Chapter 6
Lisa was a damn minx. She loved to have him spurt his love juice in her mouth, and in this vein, her thirst seemed utterly unquenchable. She sucked him off a total of three times during the hayride and she was bent on making it four when he brought her up to the apartment.
Warren was out-he was seldom in the apartment on weekends-and Jim took the young girl into the bedroom. They stripped off their clothes, and Jim sucked in his breath when he saw how very real her boobs were, king-sized, hard-nippled, meant to suck.
The kid-and this was how he thought of her-the kid was just as nice in the other departments-curvy, cushiony ass, slightly dimpled, very special. Her legs were equally desirable: smooth-skinned, tanned, tapering softly to her divine thighs.
His gaze fell where the thighs came together. A nice little growth of hair, he noted, and not too heavy. He liked to be able to see the definition of a girl's crack, the clitoris that they loved to have you play with, and Lisa-Lisa's pubic hair was just right.
"You've sure got a cute shape," he told her, and he wondered why he couldn't think of something more clever to say. But his flattery, banal though it was, nevertheless provoked a smile.
She gazed at his limp peter. She said, "You've got a cute shape, too. Only"-amusement shone in her eyes-"only I think your shape needs a little help."
He laughed. Lisa pushed him backwards to the bed. She fell over him and tried sucking him. He pulled her off. He said, "Don't you do anything but suck?"
She grinned. "Sure I do. But it's gotta be hard before you can do it."
He said, "Okay, go Tread. But when I tell you to stop-stop. This time, I want to come some place else beside your mouth."
She grinned even broader than before. Then she straddled him, her ass near his ankles, and she bent down and mouthed his still-limp penis.
She sucked for many minutes, licked his balls, flicked her tongue up and down his shaft, and even went so far as to gently suck on his balls. But finally it became painfully apparent that he was not going to get hard. Her blow jobs had exhausted him-at least, for the present.
"I don't know what to say," he told her, his face red with embarrassment.
"Then don't say anything," she answered.
"But I don't want to leave you high-and-dry like this."
"You won't," she said, and she began working his peter up and down with her hand.
She was good with her hand, maybe better than Patti, but the odds were stacked against her. His peter had simply had enough.
He told her so but she refused to give up. She sat over him, intent, working feverishly with her hand, watching his eyes, occasionally glancing downward at his prick. Her swollen, caress-hungry tits bounced like hell while she was attempting to harden his peter, and he didn't know whether to stare at them, or to drop his gaze and stare at her pussy. Her hole was open, wanting something inside it, and damn if he didn't want to. But with only a half-hard on--.
"Try!" she begged. "Try!" "I am," he cried.
"Concentrate. Pretend you're fucking me."
He let his mind run wild with the fantasy she suggested. He saw himself bending her legs apart. Then he was mounting her. His peter was searching for her crack.
"That's it," she said, stroking him faster and faster. "It's starting to get hard."
He didn't wait. He threw her over on her back. He crawled between her legs, took the head of his penis to the mouth of her hot snatch, then pushed.
Nothing happened. His peter had gone suddenly soft and wouldn't enter her pussy. He grabbed at it, played with it. Nothing happened. A wet noodle. And now Lisa toyed with his organ. She manipulated the head, pushed the foreskin back and forth. But nothing.
Red-faced, angry with himself, he drew away from her.
"It's no use. I can't do it."
She frowned. She clutched herself. "I sure wish you could."
"How d'you think I feel?"
She shook her head dismally. "If your roommate was here right now, I think I'd do it to him."
He was silent. He didn't tell her that Warren was queer, that a girl wouldn't interest him.
Lisa went on, "I suppose you think that's terrible, don't you?"
"What?"
"Saying I'd do it with your roommate."
"Why should I think it's terrible? If you're real hot, and the guy you're with can't do anything for you, how else are you supposed to feel?"
She was still clutching her pussy, hoping for something to happen. He could give her a finger-job, he thought, but that was a far cry from what she needed, and even eating her pussy wouldn't provide her total release.
"I guess I better go home," she said, still massaging the mouth of her twat in obvious distress.
"I don't know what to say," he told her. "If only you hadn't-" He cut off the rest of the sentence, saving them both further embarrassment.
Suddenly she asked, "Where is your roommate?"
It struck him that she was dead serious about screwing somebody, anybody.
"He's usually out on Friday nights," he said sympathetically. "But-"
"What?"
He had an idea. "Would you really do it with somebody else?"
"Would you be mad at me?" "No."
"And you wouldn't tell no one." "Hell, no." "You promise?" "Scout's honor."
