was sitting in the living room. She was wearing a long, tan trench coat and sounded very proper. She mentioned that she was going to college, at the local campus. Studying art and music. Mrs. Livingstone seemed impressed. From where Richie was standing in the kitchen he could see her curvaceous thighs under the black cotton stockings.
"You sing?" Mrs. Livingstone asked, fumbling for her glasses to get a better look at the girl. "We need a soprano in our church choir."
Richie thought the girl's voice sounded much too husky and deep to sing soprano, but damned if she didn't nod her head.
"I have a little evening job now, Mrs. Livingstone," she said, lowering her eyes to the rug and pursing her lips, "in the library."
"That's okay, dear," Mrs. Livingstone said, straightening the doily on the arm of her easy chair. "Most of us work for a living in this place, so I guess you should fit right in. Must tell you though, I don't normally take in young ladies, some of them tend to be rowdy or worse and I can't afford to have my regular men guests stirred up by such goings on as I wouldn't even want to repeat in front of your tender ears."
"I promise I won't be any bother," she kept her eyes glued onto the rug, not daring to look up, "I keep mostly-to myself, my studies and all, you see?"
"All right, then," Mrs. L. said, standing up and crossing toward her, "Let's shake on it. Rent's due every Monday morning. Before noon or I get testy. You don't want to do that to an old lady, do you?" She chuckled and extended a bony hand toward the girl.
Richie wasn't quite sure what was going on, but when the girl uncrossed those legs he was pretty sure he saw a snatch of red slip peek out from under her long full skirt. An unlikely color for such a paragon of virtue as she was making herself out to be.
And it wasn't long before the paragon of virtue showed him a whole lot more than her red petticoat.
"You're a cute kid," she said, playfully grabbing the end of his baseball bat one evening as he was passing her on the stairs. "What's your name?"
He noticed she was wearing her makeup a bit heavier that afternoon. Mrs. Livingstone had gone to a bazaar at the church.
"Maybe I ain't no kid," Richie said, yanking his bat away and backing up against the grease-stained wallpaper. "Maybe I'm a lot older than you think."
He thought that sounded fairly tough under the circumstances. His voice was still changing in fact.
"Could you help me out, Richie?" she said, putting her arm around his shoulder and moving a little closer into him. "I gotta date tonight, real nice guy, but I gotta go out for an hour. He'll be here soon. Could you entertain him a little while till I get back? I'll give you some money for your trouble."
"Don't need nuthin' from you," he said, chewing his gum hard and rubbing the head of his bat between his hands.
"You'll do it then?" she said, leaning over and kissing him on the fuzzy soft cheek. "Thanks."
As she turned to run down the stairs, Richie saw her trench coat collar from a few stairs above. It was open and she seemed to be wearing something underneath it. But what caught his eye were the two enormous beach balls pushed up so hard they pressed against each other, creating a deep dark valley in between them. He could see almost to her navel.
The next hour passed slowly. A guy showed-up in a sports jacket and plaid pants. A real schnook. Richie had seen a lot of them before. In fact, he had seen Lulu with quite a few around town and she'd only been there a week and half. She certainly didn't waste any time. She was all over the place, walking with guys into the movie theatre, her reddish brown hair flying over her shoulders. He saw her whisk by him in cars, too. Always a different man driving. Many of them he didn't recognize.
"You sure she went to visit her mother?" the man said, not sounding very convinced. He bit his nails and sat with his knees spread wide apart and his hands folded in between them.
"That's what she told me," Richie got up and changed the record on the aged record player. "You want some more fudge?" He grabbed a plate of the dark stiff stuff and handed it to him.
"No," the guy said, shaking his hand in Richie's direction. He just wasn't impressed with his school boy attempt at hospitality.
Ten minutes later, Lulu pulled up to the front door. And not a moment too soon. If the guy had looked at his watch once in the last five minutes, he'd eyed it a dozen times.
