A LITTLE BACKGROUND

I had always been a one-and-done kind of guy.

If I jerked off in the shower in the morning, it took a lot to get me aroused again and ready to perform that evening. I had learned this the hard way (no pun intended) one Labor Day weekend.

Suzy was a junior at St. Agatha’s, an all-girls school across town. We’d met at the Blue Grass Swim Club, where we were both lifeguards. We hit it off the very first day.

We had a lot in common. Both Suzy and I were on our respective high school track teams: she a middle-distance runner and I, a sprinter. I was a lacrosse defenseman and she was the leading scorer on her team.

We became friends both at and away from work.

Suzy had a prototypical runner’s body. At 5’9” she weighed maybe 115#. I'm no expert on bra sizing, but I’m guessing she was a 34A. Her titties looked super cute in her spray-painted red Bay Watch one-piece. When she’d come out of the water, I’d imagine two half Valencia oranges with Hershey's kisses perched way up high.

I wanted to fuck her back to the Stone Age.

We bummed around all summer with the other guards. Mainly we went as a herd to a nearby pizza joint after closing up the pool. We really didn't date until the end of July. Even then, it was mainly kayaking or hitting up a local minor-league ball game, nothing fancy or scripted. We’d usually end up playing video games up in the bonus room of her parents’ house.

Our relationship was platonic. Nevertheless, I began to think about baseball a lot. Touching all the bases and finally sliding into her home plate.

She was on my mind every waking minute.

About midway through my daily morning shower, I’d close my eyes and envision Suzy climbing out of the pool, her wet Speedo clinging to her trim body. She would look up at me and fling her long brown hair up and backward, smiling. Her nipples would tent the suit’s fabric like the pink erasers of #2 pencils.

With no more than two or three pulls on my rock-hard pud, I’d shoot a rope of hot jizz, splattering and running down the tile surround.

It was Labor Day weekend, just two weeks before the start of school. Suzy would be heading back to St. Agatha’s and I to Horace Greely. I had been doing my best to get into her pants and she had been doing her best to resist.

It wasn't as if we hadn't progressed in our physical relationship, however. As it turned out, I had Brandi, one of the other guards, to thank for that.

Brandi was a rising sophomore at Greely and the polar opposite of Suzy. She was all giggles and had what I now think of as that cheerleader’s look: platinum blonde hair bluntly cut above her shoulders, maybe 5’2” and 120#; plus most importantly, big tatas. I mean really, really big puppies.

I, like most guys at Greely, had ogled Brandi’s tits last school year; but most of us followed the unwritten high school rule that upperclassmen don't pick the low-hanging fruit, the freshman girls.

That didn't keep me from thinking about her when I released my tension each morning, at least until I met Suzy.

So, how did Brandi help me run the bases with Suzy?

It was a few minutes before guard-switch. I was sitting in the tower, essentially an oversized toddler’s highchair. Brandi padded over to take my place, a big smile on her face and big tits in her suit.

“Hi, handsome. Ick, there’s a ladybug on your leg.”

Before I could stop her, she brushed the insect off my leg, leaving her hand on my inner thigh, just inches below the inseam of my Speedos. She looked up coyly, biting her lower lip.

Under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed her obvious flirting, likely springing a boner then and there. But then I heard an “Ahem.”

I looked to my left. There standing no more than ten feet behind the tower, doubled fists on her hips, head cocked and her right eyebrow arched was Suzy.

She looked sour.

“Am I interrupting anything?” she uttered through pursed lips.

Before I could answer, Suzy spun around and charged toward the clubhouse. It’s doubtful she heard Brandi’s lame retort, “Hey, girl. Nothing to see here!”

I expected and received the cold-shoulder the rest of the shift, at least until we were walking through the parking lot. About halfway to my 1968 GMC pickup, I felt her shoulder brush mine. After another three strides, she grasped my hand, interlacing her fingers with mine.

Suzy was silent most of the ride from Blue Grass to her house. On the other hand, she did scoot over to the center position of the bench seat, resting her left hand demurely on the top of my thigh.

I pulled into her driveway, fully expecting her to invite me into her house. Our routine was to grab a couple Cheerwines out of the kitchen fridge and hit Minecraft up in the game room.

I was totally unprepared for what came next.

Instead of exiting out the passenger door, Suzy slid over and out my door, immediately grabbing my hand in hers. I looked around. Something seemed missing. I quickly figured it out. Her parents’ Yukon was nowhere to be seen.

Suzy saw the question in my face. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. My parents are at a barbeque at a friend’s house. They won't be back until late.”