"Okay," she said excitedly. "Who is it?"
"A friend of mine." He was thinking of Ray Pitney, who had participated in the gang-bang on Patti. Ray had a big one and he had lots of staying power, and if he could be reached tonight, he was just the right one to give this over-hot little nymphet what she needed.
"Is he nice?" she asked.
"Yes, he's nice." He picked up the phone and dialed. "And you're sure you won't be mad?" He reassured her with a nod, blew her a kiss, then said hello to Ray Pitney.
Twenty minutes later big Ray Pitney was on top of the winsome teenager, giving her the jump of her life. His thick King Kong penis was as strong as his biceps and just as lasting.
Jim watched the proceedings with intense interest-or, at least, his interest was intense when it all began. But his mind and body were far more exhausted than he realized, and after Pitney managed to finally work his big prong inside Lisa's tiny pussy and they got to working their bodies back and forth, Jim's eyes refused to remain open. He was stretched out on the opposite bed, too tired to remain awake, and seconds before Pitney and Lisa reached the first of several orgasms, his mouth went slack and sleep closed over him.
The following evening, Jim led the State Tech football squad to a hard-fought 14-7 victory over Valley City. The game had been a squeaker, with the winning tally being made in the closing seconds of play.
"We've looked sharper in other games," he said to Ray Pitney as they dressed.
"We, meaning us?" Pitney asked.
"That's about it. You and me. We played like we had lead in our ass."
"Coach say something to you?"
"He didn't, but he probably will. We were coming out of that wing-back play like it was in slow-motion. That's why we got dumped back of scrimmage so often."
Pitney didn't take matters quite as seriously. With a grin he said:
"Too much Lisa, huh?"
"I don't know what it was. But we just weren't sharp the way we should've been."
He kicked off his shoes, dragged his jersey over his head, and began unlacing his shoulder gear.
"Don't take it so badly," Pitney said, tousling Jim's hair. "It's what's in the win column that counts."
He started to give Pitney an argument, then changed his mind. Half-hearted efforts didn't win football championships and secure pro contracts, he would have told Ray, but Ray would have been amused, not impressed.
"Going down to Shack's?" Pitney asked.
Shack's was a neighborhood hamburger joint frequented by the team following a game. The second-guessers rehashed the game plan and this was usually fun. But tonight Jim preferred to carry on the game's postmortem in private, so he told Pitney he was tired and planned to go straight home. "See you tomorrow, then?"
"Probably," Jim said, and he watched Pitney amble from the locker room. A few of the others lagged behind, but in a few minutes they too were gone, and suddenly he was alone.
He felt depressed-he'd felt this way since halftime, come to think of it-and it wasn't because of the team's anemic showing against Valley City. What it boiled down to-and he hated to admit it, even to himself-was Patti. He wasn't over her, not at all. And seeing her perform her cheers during the game had opened up old wounds.
He wouldn't look at her-that was the secret-but coming out of the huddle and during the time-outs, his eyes stole to the sidelines, where Patti and Lisa and the other cheerleaders performed their acrobatics.
It was Patti who trapped his gaze, and he marveled at the tricks his mind played upon him. What she had done that night at the motel, for instance, was seemingly diminished of importance, censored from his conscious mind-or so it would seem. For it was the better days and nights with her that he dwelled on during the game, not the image in which she sucked another man's peter.
Perhaps this was why his heart raced at the mere sight of her. Her clean bright smile, her flowing blond hair, her fair skin-and all this had once been his, he thought, a lump in his throat. And when one particularly high leap-Rah, rah, State Tech, We will beat them all to heck-carried Patti soaring into the air, he glimpsed her white satin tights gripping her crotch. Suddenly the lump wasn't in his throat; it was in his pants.
So he hadn't concentrated on the game, not in the way he should have, and his mental lapse had very nearly cost them the game. Their coach would be bitching after the film showing of the game-this on Monday afternoon-and he didn't relish the predictable chewing out.
He silently damned Patti and hoped she was as miserable as he was; and if Lisa had told Patti about last night-Christ, Patti would be miserable. But had she? he wondered. Girls didn't confide such things quite as readily as boys. On the other hand, girls were inclined to cattiness: "Guess who I was out with last night, Patti. Your ex, that's who. And guess what we did."
He visualized Patti's reaction to such a situation. She'd shrug indifferently, try to pretend it didn't matter. But it would, wouldn't it? But, no, he wasn't certain of that, either. In fact, he was no longer certain of anything, except that it was late, and he ought to be getting out of here.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes, started for the showers. Suddenly all the lights went out. He cursed and stood motionless in the darkness.
