I-Candy

Shit, my troubles probably started before I was born, maybe even generations before I was born, but for sure there can be no doubt I was already in trouble not long after I was born. My birth mother might have been a prostitute, and if that is true, then who knows who or what my sperm donor father was. All we do know for sure is that I have adoption papers from Bulgaria, and I was about like two years old when I came to this country.

The papers say that I was between ten and twelve months old when I showed up at the orphanage, well nourished and apparently normal. Despite the horror stories that you hear about the orphanages back then in Romania, I must have been well treated in neighboring Bulgaria, regardless of what the norm was there. Between whatever nursing on mother’s milk I got before the orphanage and whatever special or at least not abusive or neglectful treatment I got the year I was in the orphanage, I arrived at my permanent home in Malibu in great health. In fact I hardly ever have been sick. Maybe that explains why I had perfect attendance all through school, and that probably helps explain the nearly straight A’s I had all the way through.

We have always celebrated my birthday on May 20 because that is the day I arrived at LAX and started life as an American kid. I sure as hell am not a Bulgarian. I mean, people from Bulgaria don’t even think I look like I’m from there. Maybe the papers are fake. Wherever sperm met ovum, and wherever I breathed my first breath and maybe two years of breaths after that, the me you see and experience is all American, and I turned nineteen, or close to it, this year.

Anyway, there must have been some interesting mixing of genetic material for a generation or more before I was born in Bulgaria or wherever. My skin is, like, caramel colored. I’m serious! If I don’t spend a whole lot of time in the sun, you can get one of those caramels in the little cube shape and hold it up to my skin, and they are the same color. If I have spent a shitload of time in the sun, I look like I’m almost African American. I was even called the “n-word” once!

My hair is impossible to make do anything other than bounce all over my head. It looks like that Clark Kent guy’s hair on Smallville, and if I’ve been swimming or surfing a lot, it isn’t going to stay where you brush it. I get accused of using chemicals to highlight it. No shit! Like, I’m going to mess with that mop? It just does its own thing. It never gets, like, blond, but it gets that streaky “highlight” thing going on. The girls seem to like it, though.

So, I’ve got this weird caramel colored skin, and this hair that goes everywhere and is, who knows where it would look like it’s from, and then these fucking “awesome” blue eyes. I’m not shitting you! People just stare at those fuckers, or more like into them, and say, “Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got the most awesome blue eyes?”

I want to say, like, “Dude, every fuckin’ day!” but I have some manners and some humility. I always just say, “Thanks, I guess they are unusual looking, but they’re the only ones I’ve ever had.”

Sometimes, they aren’t done though. They say shit like, “Man, they’re not just blue, they’re like agates!” One girl even said they were like a “blue sunburst” or some shit like that. I’m like, get over it, listen to what I’m saying, or let me show you what I know about fucking. You’ll forget about my damn blue eyes then!

Sometimes they comment about my straight nose or my bone structure or my fine eyebrows. Oh yeah, I’ve even been asked if I pluck those suckers. Shit, they look like fucking girl eyebrows, and I only wish I had enough there to pluck! And shaving? I can go two weeks without shaving my moustache and no one notices. My chin has, like, six hairs in it. I shave them when I shave my moustache, every two weeks.

Puberty was totally screwed up for me. I guess I had a big dick even as a little kid, but we all just figured it was because I was uncut and nearly all my friends had been circumcised. Then when I turned nine that sucker, maybe I should say, fucker, started growing! Okay, I’m pretty much a nudist anyway; and have been my whole life. But, shit, here’s this thing that’s always been a little on the big side, getting even bigger; on a nine fucking year old kid!

I guess if the hair had started growing then, we’d have decided that the Bulgarians had really messed up on my birth certificate and I had to be a couple of years older than two when I got here. But, no, this is how screwed up and weird my body is! The pubic hair didn’t start growing until three years ago. Yeah, I was fucking sixteen damn years old before I got pubic hair! I’ve got me a nice little tuft of hair there now and maybe eight wispy hairs in each armpit. You don’t think I get some shit from the guys about that? You have to get really close to see that I have any hair at all, and they’re all going on about me shaving my pits. Fuck! The only shaving I do is on that miserable moustache and those six chin hairs, and I only do that because they look so ridiculous when I let them grow.

