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Singapore Girl #3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SINGAPORE GIRL
Part 3 of 7.
It so happened that we didn't fuck for about three days after
that. On the average, we fucked about every eight hours, so this was
quite a long time. And it was just as well, in a way:
"My asshole is sore."
"I -- I'm not surprised," I said. "I wish it wasn't -- but I
liked the way it got sore." I thought about my next words. "And so
did you."
Her eyes blazed at me. I saw the anger beginning in her face -
- and then it collapsed. "I know -- but that's what the gay boys
do, isn't it? Do you wish I was a boy?"
I started to laugh -- and then realized she was only half-
joking.
"June, I like licking your cunt," I said quietly. "And so do
you. Does that mean you wish I was a woman -- since cuntlicking is
what lesbians do?"
Her eyes half closed and she shivered. "I know!" She seemed
amazed. "It makes me itchy when you say that -- but you know I
don't like lesbians."
I licked my lips and stepped toward her. She put her small
hand against my chest, keeping me away.
I didn't press it. Even if I'd been the kind of moronic
asshole who tries to force himself on someone else, there was
something else to consider: June had been an auxiliary cop in
Singapore, with the attendant martial arts training. We'd sparred
playfully a few times. She was just as fast as I and a helluvalot
more deceptive in her movements. I knew I could absorb enormous
damage, and use my superior strength to prevail, but I had no
desire to do so -- and I didn't know if there were subconscious
resentments in this hard-bodied young woman that could make a
playful blow slip and do serious damage. This was just another
equality that made her attractive to me: June could not be forced
to do anything. Whatever she did, it was by choice.
"But!" She laughed and dropped her hand. She knew my respect
for her prowess -- and, more importantly, simply for her. "But!"
I nodded ruefully. "I know."
Indeed I did. She was working with the Jaycees (yes, they
exist and even flourish in the Big Apple) on the Special Olympics,
a sports competition for "special" children. Special meant
retarded, for the most part, and frequently, physically disabled.
In addition to her routine 60-hour-plus-4 a.m.-Telex weeks, June
donated her enormous energies and ingenuity to things like the
Special Olympics. The timing of the sore asshole, in a way,
couldn't have been better. The program was going to greatly limit
the time we had together for the next week -- and it was one of the
many reasons I was becoming more and more taken with her.
Which was also one of the things that really bothered Annie.
Who?
Yes, ahem, well ...
At the time I met June, I had already known -- in every sense
-- Annie for more than two years. I, like she in those pre-AIDS days,
had other lovers. Annie knew about June, and June knew about Annie.
Annie was a lot more at ease with the idea of June than vice-versa.
When I said June and I fucked about every eight hours on the
average, I meant "average." Annie and I spent two nights a week
together, usually. Annie, like June, was a couple of years younger
than me. We'd met when I was working a part-time job selling
coffees and teas, during a publishing drought. What first got my
attention was, oddly enough, her mind. I had a game I sometimes
played with customers. Since the various coffees we sold had
different per-pound prices, blends called for some arithmetic.
After all, a couple of ounces of Kenya Double-A at $4 per pound and
a quarter pound of French Roast Columbian at $3.65 a pound and two
ounces of Yemen Mocha at $5.10 a pound, etc., gets one into the
realm of challenging numbers. I made a gam of it.
My game was to run it up in my head. (Not that tough, dividing
by sixteen and keeping a running total, once you practice it; try
it and see.) That scared customers who weren't accustomed to using
those mental muscles. They only trusted calculators and adding
machine tapes. So I had this deal: If they wanted, I would run it
up on the adding machine. If I was wrong, they got the coffee free --
I would pay for it out of my own pocket. If I was right, they'd
pay a fifty percent premium ... to me.
Few took me up on it. Those that did, lost -- always.