She led me into the house, through the mudroom to the kitchen. By habit, I headed to the fridge to retrieve our soft drinks. Suzy stopped me. “Hey, it's a holiday.”

She reached past my outstretched arm and pulled out a six-pack of Miller High Life ponies.

Without further comment, Suzy walked to the base of the nearby stairs. She kicked off her Adidas skids and headed up, me trailing like a puppy dog.

The puppy dog analogy was appropriate. I’m pretty sure my tongue was hanging out at the view. Suzy was wearing a crop top tee, exposing much of her toned back. She was clearly braless. Below were Nashville-style cutoffs, the cheeks alternately visible with each step.

I had never eaten out a pussy, let alone rimmed a rosebud; but I instinctively wanted to sniff and bury my face in what was only inches from my nose and mouth. I licked my bottom lip.

I fired up the 65” Samsung and Xbox while Suzy popped the tops off two ponies. She stowed the rest in a mini-fridge behind the bar.

We played Minecraft for maybe twenty minutes, each pretty much chugging our first beers. I asked Suzy if she was ready for a second. She gave me a coy look, got up and answered over her shoulder, “More than ready.”

She returned with our Millers, but curiously placed both on the nearby end table. She pointed to my handset. “Get rid of that.”

Without hesitation, Suzy leaned forward and with both hands, grabbed my face. I watched with fascination as she brought her face to mine, her eyes closing and her mouth opening. I mimicked her actions as her lips met mine.

I heard her sigh.

The tip of Suzy’s tongue touched my teeth and flicked my own tongue. Just as I started to reciprocate, she broke our kiss and released my face, standing back upward.

I was confused. Did I have bad breath? Had she changed her mind? My questions were quickly answered.

Suzy crossed her arms over her chest, grabbing the lower edge of her crop top with her hands. In one smooth movement, she pulled the tee up and over her head, tossing it toward my face.

I caught it in mid-arc, momentarily distracted.

When I looked up, Suzy was unbuttoning the fly of her 501 cut-offs. She slid her hands between the denim and her hips, shimmying the cutoffs down to her ankles, bending over as she did so. She stepped out of her shorts and arose.

I had expected bikini panties or a thong. Instead, Suzy was buck-naked. She placed her hands on her hips and smiled.

“Fuck,” involuntarily escaped my mouth.

Her body was beyond beautiful. A young, nude Elle Macpherson came to mind. Suzy’s breasts were larger than I had envisioned. Instead of Valencias or tangelos, she sported half Ruby Red grapefruits, each only slightly pendulous. Her wrinkled aureolae and erect nipples were impossibly sitting a good inch and a half above the equator. They truly were star-gazers.

My eyes drifted down her sleek torso and flat belly to her mons. The prominence was covered by a silver dollar-sized chevron of curly auburn-colored pubes.

I used my hands to push upward on the squishy leather cushions and inched forward, fully intending to bury my face in her snatch.

Before I could get even a foot from her treasure, she placed her hands on my chest and forcibly pushed me back onto the couch. As I sank into the cushions, she mounted my lap, a bent knee outside of each of my thighs.

I anticipated the resumption of our kissing; but once again, I read her intentions incorrectly. Suzy reared upward and pulled my face against her chest with both hands. She quickly released her right hand from behind my head, rotated slightly and then used it to cup her breast. Like the Madonna of the Trail, she fed the nipple and aureola into my mouth.

I instinctively licked and sucked her teat.

Suzy became almost wild, uttering through what clearly were clenched teeth, “That's it, Baby. Suck it. Suck it harder. Bite it.”

Before I could even redouble my efforts, Suzy released her breast and pushed on my forehead, her nipple jerking from my mouth with a wet, smacking sound.

I knew what she needed. Using both hands and with bruising pressure, I pulled her opposite breast to my face, sucking the elongated nipple between my teeth.

I heard and felt her gasp; but she still begged, “Don’t stop. Please, don't stop.”

In my fervency to stimulate her tatas, I had almost failed to notice Suzy slipping her right hand off the back of my head, redirecting it to that secret place between her thighs. I assumed she was diddling herself.

Sure enough and within seconds, she started panting, then abruptly stopped. Simultaneously, she stiffened, squeezing her knees inward on my thighs. A count of one, two, three and then she exploded.

Suzy gurgled out an unintelligible phrase as she heaved forward, pinning my head to the couch’s seatback.

After a minute or two, she relaxed; her face against my neck. She alternately kissed and lightly nibbled as she whispered, “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

We broke our embrace.

