The Making of a Gigolo (9) - Amanda Griggs

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Two

While Florence was being impregnated by Ted, the brother she would no longer need that night was away from home again.

His original agreement with Chester Chumley was to provide "relaxation" to Chester's wife, Felicity, one night, every other week. Friday had been chosen by Felicity, as the night when, every other week, Bobby would sleep with her all night. The obverse Friday night was supposed to belong to Annie, who was Felicity's maid. He had gotten both of them pregnant, a little more than a month ago.

Neither woman, however, was satisfied with one opportunity to lie heaving and groaning with passion, beneath Bobby only every other week. In truth, they loved the time they just spent lying there with him after making love, just as much. Chester was firm, though. He felt like it was his fault that both women had become infatuated with Bobby, but he wasn't going to just let the man take over his whole family. He insisted that his wife sleep with him every other Friday night.

So, the women came up with a solution of their own. It was simple, really. On the night that belonged to Annie, Felicity crawled in bed with him long enough to have three or four orgasms, and get filled up with the sperm that had already impregnated her. Then she got up to go take a shower and sleep with her husband. That left Annie the rest of the night with Bobby. Of course, the next Friday night, it was reversed. Annie let Bobby ring her bell, and then left, so that Felicity could have the rest of the night with him.

Since they tended to want to start around seven or eight in the evening, both women had the time with him they craved, and both women got some attention every week.

Neither woman was far enough along with Bobby's baby to show any signs of being pregnant just yet, which meant that both women could be taken in any position, with no discomfort. Both women had learned, too, that sometimes, when Bobby was very rough with them, it was deliciously fun. Whoever got him all night was fortunate enough, in her own mind, that she got to see all the different faces of Bobby's lovemaking. Rough ... gentle ... sweet ... quick ... maddeningly teasing ... using only his mouth, or fingers ... the variety was as prolific as the orgasms they had with him.

After six Friday nights with him, both women were thoroughly addicted.

Another member of the Dalton family was out, with a member of the opposite sex on Halloween night too. That was Linda, who was Bobby's seventeen-year old sister. She was out with her boyfriend, Paul. They had been going together now since the last fourth of July carnival, when she more or less fell in love with him at first sight.

Paul, a verified science and math geek, had been totally unprepared for a girl like Linda to get interested in him. She was one of "those girls" to him, a girl who was not available to someone like him, or his friends. He had geek friends who were girls, but they were different.

That there had been another date, after he took her on every ride in the carnival, had been the pinnacle of his life, to that point.

She had been dragging him to higher and higher peaks ever since. He had spent four months in an almost constant state of amazed gratitude that she was still interested in him. He knew it couldn't last, but he was enjoying the hell out of it while it did.

Late in July, she had kissed him ... over and over. He had almost spurted in his pants and was horrified by his boners, which she ignored, even though each time he got one it stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew she was aware of them, but she never said or did anything about it. He was still embarrassed by them, but not nearly as much, any more.

In August, she took him skinny dipping, at night, in the pond on her farm. She had kissed him then too ... naked ... in the water. Nothing else had happened. Nothing else needed to happen. He had found perfection. He was the perfect gentleman, both because that was just part of his value system, and because he didn't want to do anything that was "too far" or "too fast" or might risk the unbelievable joy he'd stumbled into.

In September, she got tired of him being a gentleman. She had taken his hands, and just put them on her breasts, without saying a word. Then, while he felt, and squeezed, almost insane with the ecstasy of touching a girl's breasts, while she was kissing him like she meant it ... she had touched the front of his pants ... which was sticking out like a sore thumb.

He had almost cried when he spurted, just from her touch. She knew what had happened, but she kept kissing him anyway, telling him what a compliment it was.

She wasn't a slut. He knew that. He'd have fought anyone who called her that, even though anyone in the school could probably pound him to a pulp. Sluts would have sex with anybody. And she didn't have sex with him ... not really. It was more like she was pulling him closer and closer towards that terrifying activity. At the same time he could tell that, while she wanted to go closer and closer, she didn't want to go any faster than she was making things go. He was relieved, in one sense, because, if she was willing to take charge of things like that ... he didn't have to. That was good, because he was clueless about what to do next. And even if he'd have known that, he thought ... he wouldn't know when to take the next sexual step.

Not that those things were all they ever did. Not at all. In fact, those tantalizing, excruciatingly pleasant moments of passion were rare. They spent three evenings a week together now, doing homework together, putting picture puzzles together or some other activity. She helped him, for example, with various science experiments he wanted to do. He came to realize she was much more intelligent than the goofy, somewhat ditzy front she put up for most people.