Annie came in on a crowded Sunday and ordered two ounces of this
and three ounces op that and so forth. Ended up with six different
beans in the pound. When I turned to tell her the price, she said,
"Wait a minute -- five seventy....three? Yes. Yes. Five seventy-
three, if you round up for a half-cent."
That's what got my attention. Then her face. I asked her if
she was half-Chinese and half-Irish. She had reddish-brown hair and a
fine boned faced. Her cheekbones were high and her eyes were
slanted. She explained that she was part Magyar -- the result of
Mongolians overrunning eastern Europe Way Back When. Her face was
fascinating and her mind was terrific.
Her body was outrageous. Imagine a woman who's just over five-
foot-one and weighs about ninety pounds. Sounds scrawny, right? No
way. She was very small-boned. Annie had absolutely beautiful,
perfectly formed, firm and sumptuous breasts. Her waist was slender
and her hips were narrow. She had a delectable little ass and the
tastiest cunt...
She was also completely uninhibited. Annie would do anything
that felt good and anything she didn't like, she wouldn't do. She
could suck cock expertly, loved to be licked, enjoyed cock in her
cunt from any angle and enjoyed ass fucking. She was multiorgasmic
in the extreme and very vocal about it. She liked men, she liked
women, she liked threesomes, she had even enjoyed orgies.
When I was fifteen and jerking off, I would construct the
perfect sexual partner in my imagination. That image was Annie. I had
to wait till I was in my late twenties to meet her and discover
that reality could exceed imagination. Not only was she lovely,
incredibly sexy and sweet, she was smart and perceptive.
Of course, if this was fiction, Annie and June would have
drooled over each other at first sight and we all would have fucked
off together into the sunset. The fact was, though, that June
hated the idea of doing anything with another woman and Annie didn't
find June attractive (Annie liked -- and likes -- women with larger
breasts and voluptuous hips and has a special weakness for long
nipples.) In a way, that was no problem for me, since -- oddly
enough -- being in bed with more than one woman at once has never
been one of my major fantasies.
In another way, it was a good thing. Considering how
passionate and sexual both women were, a man caught between them in
bed would have gone up in a puff of smoke. No cremation necessary;
by dawn, there'd have been nothing left of the poor bastard but
ashes.
I should have been in pig heaven. Here were two women whom I
found tremendously attractive and felt the same way about me. For
one reason or another, neither was willing to assert a claim of
exclusivity on me. One was willing to get weird at the drop of a
dildo, while the other simply Liked Doing Things. And one of them
was going to be busy -- and had a sore ass! -- for a few days while
the other was more than eager to make up a little lost time.
But things were not perfect. For one thing, their periods
coincided. No big deal, I thought, since it didn't bother me,
either for fucking or sucking. But June was uncomfortable and Annie
got cranky. And that was the least of it.
See, while June was about to be tied up with her Jaycees
project, Annie was about to spend two weeks visiting friends in
France. She was doubly annoyed at the timing.
I, on the other hand, had gotten used to fucking two or three
times each day, sometimes with more than one woman -- and now I was
looking forward (if that's the right term) to about ten days of
Doing Without.
True, the day before she headed for JFK and her transAtlantic
flight, Annie and I lolled about in bed for about eighteen hours of
sexual bliss. True, June stopped by the very next day, flipped up
her skirt to reveal her pantyless cunt, grabbed her ankles and
winked at me upside down between her knees. But that was going to
be it.
Ahh well, I figured. I needed to spend more time at the
Selectric. And in a pinch, there were always the Palm Sisters and
Fond Memories. Hell, what was ten days? I told myself.
It could be a very long time, I told myself.
To my amazement, on the Thursday night that Annie left for
France and June left for Albany, I got a phone call from Philly:
Barbie Shelton was coming to town.
I had known Barb for about four years, at that point. She'd
lived with Bertha, also an NYU student, in the same building as me
during the Great Blackout of '77 and had come down to keep me
company. Bertha knew I had just had a very bad breakup and was
going -- quite literally -- crazy. Barbie saved my life. No shit --
I was seriously contemplating suicide when she decided to take me
under her wing.
