The Making of a Cocksman

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5-9 & Epilogue Available On

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Chapter Four

The next morning was a day to sleep in, it being Saturday, but of course that didn't happen with Claire and the posse in the house. They were particularly charged up that morning because two of their number were no longer virgins and one of those had forfeited that virginity within range of the hearing of the rest, only the night before. I didn't know they had actually been in the hallway, listening to Large Marge moan her way through a couple of orgasms while her virgin pussy got all sloppy with my sperm.

But, I was sure they all knew what had happened.

Some of you might be thinking that I'd have wanted to be up and strutting around, like a rooster in the barnyard, all proud of what I'd done. But you have to remember that, up until this time, the relationship between the posse and me had been adversarial in nature. I picked on them ... and they tried to make my life miserable in return. And, Marge hadn't wanted to stay around and cuddle, so it wasn't like I had found love or anything. Even though they, including Claire, were all quite sure I had stuffed many a pussy full of my hard prick, I still wasn't at all used to the idea that I had actually had sex with a girl. Two, if you count my sister, and that was pretty weird to think about too. So I tried to stay in bed, hoping they'd all leave and go somewhere.

It was not to be.

Claire barged into my room - that was getting to be an annoying routine, it seemed - and I could hear the girls out in the hallway tittering, though at least they didn't follow her in.

"Get up lazy bones!" Claire shouted gleefully. I told myself that was a good sign. She was happy, and that meant I had made Marge, and by extension, the rest of the posse, happy too. That was confirmed when Claire leaned over and whispered in my blanket-covered ear.

"You did good last night."

Her incorrect English notwithstanding, I felt a little better, but was still averse to facing a bunch of girls who knew what "good" I had done. But you can't deflect a fifteen year old girl by saying, "I can't possibly face all those girls." It just isn't done. Not if you're a guy. I did manage to get her to leave by promising I'd get up and appear at breakfast.

I tried to take as long as I could to get a shower and get dressed, hoping that they'd all be done eating by the time I got there, but they dawdled with their food, probably thinking I was trying to build up the suspense for a triumphal entry. I was suddenly the star attraction in the Hopkins household. I didn't realize how much until I went into the kitchen.

They were all still in their pajamas and, before I arrived, were all chattering like Magpies. That stopped as soon as I walked in the room. My mother, working at the stove, even turned around to see why everybody had suddenly gone silent. She saw me and raised an eyebrow, but she was used to the girls treating me like a pariah, and just turned back around to tend the eggs.

"Good morning Bobby," said Marge. There was a burst of giggles and Mom turned back around. This kind of behavior did not fit into her expectations.

I managed a whole one-word sentence. "Hi."

The girls scooted around to make room for me at the table. There was no chair, so I'd have to stand, but they made room. My mother's eyebrow rose again. She wasn't a stupid woman by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't have enough information to arrive at any unhappy conclusions, so eventually she shrugged and turned back to the eggs, which were really well done by then.

The silence went on and it might have gotten really uncomfortable if my father hadn't walked in. He looked around and said, "I love Saturdays! Especially when my house is filled with beautiful women." He loved to compliment the posse and they loved him for it.

That got giggles and conversation going again and two of the girls shared one chair so he could sit down. I might be a sex machine but I didn't rate my own chair. Other than a lot of interesting looks from all those girls, including my sister, breakfast concluded without much further ado.

But those interesting looks were powerful. You know how women complain all the time about how men look at them? They complain that men undress them with their eyes and all that stuff. Right?

Well I can tell you I know what that feels like. All of those girls were looking at me like I was one of those modern paintings you see where you can't figure out what it's actually a picture of. And somebody comes along and says "Isn't it wonderful?" And, of course, you don't want to sound like an idiot so you come up with some lame response like, "Yes ... so expressive." But you still don't understand it, and it's particularly upsetting when it appears someone else does!

Anyway, the girls were looking at me like that, and Large Marge was the one who had said, "Isn't it wonderful?"

A week ago, if I'd have looked at the girls like that, Claire would have been complaining to our mother. Girls don't like to be looked at like that.

But what I can't understand is why women complain about that. I mean they fix themselves all up with makeup and slinky clothes and a nice hairdo and all that, and they look all luscious and edible, like they were a piece of pie. Come to think of it, maybe that's where the term "Cheesecake" came from.

Anyway, I sort of liked it, because it was obvious none of them were actually repelled or anything. Knobby Robby looked pretty disgusted, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with me exactly. I mean when she looked at me she didn't frown, or grimace or anything. But, there was something different in her eyes when she looked at me. She ate like she was miffed about something, though. I decided not to worry about it and just enjoyed being the center of attention. Even though none of them were saying anything to me.

I didn't have anything to do that morning, and planned on another session with Mr. Heinlein's book, but cartoons were first. I always watched the Roadrunner show on Saturday mornings. I kept hoping Wiley Coyote would catch that damn bird. I knew he never would, but it was fun to watch him try. Now, later in life, I suspect that teenage boys who didn't have access to ready pussy, transposed Wiley's efforts on top of their own efforts to catch some pussy some day. We never thought we actually would back then - get some pussy I mean - but there was always hope, and a lot of effort went into trying to find the "Acme" device that, when you pushed the right button, would catch that giggling girl and lay her out naked for you to ravage.

Sorry. Again, I digress. That's one of the things that happens to people when too much, that's too momentous, happens suddenly in life. It gets you to thinking.

Anyway, that's why I was sitting on the couch in the living room when the posse stampeded out the front door. I don't know where they were going, but they were excited to get there.

And Marge stopped by the couch on her way out and kissed me on the lips. They were all watching her do it, and there was a chorus of "Oooooo"s and shrieks and giggles that left me beet red.

It didn't affect Marge at all. She just breathed in my face and smiled and said, "Thank you Bobby."

How do girls know how to do that? Produce instant boners, I mean. I was rock hard before the front door slammed and they left me alone. That was it for cartoons. I had to retreat to my room and whack off. Remembering Marge's smell, and the feel of those big soft tits against my chest had me spurting in record time.

I was four more chapters into "Stranger In A Strange Land" when my mother stuck her head in my door and told me she and Dad were going garage saleing. Two chapters later I heard them come back. Except it wasn't 'them' ... it was just Claire. She stuck her head in the door too.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" she asked.

"Garage sales," I muttered.

"Goody!" she yipped. She came in the room.

END OF PREVIEW

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