Chapter 2

After breakfast the next morning I got into my car and started driving, north again, and each mile that rolled past the wheels of my Mustang seemed to make me just a little happier, just a little brighter. I had the radio on and I was singing along with the Andrea True Connection, wondering why I felt so good?

I looked out the window and saw only rural New England. Farms, granite hills in the distance covered with fine stands of timber, .scenes that needed only snow to give them the Currier and Ives look. A few words of Robert Frost came to me,

and I spoke them aloud. "Miles to go before I sleep." But wasn't there a rhyming phrase that went along with those words? Something about "promises to keep"? And didn't I have promises to keep as well? Promises to Keith ... to myself... to...

"Why in the name of God am I getting married?" I said aloud, clutching hard at the steering wheel. "Why?"

And I didn't know. Not really.

Oh, sure, Keith had said a thousand times that he loved me, loved me with all his heart and soul, and I suppose he really did. He treated me like a fragile flower, so delicate, so tender, as if he were afraid of crushing my dainty petals. In bed he was the perfect gentleman, the Ashley Wilkes of every girl's Scarlett O'Hara fantasies. He opened doors for me, he lit my cigarettes, he brought me flowers for no reason. We'd been living together for so long that I knew him almost as well as I knew myself. If I married Keith Sirolla he'd put me on a pedestal and love me and cherish me and . . .

Of course there were other factors, too. For one thing, he was planning to run for State Assembly next election and the voters of Susquehanna County might not approve of a state legislator living in sin with a woman. If he married me, his opponent wouldn't be able to bring it up. But Keith had been talking about marriage before he got political ambitions. In fact, he'd proposed the second time we went out, weeks before I moved in with him. So it was more than the need to be Mr.

Politically/Personally Clean. And finally I'd given in, set the date, picked out a wedding dress, sent out invitations, the whole traditional shtick. So why was I in my car, driving sixty miles an hour whenever the roads would permit, putting as many miles as possible between me and Keith, between me and the church where we'd be married in nine more days, between me and the life that hovered so closely upon my tail?

"Oh, damn it, I don't want to think! I want to drive!" I said, and drive I did, tromping down the gas, making the car roar like a rampant lion.

I had lunch in Vermont, then crossed the line into New Hampshire, just driving, listening to the radio, filling the car ashtray with lipstick-smeared cigarette butts. God, I thought, if only the road could go on forever, turning and twisting so that might never find my way back to Pennsylvania Surely there was more to life than sweetness and doglike devotion! My guts ached to find out, and didn't know how to go about it.

I had blossomed at thirteen, little apple tits sprouting on my chest, a soft fuzzy down appearing on my suddenly puffier cunt, my hips flaring out into a woman's shape. That's probably average, or perhaps just a little later than average the way girl-children mature nowadays. My mother told me once that she didn't menstruate until she was sixteen, but things have changed a lot in the thirty years since then. It probably had something to do with all the post-Hiroshima fallout in the air.

When I was sixteen I fell in love for the first time, with the boy who played center on our high-school football team. It took him a couple of months to notice me, but we started going out and, after a reasonable length of time, after a hell of a lot of preliminary fooling around, I finally swallowed my fears, took down my panties, and let him fuck me. It was on our living room couch, while my parents were at an American Legion New Year's party. Mark and I were both a little tight on the bourbon we'd sneaked out of Daddy's liquor cabinet, and we'd been getting progressively bolder as the evening drew on.

I had my sweater off and my bra around my waist. For some time we'd been rather free above the waist and I hate to think how many cool early winter nights we spent at the drive-in, me half naked, Mark warming me with his mouth on my nipples.

Lately, things had advanced considerably. I'd been slow to actually touch Mark's bare hard cock, though rubbing it through the protective layer of his pants hadn't bothered me. But as we sat there on the couch, not even pretending to listen to the records playing in the background, I was fisting his fat dick and he'd slid a hand up my skirt, fingers scooting past the lacy trim of my panties, onto the swell of my (by now) nicely haired cunt itself. God, sometimes I can still feel the way he used to touch me there, the first strange hand that had ever caressed my pussy! It was ten years ago, but if I close my eyes and remember, the same little electric shocks of forbidden delight shoot through me and I can feel moisture beading just inside the mouth of my twat, the way it did then.

"Please, Nan," he whispered, breathing bourbon into my face, and I giggled, as if the smell from his breath was making me even drunker than I was already. There was a warmth in my tummy from the liquor, and an even stronger kind of warmth around the flanges of my twat, which had nothing to do with the booze we'd been drinking surreptitiously.