"Roger!" Lulu cried out like they were old classmates and this was their fortieth reunion. "Gosh, I'm sorry I'm late."
Richie watched very carefully what happened next. Lulu didn't look like she had spent the last hour sitting next to a hospital bed holding hands. Her hair was very messed up and she kept raking her hand through it to get it to lie down. Her lipstick was definitely smeared and he noticed a little run in her stocking. But the most obvious faux pas was that she was holding her shoes in her hand. And she was slightly drunk.
"You said four thirty sharp," he stood up and straightened his tie. "I don't expect to get you just the moment I show up, considering your busy schedule, but I don't appreciate catching you on the rebound, neither."
"Oooooh," Lulu let out in that dark, honey voice of hers, "you are talking like a bad, bad boy," she ran her hands through his greasy waterfall hair and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'll have to scold you later," she giggled loudly and cut herself with a hiccough. "Excuse me," she said, slipping her shoes on. "You got your car?"
"It's parked out front," he said, sounding more like a funeral director every second. "I'm not surprised you missed it, you probably couldn't see a wall in front of your face, not in your condition."
"Nasty, nasty," she teased at him. "You ready to go?" She looked around and saw
Richie standing next to the big walnut-framed clock. She waltzed over gamely and whispered into his ear. "Thanks, Sweetie, I'll see you later." Then, turning her body so that Roger couldn't possibly see what her hand was doing, she tweaked his balls with her fingernails. Hard.
Richie gasped aloud and tried to keep an erect posture until the two of them got out of the house. Then he collapsed in on himself in pain and agony.
But however much that little tart had hurt him, she had certainly started up another sensation when she pinched him with her lobster claws. His penis had begun to throb. Not just jerk around aimlessly and cause him no end of annoyance. But throb, like a big hard tuning fork.
"You haven't touched your mash potatoes," Mrs. Livingstone said, standing over him waving a wooden spoon, "ain't you hungry?"
"Naw," he said, sculpting a little mound of them with his fork, "I guess I ain't." He pushed the plate back and scrunched down in his seat.
"You're a growing boy, Richie," the old woman said, pushing on the swinging door leading to the kitchen, "you need your food."
He sighed and stared out the window of the dining room. That wasn't all he needed. Lulu had been gone well over an hour. He was beginning to get worried. And his cock was beginning to throb just thinking about her.
"Anybody see the paper?" one of the old time regular boarders bellowed out, standing up and heading for the living room.
Suddenly the door burst open and Lulu came running into the living room. From where Richie was seated, he could see that she was crying. That was all he could make out for sure, before she rushed up the stairs noisily. He heard the door to her room open and slam shut.
"That girl all right?" Mrs. Livingstone said, poking her nose out from the kitchen. She had begun to have a few suspicions about Lulu already. The biggest one probably had to do with the fact that she hadn't yet seen her at church. She slept very late on Sundays. "Richie," she said, walking into the dining room with a huge bowl of apple crisp, "run up there and see if she needs anything. I gotta finish up here. And tell her she missed supper. But I got some soup on the stove if she still wants to eat."
Richie pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes and stood up from the table. He walked across the room like a man with a mission. He pulled his fourteen year old frame up tall and ascended the stairs slowly and with great deliberation.
Moments later he rapped on the peeling painted wood of her door.
"Go away," a squeaky, tearful voice came back to him. "I don't want to see anybody."
"It's me," he said, trying to aim his voice through the crack in the door, "Richie. Open up."
He waited what seemed like a whole inning before she came to the door. When she opened it he could see bruises on her face and neck. A little cut was still letting blood out above her right eye. Part of her blouse was torn away and he could see the blue demi-bra under it. The lacey thing looked so clean and fresh in contrast to her disheveled and filthy blouse "Come on in," she managed to say through painfully swollen lips. "Don't mind if I don't get myself fixed up for company. I don't feel too good right now."