Hell, I swam on our high school team, and when the coach said something about “shaving down” for the championship meet, I just looked at the bits of hair I’d taken so long to grow and thought, NO fuckin’ way! I shaved my head that time. Not a good look for me, but I did swim my best times.

Okay, so I’m this “Bulgarian” kid plopped down in the U.S. of A. at age two. I don’t remember any of that, but guess who I get for parents! A fucking surfer dude and a gourmet chef!

I mean, my dad does pro surfing tours and shit, and my mom runs the fucking kitchen at the Beverly Plaza! Doesn’t sound like a match does it? You should have heard some of their fights! He’d come back from a month surfing in Australia and she’d accuse him of fucking some “Sheila” over there. Or she’d go off to some Cordon Bleu cooking seminar and he’d ask if any of the men were straight. “Every last one of them!” I heard her say once, and then they fought about how many of them she sucked off. They’d cuss at each other right in front of me. No wonder I have a fucking potty mouth!

Then, not always, but sometimes they’d have their make-up sex right there. Like, it wasn’t as if they were fucking in front of me on purpose, they just got so hot, they forgot I was there. Man, they were fun to watch. Really! They were better than any porn I’ve ever watched. Okay, I haven’t watched that much, but, shit, those two know how to fuck. Well, they make love, I guess, but it is hot no matter what you call it.

My dad doesn’t even have that big a dick. Maybe it’s average, but my big ass dick, when it started growing when I was nine, it was probably the same size! Anyway, I’ve never measured his dick, but say it’s six inches. He knows how to use every damn inch, and she is like loving every thing he does… and she has some skills of her own that he likes too. Funny thing is, when I got that dick growth spurt ten years ago? That’s when they sort of realized they might want to be more private with their fucking, shit, their love making. I haven’t seen them doing it since then, but I have a great memory. I’ve used some of my dad’s moves, and the babes do like it.

Oh, yeah, my virginity? It lasted the first nine years of my life. I might have stayed a virgin longer, but my big ol’ nine year old dick was showing and this thirteen year old girl like three houses down sees it and has to have it. I mean, my parents aren’t rich, but we have this house in Malibu, one of the old ones on the beach. They got it before I showed up, some special deal, it’s like the smallest one and kind of beat up looking. Rich people live in all the other houses, or at least own them. This is our one house, some of these people have other houses and aren’t even in their Malibu houses that much.

So, the story goes that my parents couldn’t keep clothes on me when I was little. Living on the beach it was kind of like not a big deal when a little kid looses his suit or runs away with nothing on. As I got older, I’d wear big fucking board shorts that sometimes just came off. I always acted , like, surprised, but I knew in advance I was gonna lose those boardies at least half, maybe more, of the times those suckers came off. I STILL wear them lose and low, and they STILL just happen to fall off once in a while. Shit! It gives me an excuse to be naked once in a while even when I’m not on a nude beach.

Okay, so, anyway, I’m nine, and this dick of mine is a big embarrassment, and I’m trying to keep my board shorts on more than I used to. Still, they are too big, and they slip down as I’m coming up the beach from boogie boarding. I grab them and pull them back up, but this neighbor girl has seen my monster dick. She must have obsessed about it for a solid three days, but she figures out how to get me into her house when no one is home after those three days.

Yeah, I was a regular nine year old boy, even if I had a man’s dick. Maybe if I hadn’t seen my mom and dad fucking, nothing would have happened. Shit, I really wasn’t that interested in fucking a girl. I wanted to get back out on the beach and play on my boogie board some more, but I was curious about this house that sat vacant most of the year. I guess the girl was kind of pretty. Shit! She was thirteen and I was nine, she had pussy hair, and she wanted to get fucked. We were both virgins. I copied some of the things I’d seen my dad doing to my mom.

It wasn’t hard for me to get a boner, but that was it. It felt good having it in her pussy, but I didn’t cum. She said losing her cherry hurt, but she also came two or three times. It was not exactly like when my parents fucked because I didn’t know when I should stop if I never started bucking and moaning like my dad did right before he slowed down and stopped. Anyway, she liked it. She liked it a lot.

Three more times that summer she got her parents to leave her home alone, and she snagged me in. My friends were impressed, sort of, that I was fucking a thirteen year old girl, but I think they just figured it was because my dick had gotten big enough. Maybe they’d want to do it when theirs got that big too. Truth was that I liked it, but it wasn’t that big a deal. It was more like she wanted it, and I just figured I should do it because she wanted it that much. I never came that summer.