"Please," he whispered again, nuzzling my ear. "Can't you feel how much I want you? It's there in your hand. Squeeze it. Oh, God, squeeze it!" And he reached down to cover my hand with his own, fitting me even tighter round the ferociously upstanding pole of his cock. Big veins stood out up and down the otherwise smooth, solid surface of him, and I could feel hot blood pulsing through those large veins as I touched him.

We'd been increasing the intensity of our relationship, as I mentioned, and I knew, by now, the delight of making that cock jerk and shoot off its thick milky overflow of cum. Once or twice I'd even licked his prick's huge purple knob as the semen rolled across the rubbery-textured flesh, so that I knew the taste as well. And now, as I looked into his eyes, looked down at his pecker, I could feel that taste, strong and pungent on the tip of my tongue. I licked my lips, thinking, wondering. Should I? Could I? What if I got pregnant? What if Mom found out? What if. . . what if. . .

"Oh, Mark," I husked, uncertain.

He slipped his fingers deeper into my panties, scraping them back and forth on the lips of my pussy, and the tip of one seemed to slink inside me with a roguish insistence. It quivered there, caught snugly within the virginal labia, and its tip poked at the oozing mouth of my vagina. Oozing? I felt as if I were pissing myself, right there, all over his finger. I could even hear the squish as he toyed with my swampy cooze.

"Promise you won't make me pregnant? Promise?"

He nodded gravely. "I've got a rubber, Nan. I'll use it. You won't get pregnant, I promise."

I sighed, wondering still if I should do it. But how could I think rationally, with his cock throbbing and pulsating in my clutching fist, with his finger sly and snaky in the gate of my cunt? Oh, I wanted it! I'd wanted it since the first time I ever saw him! But now, when we had the time and the place and a whole evening to consummate the act, could I do it? Mark probed a little more earnestly, and I felt the end of his finger push into the wet mouth of my sex.

"God," I sighed, beginning to lie back on the couch, "God, yes . . . yes . . . yesssss ..." He was already pulling down my panties, and his breath came from his lips in husky gasps as he rolled my skirt up, out of the way.

Mark was so horny for me he didn't have time to do more than remove his pants. I watched as he slipped out of them, then tucked up the tail of his sweater, and the sight of his marvelous cock, my first cock, jutting imperiously from a bush of dark curling hair with two heavy balls dangling below, was indeed, breathtaking. I looked at him, then began to rub my wet slice, wondering if I was doing the right thing, hoping I wouldn't be caught, curious above all else as to how that big pecker could ever fit into my tiny hole, the hole that felt so excruciatingly tight and snug whenever I tried to ply it with my fingers.

Mark helped me sit up as he took the condom from his wallet. It looked like a rubber ring with a latex seal, for at the time I didn't know that it was still rolled up. All I could think of was, how will that keep me from getting pregnant? Mark spat on one palm and started to rub drool onto his cock. "To lubricate me," he said, "so the rubber doesn't chafe my skin." His eyebrows lifted imploringly. "Would you do it for me, Nan? Suck me till I'm all wet and juicy?"

I'd kissed his cock, and I'd licked it, but I'd never really taken it into my mouth before. For a moment I was going to refuse, but then it occurred to me that we'd already agreed he could fuck me. Was this so much different? And if licking and kissing hadn't hurt me, probably sucking wouldn't either. "Okay," I said bravely, and he leaned toward me, cock presenting itself as a big red-tipped target for my lips.

I took him in hand, petting up and down, cupping his nuts in the palm of my fist, squeezing them from time to time, and I began to lick up the underside of his shaft, still a little tense about actually sucking it. Mark's knob was sticky-wet already, and my tongue scooped up some of that tangy wetness. The taste thrilled me and I found myself opening my mouth, ovaling a haven for his dong, steering him into that resting place.

"Oh, suck me, Nan," he groaned as I began to suck. "Really suck me!!" He reared back as I took him in, and his cock seemed to fill my mouth suddenly, almost choking me. I felt my face turn red, felt my cheeks puff out, felt my jaws begin to ache with the strain of fitting round him, but it wasn't bad at all. I wondered how it would be if he started fucking in and out of my mouth, the way he'd soon be doing in my pussy, wondered how it would feel for his cock to gush suddenly in my mouth (the way it had done so many times in my hand), for all that hot sticky jism to roll down my throat as I gulped and swallowed and drank his essences like a pecker gourmet. My head started to move up and down and I was dripping saliva all down the shaft of his dick. I twisted from side to side as I sucked him, knowing instinctively that it heightened his pleasure as much as it heightened mine to feel him frictioning my wet lips, and then he was grabbing at my head saying "Wait a minute, Nan-not so hard-not so fast-" I moaned as he pulled his cock from my mouth, and I couldn't keep a hand from reaching up to caress the spit-frothy hardness of him, the hardened organ that would soon-oh, God, soon-be sliding into my pussy.