"Lulu," the boy said, walking in. and switching on the overhead light, "Wow!" He got a better view of the damage. Somebody had done a number on her all right. "What happened?"
"Fucking ass hole Mongoloids in this town I" she screamed and threw an ash tray off the dresser onto the floor. The clattering sound vibrated in Richie's teeth. "I hate every one of them."
"Did Roger ... " he started.
"Oh, Roger and Will Gould and Larry Mott and Arnie what's his name . ... " she began to sob uncontrollably. "I hate the whole fucking lot of them."
Richie had never heard her use a harsher word than "Darn!" until now. He wondered if he should call a doctor to look at her eye.
"I'm getting out of here, I tell you," she sat down and crossed her legs. Richie couldn't help but notice how long and silky they were without those dreadful black cotton stockings or the clinging mesh ones he had seen her in that afternoon. "A girl can't even make a living here. The place is an open sewer."
"Yeah," he said, trying to remember a different place, someplace from when he was very small, and he could almost see it, but then it slipped from his view.
"I'm gonna try Rayburn City," she pulled the shredded pieces of her blouse tight around her voluminous tit mounds. They pushed so hard back through the material, Richie thought they might make still another rip. "I hear they've got a new plant there, lot of young men moving there, maybe that would be better."
Richie felt very adult all of a sudden. "You ever think of getting married?" He hoped she wouldn't take him the wrong way, but he felt like he should at least try to give her good advice.
"Ha!" she said, sniffing hard and shaking her long mane, "Fat chance anybody would want me. But you're cute to ask. Really." She leaned back a moment and supported herself on one long bare arm. "You wanna drink?"
"Sure," Richie said, trying not to wince at the thought. He remembered last summer when one of the short-term boarders had poured a little home made hootch into his soda. Damn stuff had burned all the way down. Then there was last Christmas when he got good and sick at the punch served at a neighbor's house. Nobody saw him take any. And of course there had been all those bottles of cheap wine he had been experimenting with from the liquor store. Stolen by the aid of his own two swift little hands. "What you got?"
"Brandy. Vintage, too." She walked to the dresser and pulled the top drawer open. She pawed around a second and pulled up a bottle with a label that looked like a treasure map. "You don't mind if we drink it out of the bottle, do you?"
"My favorite way to drink it," Richie said, wondering how experienced he sounded.
He watched as she tipped her head back and tossed a huge gulp back. He took it from her outstretched hand and tried to mimic the action. The stuff packed a whole monkey barrel's worth of punches. But it was good and sweet and seemed to do the trick very quickly. He felt stoned by the time ha handed it back to her.
"A drinking man," she said, uncrossing her legs and relaxing a little, "my favorite kind."
Richie was. beginning to feel a little hot under the collar. He wondered if she was, too. She didn't show it. He watched as she tipped the bottle up to her lips again.
"You're a cute kid, you know that?" she grinned and moved a little closer to him. "I bet you wouldn't hurt a girl, would you?"
"I haven't yet," Richie said, trying to sound like the oldest gentleman at the lodge.
"Bet all the girls at school like you, too. With those brown eyes and that grin of yours. You're starting to get a little fuzz on your chin!' She reached over and wiggled her index finger into the cleft of his chin. God, he hated that. She was starting to act like Mrs. Livingstone. Good thing she wasn't buillt like her.
"The girls at school are too silly for me," now he was sure he sounded old. He took the bottle and tossed off another round.
"You like older women, huh?" Lulu laughed a little and grabbed the bottle back. "Like me?"
"You're not exactly old, Lulu," he said, wondering how old she was, but not daring to commit himself to a guess.
"You get it on with any of the girls yet, or are you a virgin?"
Richie sat straight up on the edge of the bed and stared out into the space in front off him. He had heard girls referred to as virgins, but never boys. He didn't like the designation, much. Even if he was one.