A minute went by and nothing happened. He cursed again, louder this time, wondering where in the hell the friggin' watchman was at. The sonofabitch was never around when you needed him. Never.
He waited another minute, then tried to orient himself to the darkness. Forget the shower, he told himself. Take it when you get home.
He turned around and began walking toward the long row of lockers where he'd undressed. He banged his shins on a bench, cursed still again. He rubbed his shins, moved more cautiously, hand in front of him.
Suddenly he stopped. Where the hell was he going? Even if he found his locker in all this stupid darkness, he couldn't open it-not with a combination lock on it.
He damned old Beasely, the janitor, with renewed venom. He knew, of course, that it wasn't the old fart's responsibility to take care of blown fuses-they had a part-time electrician who handled breakdowns of this sort-but he was angry and Beasely was a fitting scapegoat.
Slowly, a towel wrapped around his bare loins, he worked his way to the hallway door. After several false starts, more toe-stubbing and cursing, he found it and threw it open. The outside corridor was just as black as the locker room and just as empty.
Now how in the hell was he to get home? he wondered. His street clothes were in that friggin' locker. Was he to put on that dirty, sweaty, torn-up football uniform again, go home in it? Or was he to wear this damn towel? And what about his car keys?
He ventured out into the empty corridor. Beasely ought to be around here somewhere. He'd find him, get a flashlight, or make him fix the fuse.
But where to find him in all this sprawling, cavernous darkness-that was the question. His office-workshop was way around on the other side of the stadium, near the opposing team's dressing room. A walk-and-a-half, with nothing but the feel of the damp tile wall to lead the way. Blind man's bluff.
Twice, he stopped, thinking he'd heard voices. But the only sound that came back to him was the pounding of his own heart. And curses-his own.
Progress was more certain when he reached the opposite side of the stadium, for here the moonlight was breaking through the upper windows. He walked faster, and then he saw Beasely's office-a tiny, windowless room that was on the inner oval of the huge stadium, set between the women's restroom and the opposing team's dressing room. To his surprise, there was a crack of light coming from under the door of the restroom, indicating that at least a part of the electrical system was functioning.
He threw open the door of Beasely's office, started to call his name. Moonlight fit the dark, musty-smelling office, and Jim could hardly believe what he saw. Old
Beasely was naked from the waist down. Naked, pressed against a wall, his eye fastened over a tiny peephole, about four feet off the floor. His long, slender, stiff prick was gripped in his hand, though he quickly released it when Jim suddenly opened the door.
Jim exclaimed, "Well I'll be a sonofabitch!"
Beasely fell away from the wall. He floundered in utter confusion. A gurgling sound, a sort of clearing of his throat, was the only reaction the much-embarrassed janitor could force from his mouth. He hunted clumsily for his pants.
Jim moved quickly to the peephole. He pressed his face against the wall. Now, a new shock stormed his eye. He found himself peeping not into the women's restroom-in the poor light, he'd apparently misread the lettering on the door-but into the cheerleader's dressing room. And there were two of them in there all alone: Fay, the older one, about 17, tall, partly blond, and Shirley, at least two years younger, one of the newer cheerleaders, shorter than her companion and certainly more frail.
But the shocker was not the fact that two cheerleaders had lingered behind in the stadium, long after the game was over and the place was empty. The shock was caused by what they were doing.
Fay was sitting on a wooden bench, her fair-skinned thighs spread wide apart. Her bright blue cheerleader's skirt was pulled up to her hips. Her tights were down to her knees and she was working her fingers in and out of the moist, shadowy opening between her thighs.
Jim couldn't believe his good luck. He was not a Peeping Tom-at least, not in the total connotation the title embraced. But he was not above looking. And nothing that he had ever looked upon, secretly or otherwise, was quite as exciting as this.
The older girl, Fay, was apparenfly showing her young companion how to masturbate. Shirley-he was sure this was her name-looked and listened avidly to everything
Fay was doing. She was standing, her hand under her skirt, tentatively touching the crotch of her tights.
Momentarily oblivious to the old janitor, who had now changed his mind about climbing into his pants, apparently, Jim strained to hear what the young girls were saying.
"Are you sure you never did it?" Fay asked.
A mixture of excitement and awe crept over the 15 year old. Her eyes never blinked. Her lips were mutely apart.
"Well, have you?" Fay said again.
The young one shook her head no.
"You don't know what you've been missing." She sped her finger in and out of her crack. "C'mon, try it."
The young, olive-complexioned 15 year old joined her companion on the bench. She pulled her skirt up, slipped down her tights, spread her legs apart.