Mark put the latex on the tip of his prick and started to roll the ring down his sides, and then I saw just how much rubber really was contained in the condom. It covered him from knob to base, with a small nipple-like extension at the tip. The rubber was gray-tinted, the bright ruddiness of Mark's erected cock showing through. I stroked him again, when he was covered in his defensive armor, and he smiled down at me. "Now would you wet the outside of the rubber for me?"

Would I? I grinned and once again that big cock slipped into my mouth and I sucked it avidly, not minding at all the rubbery taste that enfolded him. I could still remember the hot salty flesh tang I'd tasted before, the sample of cum that had delighted my tongue when I licked him, and it seemed that I was tasting it all again, so ripe and delicious ... Again he had to pry his dick from my mouth, and Mark could not repress the gleam of delight on his face. We'd been going out for a couple of months and he was about to score. Oh, Jesus, my face was flushed, and so were my tits, the nipples standing up like flagpoles. There was a moist sheen of lubricant oozing from the lips of my pussy, coating them where they'd grown almost untouchably tender in the last ten or fifteen minutes, and I'm pretty sure my eyes were gleaming just as much as his.

The girls at school used to talk about fucking a lot, in study hall, in the shower rooms after gym class, in smoke sessions just outside the school sessions just outside the school grounds, but only a couple of them had actually tried it. We lived in a small town and ten years ago you had to be careful about your reputation. Not any more. Last time I was home, a year or two ago, for my kid sister's high-school graduation, the valedictorian of the senior class was unmarried and, to judge from the size of her belly, about thirteen months pregnant. Yet, the way people talked, she was such a nice girl that, next to her, Doris Day looked like a streetwalker. I guess I was just born a few years too early.

Anyway, we'd all talked about screwing, and now it was going to happen to me, and I suppose I got a little scared when Mark spread my legs and petted my cunt and started to move in toward me with his condom-wrapped cock sticking out. My spittle gleamed on the rubber coating, and the flesh of him strained at the prophylactic, as if he'd suddenly engorged even more and was now too big to be contained. Oh, Jesus, I thought, he's going to put that thing in me!

"Hey, relax," he said, running his hands up and down my thighs. "I've done this a lot of times."

"A lot of times?" I said, suddenly heartbroken. "With who?" Even then, worked up as I was, I had time to be jealous. I guess it's a woman's prerogative.

He flushed, and I suppose he realized that he'd spoken too soon. "Well, not a lot of times, maybe, and never with anybody I liked as much as I like you, Nanette. Honest."

Young girls are easy to convince. I was certainly convinced, and at that particular point in time, I was simply drooling with love for Mark. "Okay," I told him, "but please don't let it hurt."

He lay down upon me, kinda heavy and clumsy. Today, ten years later, I suspect that he was as cherry as I was. "Ooooh," I said, "you're crushing me." He lifted up at once, propping himself with one arm, reaching in with the other to take hold of his cock and rub its latex-covered tip on the flanges of my pussy. Despite my inexperience and tendency to be afraid, I felt myself arching toward him, my slit opening just a little as he tickled it, and I whispered, "Oh, Mark, it doesn't hurt yet! Do some more!"

"Yeah," he panted, and with that he pressed himself against me, straining to penetrate the resistant ring of my snatch. It began to hurt, more than a little, but I already knew that a first fuck would hurt somewhat. For a moment I hesitated, wondering if this was the time or place to be surrendering my virginity. Shouldn't I wait till I was married, go to my honeymoon bed a bride unspotted? Good girls did that. At least everyone said good girls did that.

But my pussy just kept getting wetter and wetter, the more he rubbed it, the more he stroked it with his rubber-clad pecker, and the little empty nipple at the peak of him slid lazily across the nub of my clitoris. Hot sparks emanated from my love button and I felt squishy wet everywhere-not just around the lips of my twat-and I sucked in my breath. Nothing had ever made me feel quite that way. Not masturbation, not even the nights with Mark at the drive-in theater when my panties would be sopping with girl-cream. "Oh, Jesus," I gasped, "oh, Jesus, don't stop!"