"I think virgins are really the best. They don't have any smart ass ideas about girls. They're so hot to lose it they don't think about much else besides getting off. It's only those older jaded freak outs that do you more dirt than you can handle. Come on over, here, Slugger," she said, pulling his baseball cap off his head, "Let's get to know each other better."
Richie was anxious, he would have to admit that. But how much would she know about him. That he'd never been with a woman. Never even seen one naked. There had been no home life that he could remember. No mother or sweet little sister to undress in the bathroom and leave the door open. Nobody to peak at while they got into their bathing suit at the family lake cottage. Only once had he even peeked at Mrs. Livingstone. It had been a disgusting experience.
"Why don't you get a little more comfortable," she said, lying back on one side and fanning herself with her hand, "it's getting warm in here, isn't it?"
Richie couldn't think of any ways to get comfortable except, maybe taking his sneakers off. He unlaced them as fast as he could and kicked them into the corner.
Lulu giggled up at him and grabbed his hand. She placed it squarely on one of her big round busts. Richie could feel the thing heaving and the heat underneath the firm, padded lower cup of the bra.
"Like that?" she said, looking at him through lowered eyelids. "I'll show you more if you come closer."
Richie was tempted to leap on top of her so hard the bed would break, but he kept up the appearance of a calm, collected third baseman. At least for the moment.
"Could I see you under there?" he asked the question with rising interest, but realized that it didn't sound too smooth the way it came out.
"I don't think you're small enough to get under here," she giggled and tossed the empty bottle onto the floor. "In face," she said, rising up onto both knees. "I'd like to see just what size you are."
"Over five feet," he said proudly, "and still growing according to my coach."
He thought Lulu was going to bust her guts giggling. He finally put his hand over her mouth.
"I mean your pecker, wise acre," she said, adjusting herself over him on the bed again. "But first I'm gonna show you my tits. Too bad the rest of the cocksuckers in this town don't appreciate them, I hope you do."
Richie hoped he wouldn't piss his pants in the agonizing long time it took her to remove the torn blouse. He opened his mouth automatically when he finally did get a good look at those creamy milk boobs like full moons rising over the top of her half-bra. He wanted to grab them both and squeeze for all his might. Admirably, he restrained himself.
"Unhook me," she said, loving the teasing and tormenting she could do on this kid. Those older guys were such creeps. They wouldn't even let you get out of your clothes like a lady. They were too anxious to fuck and shoot. What a crowd of losers!
Richie wasn't sure just how he found the hook between her shoulder blades or how he summoned up the manual dexterity to actually release the hook from the eye itself, but he did, he really did do it.
"Sheeeeeiiiiit," he said, as the two fully packed tits came into view.
"I take it you like these," she said, running her hands over and over and around and through her rosy pink nipples. They grew darker and rougher and more pointed under her handling.
"Yeah," he shot back, letting out a whole lung full of air. He hoped to hell he could get back again if he needed to.
She inched her way closer to him and taking one huge lump in her hand draped it into his face. The sensation practically caused him to rupture on the spot. That smooth, round, firm package, delivered so special right to his cheek. He felt the curled up animal in his crotch wake from its sleeping position. The throbbing began again in earnest.
"Uh, huh," she said, "starting to get you right there, isn't it?"
She reached a practiced hand over and felt his stirring beast growing angrier by the second.
"What?" Richie said, a little too obviously naively.
"I suppose it's as hard as this all the time," Lulu said, raising her eye brows and giving him a lewd little wink. "You're quite a little man, ya know that?"
"What do you mean?" Richie said, feeling his voice rise in his gullet. He had wanted it to stay down, but there he was, full first tenor, despite himself.
"You're how old? Fourteen?" she began stroking the thrashing beast in earnest, using the whole palm of her hand and her fingertips. "But you're hung like man. That's good."
"It is?" Richie said, wondering where he should put his chewing gum.