Suzy scooted backward and off the couch. As I was unbuttoning and pulling my retro bowling shirt over my head, she was arranging a faux fur blanket beside the coffee table. She stayed on her knees as I approached.

Suzy looked up with her doe-like brown eyes. “I’ve waited so long. Be gentle.”

She was clearly ready for me to bust her cherry.

Without pause, she slipped her hands inside the lower hems of my cargo shorts and boxers, running her palms up my anterior thighs. Her fingertips stopped just short of my inguinal creases.

I sent her my own nonverbal communique. I took a half-step forward and subtly pushed my pelvis forward.

Suzy got the message. She slipped her now-clammy hands out of my shorts. She released the clasp of my webbed belt and fumbled with the buttons. At last, she pulled my shorts down to my knees.

I looked down and was immediately embarrassed. Instead of seeing seven inches of raging teen boner angled forty-five degrees above the horizon, I spied a drooping three-inch noodle.

I knew Suzy didn’t have much experience with cocks, but I realized even the most sheltered virgin would be unimpressed by such an inferior sex organ.

To Suzy’s credit, she tried to get me aroused and ready to perform. She grasped my little dinky with her index and thumb, much like one would hold a cheroot. She inched forward on her knees and leaned her face toward my stubborn sex appendage, almost as if examining a curiosity.

Suzy extended her tongue and with the very tip, collected the drop of glistening precum that was seeping from my pee-slit. She ran her tongue over her lips, as if sampling a delicacy; then with little to no hesitation, drew the head of my prick into her mouth.

Suzy began lapping her tongue to and fro over the frenulum, while simultaneously jacking my limp dinky with her index finger and thumb. Despite several minutes of lingual effort, there was next to no hardening or elongation of my stubborn member.

I brushed a few loose strands of Suzy’s silky brown hair from her forehead. “Hey, let’s try the blanket.”

Suzy leaned slightly backward, pulling my cockhead from between her moist lips. She gave the glans two more polishing licks, then released my pathetic excuse for a pussy punisher.

I heard her sigh, as she shifted to the furry blanket.

Suzy assumed a seemingly relaxed position: supine, hands behind her head and legs spraddled. Her beautiful tits were tensioned upward, her aureolae and nipples pointing toward their respective shoulders.

My gaze shifted down her lean torso to her snatch. Due to her spread-eagle position, her pouty outer pussy lips her clearly visible and drawn apart. I swallowed hard as I spied pink and damp inner folds.

In retrospect, I should have dropped to my knees and pleasured Suzy by lapping her pussy and rosebud, sucking her clit to the point of orgasm. Perhaps this foreplay would have aroused me additionally to the point of full erection.

Instead, I just lamely lay atop her, supporting my weight partially with my forearms on the blanket. I could feel the firmness of her mons compressing my cock and balls.

Suzy initiated the love-making again, pulling my face down to hers. Once again, I watched as her eyes closed and her lips parted. I knew she expected me to penetrate her mouth with my tongue, simulating fellatio; but all I could think about was my apparent impotence.

She became impatient. I felt her rock her pelvis upward as she encircled my waist with her long runner’s legs.

She had instinctively assumed a breeding position.

I was frantic to give her the seed she subconsciously desired. I slipped my right hand down and around her thigh, grasping my still semi-flaccid cock. I ran its precum-lubricated tip up and down her wet inner labial fronds, making contact with her clit on each pass.

She whispered in my left ear, “Oh, yeah. That’s it, baby. Don't stop. Stick it in. Fuck me.”

To this day, I can't totally explain what happened. As she implored me to breed her, my cock actually became even less erect. I tried to force the head into her tight, virgin pussy; but it was like trying to push toothpaste back into the tube.

I slumped onto her chest.

I felt her take two or three slow deep breaths; then, “I saved myself for you. I thought you loved me. Get off me.”

Suzy shoved me off, arose and charged toward the stairs. She looked over her shoulder as she started down. “I bet you get it up for that slut, Brandi. I hate you.”

PRESENT DAY

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” My mom pointed up to the kitchen wall clock. “Why don't you pick up your new clothes and we’ll all grab a bite to eat when you get back.”

I hopped in the GMC and headed to the mall. As I entered the parking lot, I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Hoover were still working. I felt a familiar stirring in my taint, followed by that unmistakable sensation of precum oozing from my awakening cock.

I parked and started to get out of the truck. I felt the wetness on my inner thigh and knew before even looking that there would be a telltale spot on my khaki Bermudas.