I had seen her around the building from time to time. She had
a sweet face and a placid demeanor and seemed like a nice, plump
girl. I had no idea what kind of figureshe had, since she always
wore big, loose mu-mu dresses. At about 2:30 a.m. on the second
night of the blackout, after we had killed about two-thirds of a
bottle of cheap red wine that she'd brought, she announced she
really would prefer to stay with me rather than risk waking her
roommate (whom I'd always found more attractive) by coming home
late. Between the emotional shock of the breakup a few weeks before
and my weariness (an hour of sleep at a time was rare) and the
wine, I thought it sounded reasonable -- and no more than that.
But in the darkness of my bedroom, I felt something against my
face, then something else. I stood and lit a candle and discovered
Barbie had absolutely enormous breasts. "Where did THOSE come
from?" I'd demanded. She'd laughed -- gently, as with everything
else -- and beckoned me back to bed. I was rather unprepared for
the body so carefully hidden under the loose, oversize dresses.
Imagine a woman who's five foot tall, has 32-inch hips, a twenty-five
inch waist and a bra labeled 32-D ... and who overflows the
brasierre's cups.
But what was wonderful about her was her sweetness and
compassion. She loved my delight in licking her cunt and found it
simply amazing that I wasn't fixated on her tits. (I'd gotten over
my big-tit cravings when I was 17. See, I had this cousin, the same
age -- But that, as Conan's biographer would say, is another tale.)
So Barbie was coming to stay with me for a few days while she
visited friends in the city. I filled her in (in more ways than
one. Heh.) on what I'd been up to and we made love a lot. She
reveled in waking me one morning with her mouth locked on the tip
of my cock and sucked me off, drinking me moaning dry and then
sprawling on me and kissing my lips with my own cum on hers. We
slept again, till nearly one in the afternoon, and then made love,
with her on her face and a pillow under her hips, and then drowsed
till dark. I can still feel the wonderful weight of her breasts
pressed against me and the firmness of her ass under my fingers and
the wet heat of her cunt against my hip and the slightly salty --
from perspiration -- taste of her ear when I kissed her awake that
night. I went out and bought the fixings and prepared an odd dinner
of broiled filet of sole, mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus.
Then we went back to bed and made love again. Barb, wherever you
are, you are precious. If you are not happy, call me and talk to
me. You saved my life and my heart and I want to do for you.
A week passed and June came back earlier than planned --
because, she said, she'd missed me and was itchy for me.
Barbie had left for home two days before and I was randy as
hell.
I got over to June's apartment at six. I had just sold a
piece and was feeling jubilant. As soon as the door was closed, she
got a liplock on me and the only thing that kept my cock out of her
was the aroma of broiling steak. She fended me off and we had a
delicious meal. I didn't do it justice; I kept thinking of desert.
When we got upstairs, June wanted to tell me of the Special
Olympics regionals and I was more than willing to listen. But after
forty minutes, as we were closing doors and shutting windows (heat,
remember?), she suddenly turned to me and said, "Oooooh -- I am so
itchy thinking of a big rubber dick."
"I was surprised you could take that big dildo in your little
cunt," I admitted.
"I told you my boyfriend-boss was very big," she said.
"I thought you meant simply tall."
"I don't want to think about him," she said. "I want to be
with you. We can always use that big rubber cock."
I smiled sadly. "I didn't think to bring it with me," I
confessed. I was standing behind her and slid my hands under her
blue sweater to hold her nipples. She pushed her ass against me and
shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, her breath hissing.
"But -- we can improvise."
She reached back and rubbed my cock through my pants. "This
cock is so nice and hard -- " I bent and licked the back of her
neck. She shivered and said, "And this tongue is so nice and wet --"
"I want to fuck you -- now!" I breathed into her ear.
That's when I began to discover just how kinky this lovely
little Singaporean girl really was.
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