Paul wasn't stupid either. It was obvious that, while she was not a slut, she had done all these things she did with him ... before. She was too accomplished at it. But he didn't know who she had done them with. She had been completely centered on him since the night of the carnival, that had so changed his life. She didn't go out with other boys, or even flirt with them. She was friendly, and he had personally seen two jocks ask her out. She had said, "No, I have a boyfriend ... but thanks." She hadn't asked him to be her boyfriend. She hadn't told him he was her boyfriend. It was almost like she had just decided it, quite suddenly. It wasn't like it didn't really matter what he thought about it. It was more like it was simply a fact of life.

Not that he was complaining.

His parents loved her. She was a "nice girl". They knew that. They didn't have to tell him to leave his bedroom door open, when she was there, doing homework with him. She always left it open herself. She never touched him, or kissed him when they were in his bedroom. She saved that for when they were alone.

Like tonight.

They'd gone to the "Thrill and Chill" at the movie house, where three horror films in a row had been screened. It had been a riot of thrown popcorn, screams, and laughter as a theater full of teenagers had vented their emotions, while watching one good movie and two old groaners.

But now, as they drove aimlessly around in the dark, she was cuddled up to him, with her head on his shoulder. He knew what that meant, by now. It meant she wanted to make out.

He parked behind the feed mill, in the shadows, and she crawled over the seat, into the back, almost gracefully. He followed, feeling clunky. She reached for the front of his pants on the very first kiss. All he could think about was shooting off in his pants again. He didn't want to do that.

"Wait," he moaned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't want ... that ... to happen again," he said.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't mind."

"Yeah," he said. "But you're not the one who has to stay in wet, sticky pants."

"Oh!" she yipped. "I'm sorry," she said, kissing him quickly. "I never thought of that."

"I like doing this," he said, weakly.

"I love doing this," she sighed. "With you," she added.

Her original touch had gotten him hard. Her words finished the job, and he felt the tip leak.

"I don't know what to do," he moaned.

She was quiet for a minute.

"Paul?" came her soft voice.


"I love you."

It hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been living a dream for four months ... a fantasy, that had gone on and on as he watched in disbelief. He had worried every day that she would tire of whatever it was she was attracted to in him, and go away, to leave him a crushed and empty shell of his former self.

"Do you love me?" she asked. Her voice sounded scared.

He couldn't speak. Her eyes were wide and white, in the dark. She expected him to say something, but he had no breath. He nodded frantically, in panic.

"Can you say it?" she asked, with something else in her voice that he couldn't recognize.

He nodded frantically again. He realized he was gasping for breath. He held up one finger, telling her to wait. He felt like he was going to pass out.

She waited, silently, and he had never been so thankful in his life that somebody had done what he asked her to. Slowly, he got control back, breathing deeply. He tried to think analytically, since that calmed him, usually.

"Just a minute more," he panted.

Still she sat, silent ... waiting.

Finally he felt like he could move forward. He had to have some answers first, though ... he needed to understand this, or it would sweep him away, and he didn't think that was wise. If there was even a single chance that she meant what she'd said, he didn't want to run any risk whatsoever of screwing this up.

"Before I answer that," he finally said. "Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded, like he had, only not frantically.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why do I love you?" she said.

He nodded, and was proud that he could do it normally. Just her words, asking if that's what he meant sounded like music to his ears.

"I'm not sure I can put it into words," she said. "I just know I do. I knew it on the Ferris Wheel."

"Clear back then?" He was astonished.

"It's much stronger now," she said, as if that were the most reasonable thing in the world to say. "You're sweet ... you care about my feelings ... you don't treat me like I'm stupid." She took a breath. "You make me laugh, and you make me want to do the naughtiest things."

His prick leaked again.

"You think I'm pretty," she went on. "I think you're handsome."

He blinked. He was the farthest thing from handsome there was, in his opinion.

"You're smart. You help me with my homework, and I actually understand it when we're done. My grades have gone up a whole grade point since last year, and I'm not falling behind in any of my classes." She seemed to stop to think. "I love the way you kiss me, but that gets back to doing naughty things. I already said that one," she said, matter-of-factly. "I don't know ... I just can't put it into words."

Paul felt the panic squeeze his body, and a maniacal laugh built in his chest. With strength from someplace he didn't recognize, he clamped down on it all.

"You did pretty well for not being able to put it into words," he said.

"I have to know if you love me too," she said, quite seriously. "It ... matters to me."

"I'm a geek," he said.

"I know that," she said. "I don't care about that."

"Jocks ask you out on dates," he said.

"I don't want to be with them. I want to be with you."

"I'm afraid," he moaned.

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm afraid you'll leave me," he sighed. There. It was out. He was a stupid geek, who didn't have any self confidence.

"If you love me, I'll never leave you," she said, taking his face in her hands.