As it turned out, Mr. Hoover was still working. He smiled as I approached. “Hey, kid. Got everything ready for you. Head back to the changing area.”

I had a rock-hard boner before I got halfway to the curtain.

Mr. Hoover tapped on the door and entered, my trousers draped over his left forearm. I had already kicked off my Bermudas and stood on the six-inch high platform bordered by mirrors on three sides.

“Well, it looks like someone is happy to see me,” gesturing to my bulging and damp boxers.

Mr. Hoover draped my pants over the back of a nearby chair and approached. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Without asking, he brought my Braves tee up and over my head, tossing it onto the chair. I expected him to release the Kraken next; but instead, he leaned forward and brought his mouth to my left pec. He initially stopped short of sucking on my teat, opting to flick the hardening and elongating nipple with the very tip of his tongue.

I let out an “Mmmmm” and used both hands to pull his now open mouth onto my man-boob. He responded by sucking and licking and biting my areola and nipple.

Mr. Hoover was a multitasker. As he was ravishing first my left and then the right nipples, he was sliding his hands down my six-pack to the elastic of my underwear.

He pulled the boxers down to my knees.

I released his head, so that he could redirect his love-making efforts elsewhere. He caught on. While holding my waist, he quickly flicked the nipple of each teat with the tip of his tongue, then began licking my chest and belly.

I anticipated Mr. Hoover engulfing the head of my cock as he approached the area two inches or so above my navel. Certainly, my prick was as erect as it had ever been, lying almost flat against my six-pack and directly in his tongue’s path.

Instead, he released my waist, grabbing my shaft and lowering it to the horizontal. This allowed him to continue spit-bathing my belly down to my pubic hair and then onto the dorsum of my dick.

Mr. Hoover was a tease. I begged him to suck my meat as his tongue reached the flare of my cockhead. His response was to look up, smile and rub the precum-wetted pee-slit across his lips; then resume licking down the bottom surface of the shaft.

He pulled my erection once again into a vertical position as his tongue met my ball sack. He licked each testicle, then tilted his head to allow his tongue to explore behind my balls.

I reached over and pulled the side chair closer to my left leg. I placed my foot on the seat and held the back for support.

This allowed Mr. Hoover to have near-free access to my taint and anus.

I placed my free hand on the top of his head and implored, “Lick me, Baby. That’s it. Lick it.”

We’ve established that Mr. Hoover was a multitasker and tease, but he also took orders well. I almost immediately felt the tip of his tongue flick my sensitive rosebud. I applied additional pressure to his head and moaned, “Baby, don’t stop.”

He did stop, but only momentarily.

Mr. Hoover continued to pull my throbbing prick skyward with his right hand. I felt his left fingers slip into my crack and then a fingertip applying pressure to my backdoor. I lowered myself slightly.

I felt his finger enter my pucker.

Without even a moment of hesitation, I uttered through clenched teeth, “Fuck me. Fuck my hole.” I lowered myself even farther onto his digit.

I felt Mr. Hoover suck my right nut into his mouth. Simultaneously, he began pistoning his finger up and down through my anal sphincters. I couldn't help myself. I met each upward thrust of his cock-substitute with a downward heave of my pelvis. I was quickly losing control.

“More, give me more. Fuck my ass.”

And then I felt it. Mr. Hoover curled the tip of his digit forward as he finger-fucked me, stimultating what I now know was my prostate. The sensation was both painful and erotic.

I came instantly and forcefully. Rope after rope of hot boy jizz looped upward toward my belly, landing ultimately on Mr. Hoover’s glasses and face. He spit out my gonad and pulled my spirting hose toward his open mouth and extended tongue.

He stopped pistoning his finger in my ass, substituting a steady and significant pressure on my prostate.

Although the pain deep in my taint was somewhere north of being kicked by a mule, the pleasurable effect on my spewing cock was immediate and remarkable.

The pulsatile ejaculations became a satisfyingly steady river of thick, milky cum, covering Mr. Hoover’s tongue, spilling back into his gaping mouth.

I growled, “Fuck, holy shit.”

Mr. Hoover pulled my leaking cockhead into his mouth and jacked the shaft from the base toward his lips. He tried to harvest every last drop of my seed.

He provided no indication of terminating our lust-making, but I was in sensory overload. I pulled his hand away from my ass and pushed his face away from my sensitive dick.

I fell forward, head down, hands on my knees.

Questions came to mind. Was I straight, just looking for any port in the storm? Was I bisexual? Was I gay, only truly satisfied when another male was on the end of my cock?

Only time will tell.