"I can't stop," he sighed back, "I can't stop now!" and with that he was lunging at me with his cock, trying his god-damnedest to bury the big hard thing in my cunt. Again and again he rammed at me, his dick head parting my cuntal flanges, wedging its big rubbery knob between them, stabbing impotently at the resistant tightness beyond. I worked with him, for despite the shudders of pain from his roughness, I wanted him in me, wanted him there so badly . ..

"Loosen up, huh, Nanette?" he implored. "Let me put it in you?"

"Oh, please put it in me,' I replied, rubbing at Ms legs with my thighs, my fingers dancing up and down his back. I slipped one leg around him, and it must have opened up my snatch just a little more-just enough, it seemed, because as I moved my leg, Mark moved with his cock, and suddenly he was actually in me, perhaps an inch of his rubber-coated tool actually inserted in my virginal pussy.

"AAAGGGHHHH!!!" It was a scream, and I was the one screaming, but it sounded far away, and not all of it was from the pain I felt in my cunt. Not all. The tip of Mark's cock slammed against my cherry with heart stopping forcefulness and this time I couldn't even scream. My eyes bulged and I snapped the lids shut to prevent my eyeballs from popping right out, and my mouth opened but no sound emerged. Mark grabbed one of my bare tits and held on for dear life, and then he lunged again with his cock, a lunge so hard, so fierce, so irresistible- My cherry tore and I felt pain shoot all through my body, but it didn't matter. . . didn't matter . .. didn't matter . ..

He was in me, buried to the hilt in my blood and cream, and I was sixteen years old and I wasn't a virgin anymore. He'd torn my virginity asunder with the blunt snout of his dong. It hurt with him so fat and hard and long inside me, fully inside me, his belly grinding against mine as I leaked wetness all around his cock, and my vaginal muscles clutched at him so tightly he couldn't move, couldn't pull out if he'd wanted to, couldn't pull out if I'd wanted him to, and we just lay there, both of us moaning and sobbing with the accomplishment of it, and I clenched at him with the leg I'd slipped round his body, and after a few moments of dumbstruck enjoyment he began to quiver and convulse against me, inside me, and I felt . . .

. . . felt the nipple capping his rubber begin to flop about inside my pussy as his cum spurted, filling that nipple until it had swollen and was nearly as stiff as the nipples on my tits, and he was coming, coming like a geyser, all of it, thank God, flowing into his rubber and not into me, and I writhed against him, wishing he'd do something for me too, because it was my first time and it was almost over, virtually before it had begun . . .

"Fuck me," I panted, "you wanted to fuck me-so fuck me, damn it! Fuck meeee!!!"

His head shook as I moaned at him, and somehow the clench of my cunt lightened around him, and then I felt his dong begin to move inside me. Even though he'd already come, he retained a stunning hardness, and the feel of that hardness moving in my sex-Jesus! Ten years have gone by and I can still barely find words adequate to describe it.

There was no subtlety in the way Mark fucked me. It was hard, furious, in-out ramming, as if he wanted to do something to me before he lost his erection, and I was buffeted mercilessly by his mad passionate screwing. My cunt split as he lunged into it, and I felt him slide deeper than I had ever thought anything could go in a woman, but he was there now, so, so, sooooo deep, so ferociously hard, fucking, frictioning the walls and mouth of my pussy, squeezing my tit like a steel trap as he fucked me. I thrust my face toward his and clung to him, our mouths melting together, tongues battling for supremacy, and he fed his latex-sheathed pecker to me in huge, healthy doses, the cum squishing inside his rubber as he fucked me.

"Mmmmm!!" both of us chanted in unison, the moan fluttering as tongues worked and lips tingled in pleasure. Wetness was leaking from my pussy, into the crack of my ass, making me sticky and sloppy, but I didn't care, I only wanted to be taken, the way he was taking me now, hard and fast and brutally. If my snatch had been a flower, he'd have killed it with the speed and savagery of his fucking, but he was a man possessed, just as I was a woman possessed. God, I had been a woman-a full-fledged woman!-for at least three minutes already, and I fucked at him as though I'd been doing this for years. My head didn't know how to handle it, but my ass did!

And then I tore my mouth from his, just as a million fires went off at once in my belly, and my cunt exploded around his still-ramming dick. "Ohhhhhggggooooddddd!!" I quavered, for I was coming, coming like a hurricane.