God, that cock of his was clamoring to get out of its cage. He wondered if it was actually making noise. It was sure active enough. He felt the heat from Lulu's body as she came closer and watched agape as she slowly unzipped the tight black skirt. She eased it down over her hips, catching her half-slip and panties all in one bundle. Richie watched her tight shapely thighs appear on the screen in front of his face, then a little fringe of reddish brown hair, then a whole bush of reddish brown hair. Now the tops of her legs. He thought he might just start drooling right down on top of them.
"Do you know how to eat pussy?" Lulu said, very matter-of-factly. "I mean most men don't know, so I thought since you were still a kid...."
"I wish you'd cut out that kid stuff," Richie said, surprised to hear himself protesting considering his present circumstances. "I know how to eat pussy."
He had actually said that! Now what the hell was he going to do. He thought of a pussy. Mrs. Livingstone's cat. The way it lapped up milk out of a saucer. Worth a try in this rather pressing situation. Lulu was, in fact, pressing her pussy right up to his face.
"Prove it," she said, teasing the hell out of him, "prove you know how to eat."
He found her heated and wet valley quick enough with his moist hot hard tongue. And he just began lapping. In fact, the pussy was wet enough to be a saucer of milk. He just kept slurping and remembering to breathe about every four or five licks. Whatever he was doing seemed to have some effect on Lulu. She began moaning softly in the back of her throat and hunching up on his tongue. He pressed a little bulbous piece of flesh with his tongue. That really made the bed springs creak. It seemed to drive her right up the wall whenever he pressed on that thing or anywhere near it.
"Christ," she said, between gulps of air, "you do know how to give head."
"Sure," said Richie, feeling like the proud owner of a unique and patented skill, "I guess a lot of women think I do this very good." It sounded really dumb as soon as he said it, but what the hell, he had to let her know she wasn't dealing with no greenhorn.
Speaking of horns, he felt his turning into a bugle. It would start blasting away any moment if someone didn't do something about it. And it looked like she was about to do just that.
"I want to see your dick," she said, as though it were like asking Mrs. Livingstone to see a room to let. "Take your pants off."
Richie withdrew his tongue a moment and stepped onto the floor. He paused a second, wondering if he knew how to get out of his clothes smoothly and not too eagerly, but he figured it didn't matter any more. She was just going to have to sit there and watch a new recruit on maneuvers. He unzipped the crooked teeth of the zipper and let his pants down over his hips. He hoped to hell his underwear was somewhat clean. Just in case, he hooked his thumbs over the waistband and yanked the whole mess down in one fell swoop.
There, he thought to himself standing naked as a jay bird in the middle of the dimly lit room. Give the women what they want. Hope she's happy.
"You are hung!" Lulu shouted, sounding really pleased with whatever the boy had just shown her. "Like a man."
She had begun to play with her tits again. That really got his member banging up against his flat bare stomach. He hoped he could keep it from staying flush against his navel it was pounding so heavy into him. He walked to the bed and sat down.
"Now I want you to eat my pussy," he said, knowing that wasn't at all what he wanted to say, but feeling that it was right just the same. At least it was fair.
"You are a crazy guy," Lulu said, shaking her head and taking his stiff prick in her hands.
At least she hadn't called him a kid. She wrapped those tried and true hands around his cock very firmly and began working them up and down at a snail's pace. Then she built up speed slowly. The slow, tantalizing change of pace just about sent him through the roof. He felt his cock grow still harder and heavier under hands. He felt it poking up again. And it was trembling uncontrollably.
Then he watched in awe as she licked her lips and stuck out a long pink tongue. She began to flick the head, tight in around the slit and working it faster and faster over the rim and right-down the shaft. He could hear such phenomenal lapping sounds. The lapping turned to smacking and finally to full-force sucking. She took him whole into her mouth and sucked so hard, her cheeks nearly met. He watched breathless as she slid the whole wad down her throat and then eased herself off it again. She took it all down once and held it there for an incredibly long time. He didn't know if he was feeling pain or pleasure. The sensations were so mixed and his head was spinning so fast.