"What does that mean?" he whined.

"Do you love me?" she insisted.

"Yes!" he shouted.

She didn't flinch. Instead she kissed him, still holding his face. It was a sweet, gentle kiss that he'd remember for thirty years. Of course, what she said next may have had something to do with that.

"Then it means that I want you to be my boyfriend until you get up the courage to ask me to marry you. It means I won't want to wait very long after school for the wedding. It means that, some day, I want to have your babies." She kissed him again. "And it means that, when we're old and gray, I want to be able to kiss you like this, whenever I want to."

Then she kissed him with a fury that took his breath away. He actually ended up on his back, with her on top of him as her hungry lips threatened to suck the life from him, like the vampire in the second movie they'd watched that night.

She broke it. "I know a way ... so that you won't make a mess, and have to sit in wet, sticky pants," she panted.

She didn't wait, or ask if it was all right. She just attacked his belt and his pants, pulling at them. He had to help her, even though his mind was stuttering, and he couldn't think straight. He looked down as she freed his stiff penis, the first time she'd seen it, or touched it directly. He knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to make a mess on her face, if she didn't move it, and move it damn quick! He took in a breath to tell her, and, right before his eyes, she swallowed him whole.

He jerked, and a ragged shout left his lungs, carried on the air he was going to warn her with. He actually felt his balls jump, just before his cum rocketed out, into her mouth. He felt the terror of surprising her, but it was blown away by her "Mmmmmmmmm" as she took what he offered, obviously gladly. He heard her swallow, and then swallow again, the gulping noises loud in the quiet car.

She sucked him for what seemed like five more minutes, long after he was soft, and harmless again. He lay as if dead, as if she was the vampire who had sucked his life out, through his prick, rather than his veins. He had the errant thought that she had done this before too, but he just didn't care. She had done it for him this time. And, with the conviction of youth, he was quite sure she'd never do it for any other man again in her whole life.

On November first, around seven in the morning, Mirriam went to Forence's room. Her angst about how the date had turned out had kept her awake. She'd actually heard Flo come in, and had wanted to burst out of her room, to ask what had happened. Doubt, and not a little fear had kept her from doing that. If it had gone badly, and Flo was disappointed, she didn't want to make the girl go through admitting it. If it had gone well, she didn't want to interrupt the flow of happiness.

She was ambivalent about those words ... "good" and "bad". They were relative. What was good for Flo, might mean that Mirriam would be alone again, except for Bobby. She would always have Bobby ... she knew that ... but it wasn't quite the same. What she had with Bobby was so deep that it claimed her very bones. She loved Bobby even more than she'd loved Joe. But that had to be secret, and it was fun to be open about things, sometimes, like with Ted.

So, what was good for Flo, would be bad for Mirriam, and vice versa.

She knew the answer as soon as she entered the room, where her daughter lay sleeping. She smelled the answer. She knew that odor well ... the odor of Ted's emissions. The Raggedy Ann costume was on the floor, and she picked it up. Another shirt was nearby, and, when she picked that up, it was still damp. She brought that shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. It was the odor of Ted.

With a sudden urge that she didn't understand ... would never understand ... she went to the bed and pulled the sheet off of her naked, sleeping daughter. Flo was lying on her back, one arm thrown up above her head. Her pubis was a mess of sperm, some of it still wet, it was so heavy.

She was putting the sheet back over her daughter, when Flo opened her eyes.

"Good morning, darling," said her mother, forcing happiness into her voice. "I take it you had a good time."

"I know why you love him," said Flo, not sounding sleepy at all. "I won't take him away from you."

"You already have," sighed Mirriam, sitting on the bed.

"No, Mamma, I haven't," said Flo, sitting up. The sheet fell from her breasts. There were two red spots on them, where Ted had sucked too hard, for too long. "He loves you, Mamma."

"Sharing him with Prudence was one thing," said Mirriam, her voice strong. "Sharing him with you is another."

"That's not how it's going to be," said Flo, taking her mother's hand.

She brought it to her lips and kissed her mother's fingertips.

"You won't be sharing him with me."

Mirriam felt anger at the stupidity of her daughter, for passing up a chance for long term happiness, and started to tell her so.

"I'll be sharing him with you," said Flo.

Bobby's sexual impact on the women around him didn't necessarily mean they all had sex with him. In Constance's case, he was the first man she kissed, and the first man whose penis she saw. She had fantasies about making love to him, but, after she met Tim, those fantasies played out with him, for the most part. While it is true that Constance shared some relatively minor sexual moments with Bobby, her relatively major moments were all spent with Tim.

Such a moment came in November when, while Prudence was at Mirriam's with the twins, and Tim was at Constance's house alone with her, he asked her to marry him.