"Aaaaahhh-" a choked off moan from Mark's lips, and despite my own orgasmic abandon, I could feel it. He was coming too, coming with me, spurting his second load of cream into that already cum-filled, sloppy rubber, and his swollen balls slapped the cheeks of my ass in a jangle of fresh stimulation that just kept me coming and coming and coming.

Later we ceremoniously tied off the end of the rubber and flushed it down the john, and we did our damnedest to get the blood and cum stains off the sofa cushions, but they didn't come out entirely. If my parents ever noticed, they didn't say anything, and I made sure to spill a cup of coffee in that exact spot the next morning, so I guess if my mother reads this, it will be the first time she knows exactly why there's a discoloration on one cushion of the parlor sofa. Sorry, Mom, if that helps.

He didn't have any more rubbers, and I didn't have the nerve to take him on without a condom, so we went back to playing with each other. It wasn't nearly as much fun, and by the end of the evening my pussy was no longer sore and was instead hungry for a quick rematch.

The only trouble was, the next time we made love, Mark was much gentler with me, as if he'd reviewed his past performance and picked out a few mistakes in approach. Again he wore a rubber, but he eased his cock into me rather than ramming it, and he stroked me more gently, before, during and after the screw, and though I came, it wasn't like before. At the time I didn't exactly understand. The come itself was good enough for me. That, and the majestic feel of his cock as it squirted cum into that rubber all the way up my snatch. My pussy wasn't as tight and defensive around him, either, and he entered me with much less difficulty.

We kept on dating, and fucking, till the end of the school year. Mark was a year older than I was, and he graduated that spring. I still remember the graduation night we spent on a blanket in the woods overlooking Munsee Lake. By then we'd graduated sexually, too, and we were not only fucking, we were also very addicted to going down on one another, and I don't remember how many times his cock exploded down my gulping throat. Still, it didn't compare with that first, fantastic time, when he'd virtually raped away my cherry and fucked me till I screamed. In two more weeks he was gone, to the Army, and I only saw him once again, when he came home after basic training. Before he could get leave again, he was dead, killed in a jeep wreck at the base. I didn't date again till I went to college, and even then, it was my junior year before I allowed anyone to fuck me.

I had the usual number of affairs after that. Three or four in college, all of them serious at the time, none of them satisfactory enough to make permanent. I majored in business and wound up as a receptionist/secretary, and eventually I wound up living with Keith Sirolla, hot young attorney in Susquehanna City. And I was engaged to marry him, for some reason I still couldn't put my finger on. I shook my head and drove on.

Somehow, I seemed to attract men who wanted to worship women, to treat them like fragile goddesses of romantic love. Well, they wanted to fuck me, too, but my body and soul yearned for something more. I tried to imagine Keith brandishing a whip and snapping, "Get on your knees and suck my cock, you bitch!" but it was impossible. He was too sweet, too considerate, too.. . too . . . too what? Not even in his wildest, most ungovernable moments could he let go enough to use me that way. Why did I even want him to? I didn't know.

Down the road a sign attracted my eyes. "Canadian Border-12 miles." What the hell? I thought. I'd never been to a foreign country before. This seemed as good a time as any. I took the turn off indicated by the sign, and in twenty minutes I was in Quebec, not quite surprised to see that it wasn't appreciably different from the stretch of Vermont I'd just left behind. See, Nanette? I told myself. You haven't changed anything just because you crossed an imaginary line between two countries. You still have to go home and marry Keith Sirolla, or else find some good reason not to. I lit another cigarette. I'd gone through nearly a pack since breakfast and, before long, I'd have to stop somewhere and empty the ashtray.

It was late afternoon and the changing leaves on the maple trees lining the road were a beautiful blend of colors." Reds and golds and browns and all the other hues of fall setting in, and I wished that I'd brought my camera along so I could take a few pictures. But the decision to get out for a few days had been a sudden one, and all I had with me were a few extra clothes. Besides-even if I'd taken the camera, it was out of film. So what? A tree is a tree, anywhere you see it.

This was a secondary road that led eventually to Montreal, and the country through which I drove looked as if it hadn't changed much since the days when Samuel de Champlain marched south to fight the Mohawks on Lake Champlain. Driving here, you could almost imagine that the whole world was a Garden of Eden, and that you were Eve combing the woods for your Adam. And watching out for snakes.

I passed through a couple of towns that were no more than taverns and grocery stores in the midst of a few houses, and the sun moved lower and lower down the western sky. What was on my mind, I don't remember, but I should have been looking at my gas gauge.