Jim reached into the bath towel that was wrapped around his hips. He touched himself. He heard the old janitor say, "Nice, huh?"
He didn't reply. But it was nice. Plenty nice. And the young one was even more thrilling than the older pale blond. She had very little pubic hair, a feature which never failed to drive him slightly crazy. And just learning to jack-off, he marveled. So young and innocent and didn't even know how.
"First y'do this," Fay demonstrated, running her hands slowly over her body. "Y'close your eyes and you go real slow with your hands. Y'go all over and y'keep your eyes closed and pretend it's a boy doin' it."
Shirley listened carefully, then began to imitate her tutor. She glided her hand downward from her tummy, made a slow circular motion through her pubic hair. Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut, reopened so that she could see what Fay was doing.
Fay said, "Then you let your fingers explore, see." She poked her finger into the dark red crevice between her legs. She found her clitoris, wiggled it with her finger. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes grew dreamy.
Jim couldn't let go of himself. He was getting a big erection, and he still couldn't believe his good luck: being able to spy on two teenage girls while they masturbated. A guy could make a fortune on this if he had a camera. There were tens of thousands of men and boys who would pay anything for a photograph of something like this. And Fm looking at it first-hand, he thought. Young pussy getting their rocks off. Jesus!
He shifted his stance, put his other eye to the peephole. The old janitor had located a second peephole and stood beside him. He hadn't bothered to put his pants back on, either. And sixty or seventy or whatever he was, he could still produce a stiff prick. It was better than six inches long, Jim noticed, poked against the wall, dying for a piece of the teenage ass that was less than a yard away.
"You have to experiment," Fay was telling her friend, "and find out where it feels best. Sometimes this does." She tickled the tiny pink clitoris that rose from the mouth of her twat, sighing softly, enjoying it immensely. Her young, dark-haired learner did-likewise. She parted the lips of her virgin crack, found the beaded flesh, played with it. An "ooohh" and an "aaahhh" came from her mouth. She liked it, and now a dreamy smile crossed her lips.
Fay continued, "It feels nice when you touch the sides, too." She traced a vertical path, going down one lip of her warm, moist pussy, and returning by way of the other.
Shirley didn't understand exactly how it was done. Fay put her own hand on the beginner's body and showed her. Her finger went half inside the 15 year old's dewy opening. Shirley raised up. Her bare ass came off the bench, and she couldn't control herself.
"See how nice that feels," Fay said, removing her finger from young Shirley's crack.
"It's wonderful!" Shirley answered. "I never had anything feel as nice as that."
"That's cause you never did anything." She stiffened her finger, raised slightly, then maneuvered her finger inside her slit. She worked it back and forth. "By rights, you oughta play with yourself as often as you can."
"But it's bad. My mother always told me I'd go to hell if I touched myself down there."
"That's a lot of crap, if you ask me. And this feels more like heaven than hell." She plunged her finger deeper and deeper, faster and faster. Little sounds came from her throat, and her ecstasy was very apparent. "D'you know why you should do this all the time?" she said breathlessly.
The younger one, who was gently playing with the outside of her pussy, said no.
"Because it keeps your sex organs in training, and then when you get a boy-I mean, go to bed with him-it'll feel better."
But Shirley didn't understand.
"It's like football," the 15 year old's mentor went on. "They don't jump into the big game just like that," she said, snapping her fingers. "They train for weeks and weeks, getting in shape. And what you do with a boy is the same thing. You have to get in shape." And now her finger was going faster than his eyes could perceive. A miniature jackhammer, making herself come.
"Should I do like you're doing?" the younger one asked.
Fay groaned, "Uh-huh." And now her finger was creaming and orgasm was close.
He watched the younger one go at it. Her legs were spread just as widely apart as she could get them. He could see the crack of her ass, her tiny hole, the whole bit. And because she was new at it, she seemed to be more keenly excited than her teacher.
His thoughts went wild. Damn, if it wouldn't be a thrill to get in there with them, he thought. First I'd fuck the little one, then I'd get her friend. I'd make them undress, tell them to lie on the floor, and then I'd crawl between their warm, sweet bodies and have the time of my life. And while I was playing Peter-in-the-box with the little one, I'd feel up the other one. I'd get her good and hot and then-then I'd take my cock out of the little one and put it into her girlfriend's hole. The young one could play with my balls-
He stopped himself. Jesus! his mind was running away with Mm. In another minute, he'd've dropped this cruddy towel and joined them.
And then it hit him. A simple why not? Why not go over there and really do it?