"Fuck me," she purred up, popping the head out of her lips. "I want this big, rude thing right up inside my cunt. I'm ready, that's for sure."
Richie wasn't sure just how he was going to get his penis in that peculiarly tiny hole between the bush mounds, but he had heard it could be done.
"Where?" he couldn't believe he asked.
"In here," she whispered, pulling his hand onto her wet warm pussy lips. "Where you were eating me."
"I know that," he said, trying not to sound like a dumb kid, "but on the bed or on the floor. I don't want to make too much noise. And I am going to fuck you hard, lady, you can count on that."
He was especially pleased with himself for that last little bit. It sounded very convincing. He hoped he could hold himself hard long enough to mount her. He sure felt like he couldn't last much longer.
"Over here," she said, pointing to the big soft chair with the beaten up cushions in the corner.
He sauntered over to it, holding tightly onto her hand. Then he stopped short. It was, after all, a chair. How the hell were they going to lie down in it.
"Sit," she ordered simply.
"Where are you going to go?" he asked in a totally confused but highly aroused state of mind.
She didn't answer. She shoved him right down into the seat and jumped on top of him. A double gasp as his now wet cock slid right up the love tunnel of her writhing wet pussy. She sat up hard on top of him, feeling his schlong high in her cunt. The balls under the cock rubbed against her outer cunt lips, creating a marvelous double whammy of friction and heat.
Richie tried to get a little leverage by raising his hips and then lowering himself onto the chair. The tight, animalistic squeezing around his prick felt like a zillion angels were draining him of his life's essence.
Lulu flung her knees over the arms of the chair and looked down to see the hard wet glistening rod ride in and out of her gripping cunt lock.
Richie felt a long, low shifting of gears deep inside his bowels. It sent a two-ton truck barreling down his center and careening up the length of his peter.
"Oh, no," he moaned and whimpered like a kid who just had his candy ration for the year snatched right out of his hand.
"Give it to me," Lulu was shouting into his ear. She plunked her whole frame down hard onto his pubic bone and felt the rock hard schlong rise up her like a wet flag pole.
Richie felt the load lurch forward and spill like a geyser into the woman's stretched out honey box. The sensation caused him to sink into the cushions of the chair about a foot and then practically rise to his feet. He felt the spunk kick out the tiny slit up top and wash the warm, wet cave of the woman's cunt out like a power hose.
Lulu felt the spray jerking off into her belly. She gripped the culprit as hard as she could with her tentacle like cunt lips and rocked with him as hard as his jism would squirt. She felt herself go off like a time bomb, and she collapsed into her organs just before detonation. Then she exploded and felt the force flying everywhere around her.
A moment or two passed before Richie dared to open his eyes. When he did, Mrs. Livingstone was standing in front of him. He could see her familiar white apron framing Xulu's luscious shoulders.
"Never in all my born days," she said, shouting oaths to to the rooftops.
Richie believed her, too. Especially the part about "never." He was pretty sure she never had.
He opened his eyes and looked at the cracked and peeling paint on the ceiling. That had been quite an evening. He never saw Lulu again after that day. She left town just like she said she would. He wondered sometimes if he missed her. He'd never had anybody in his family close enough to miss, except his dad. He wondered if he was in love with her. Maybe that's what love was. Some really good sex.
One thing he knew for sure. He remembered that face. That beautiful reddish blonde hair. The smile. And there was somebody in school who reminded him of her. She was a lot younger though. But she was a sexy little thing, too. And at thirteen.
"Hi, Richie," he always heard her say in the hall.
A lot of kids wouldn't even talk to him at that school. Probably because he didn't have a family and lived in a boarding house. But she talked to him. And the best part of it was, she really did look like Lulu. Her tits weren't that big yet, but they showed a lot of promise. He really wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to fuck her. Before school started again in the fall.
He closed his eyes and saw her standing in front of him; bending over to pick up a book or sliding down the banister in her little short skirt. Her name was Ginger Amos.