Like most of the other women her age, in that day and age, Constance believed that a girl should be a virgin when she went on her honeymoon. Of course, she had the same problem all women have had, who wanted to be virgins on their wedding night. That problem was that it is normal to want to give yourself sexually to the man you love ... and you inevitably love him long before the wedding.

Constance had wanted to feel Bobby's penis inside her for years. She had resisted that temptation. Now, on a cool, crisp November evening, after hearing the words she had at one time thought she'd never hear, her suppressed desire burst from her in a way that completely overwhelmed Tim Appleton.

Tim, for his part, was just a normal, average guy, who had lusted after females ever since he started growing hair under his arms, and around his penis. He was a good guy, and he learned to care about Constance, at the same time he got to explore that mystical world of sexuality that all men want to explore. He did, in fact, love her, as amorphous and difficult as that concept is to describe, and he had no intention of hurting her, or hurting "them" by pushing her farther, sexually, than she was willing to go. He numbered himself among the world's luckiest men, in fact, because Constance let him touch her, and brought him incredible ecstasy with her mouth on his prick.

Had one of his friends said, "You know, if you ask Connie to marry you, you might get lucky and get a piece of ass," Tim would not have thought it was funny. If that friend had leered and said, "I'd ask her to marry me if it would get my dick wet," there would have been a fight.

Every young man who pops the question has a little inevitable angst about how that question will be answered, and Tim was no different. He hoped she'd be happy. He hoped she'd say yes. To that end, it is fair to say he was not entirely surprised when she showed her emotions by crying happy tears, and kissing him. It wouldn't have been unreasonable for him to hope that she'd give him a blow job too.

What Tim was not prepared, however, for them to end up naked as jaybirds on Connie's bed, as her pussy sank down on his prick.

Things moved somewhat faster than Tim was prepared for, to give him his due. That she wanted him naked, on her bed, worked in with his hope ... or expectation ... for the blow job. That she wanted to be naked too, was icing on the cake. That she kissed him before filling her mouth with his spunk, was appreciated. Then, suddenly, she was over him, his prick in her hand, and he watched in both amazement and disbelief as the tip spread her pussy lips, which then dropped like a stone.

Instantly, his prick was surrounded by hot, sucking pussy. A half second after that, his brain registered what was happening. His balls, so far away from his brain, took another three seconds to jump with joy. That jumping expelled the contents of his scrotum, which flowed through a tube into his urethra, and took the path of less resistance, going out the tip of his penis, instead of into his bladder.

In street talk, Tim blew a serious nut before he had taken a single stroke.

Now, with accomplished, and experienced lovers, premature ejaculation is a problem. It can, in fact, lead to the breakup of an otherwise fine relationship. With first-timers, though, it isn't quite so devastating, or at least unsatisfactory. Basically, first-timers don't know what they're missing. Or missed. You get the point.

In fact, it felt fantastic to Tim, who suddenly approved eagerly of the acceleration of the relationship. Constance wasn't unhappy either, because her experience tended to center on what that milky white spunk did, inside a woman. Right then, Constance wasn't looking for an orgasm ... not really. What she was doing was sealing the deal, so to speak. In many cultures, the act of copulation legitimizes, or results in "marriage". Constance Harris, once she accepted Tim as her intended mate ... mated with him.

To her, it was that simple.

What was not so simple, was her reaction, as she lay there in her lover's arms, with a belly full of his spunk.

"We can't do this any more until we're married," she said.

"What?!" Tim's voice was agitated. I think most men in his situation would have been a little agitated.

"I said we can't do this any more until we're married," said Constance, proving that women don't understand the nuances of inflection in the male voice.

"But it was fantastic!" he moaned.

"Yes," she sighed. "It was."

"But you're on the pill ... right?" he said, hopeful that she would see reason.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean anything," she said.

Tim was getting his first dose of female logic. At least it was the first dose he got from a girl who really mattered to him.

"I don't understand," he moaned.

"We shouldn't have done this until we were married," she said, more or less calmly. "I love you so much, and when you asked me to marry you ... I couldn't help myself this time." she explained.

"Constance, will you marry me?" asked Tim, only half kidding.

She was less than amused.

"If you think I'm just going to lie down and let you take your pleasure with me any time you feel like it, before we get married ... you have another think coming!" she said.

"But Honeeeeeey," he moaned.

"You'll have to be satisfied with what we've done before," said Constance. There was no flexibility in her voice at all. "Now, when should we get married?"

"Tomorrow?" suggested Tim, who was still trying to think with his little head, which was still somewhat dazed by its recent experience.

"Silly," she said, smiling. "That's one of the reasons I love you. I love it when you're silly like that."

She sat up.

"Now, get dressed. We have to go tell everybody!"

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