So, the next summer my friends and I started experimenting with sucking and ass fucking and masturbating, but I still didn’t come. The house where the girl had been the summer before stayed vacant that summer, and even though I could tell my dick (which was still growing, but not as fast as it had the year before) was getting stared at more, no girl tried to get me to fuck her that year.

Mostly my buds and I just surfed and told bad jokes, but the sex play was interesting. It was like we were learning stuff we could use later. We hid under one guy’s deck and held on to each others’ dicks one time. It was like what we’d heard a circle jerk was, but we didn’t really know what to do. Then someone figured out that it felt REALLY good if you move your hands. So, we tried stuff, but nobody came.

The next year one guy came, and my “girlfriend” came back, but she was fifteen now, too old to be with an eleven year old guy, even if he was hung big enough to show like a horse in his board shorts. Besides she had a boyfriend that she seemed to be determined to show off to the neighborhood. He was a good looking dude, and I guess I kind of had a crush on him more than I was jealous of him. He was like sixteen, maybe seventeen. His car was nice, a BMW or something, and we all thought he was like a god. He hardly noticed us, and we surfed and talked about fucking girls like we were all doing it, even though the pinnacle of all of our action was just the mysterious jism that only one of us could produce.

One time I told the guys about what I’d seen my parents doing. If I thought they’d be excited and appreciate it, I was fucked in the head. “Ewww!” was the response I got. “You watched your parents FUCK!?”
So, I lied. “Just once! The door wasn’t closed, and I only watched long enough to be grossed out.”
“Ewww! I hope I never see THAT!”
“Yeah, that’s gross all right! YUCK!”
When school started those of us who lived there year round were in middle school. Well, my buds anyway. There were other guys living on the beach, and girls too, but we really seemed to segregate ourselves by age and gender up until that point. Man! Did things change that year!

I came that year. It was like this clear liquid the first time, and it felt weird and wonderful. Then there was this series of fucking wet dreams. I loved them and hated the sticky mess in the sheets. I hadn’t owned any pajamas for years, been sleeping naked for most of those years, and the mess in the sheets was like something put there to embarrass me. Laundry was one of my chores anyway, but now I was washing my sheets more than I had before.

Being the youngest guys in the middle school, my buds and I hung out together in a miserable gang. I guess word got out about my dick. Maybe it was because I didn’t know how to make it go away in my pants. I hated briefs, and boxers seemed like, well, worthless. So, I was freeballing and obviously showing a lot, but it never seemed like anyone was looking or noticing. You know how guys that age have boners all the time, and I spent a lot of time walking funny.

Of course we had P.E. too. We would bounce around in our gym shorts and then take our showers. I guess the other guys probably envied my dick size, but I was all like wishing I had the hair they all seemed to be sprouting above their dicks. So, maybe it was only a couple of the guys who had hair that year, but it felt like I was the only one still all smooth. It really got bad the next four years when EVERY other guy really did get their pubic hair and I stayed smooth. Fuck! Yeah, I was soooo happy when those hairs finally started growing when I was sixteen!

So, sixth grade, first year in middle school and I start hearing things like “donkey dick” and “dildo stuck in his pants.” My buds helped me ignore it, but it was awkward for them. It was like people thought they were my harem or something. We quit experimenting with each other and didn’t hang out together quite as obviously. Hard to describe, but middle school is such a fucking screwed up time.

So, my friends are still my friends, but it seems like forces beyond our control are trying to split us up. Then one guy gets a girlfriend, then another one does, then I fuck a girl and come in her for the first time. I doubt my friends were fucking their girl friends, but it’s like I can’t have a girl friend without fucking her, even then. My dick is just assumed to be for fucking, and I never get a chance to show I’ve got other stuff going on, other talents. Shit! It’s not like I mind fucking. A dick like mine gets me a lot of fucks, and I can’t fight that.

Two of the guys hook up with each other, and we kind of protect them from the jerks who want to make them feel bad for liking each other. My dick finds itself in a few more pussies, and I start learning how to make the fucking like a long ride on a sweet wave. Powerful shit! One time the fucking is so freaking hot, and so damn sweet; shit, I cry. Weird!

Hell! Most of my friends stay virgins (except for the playing we did) all through middle school, and there I am: I lost my virginity at fucking nine years old, and all through middle school I’m getting sex every month or so, more like every week or so by the time I’m in eighth grade. Sometimes it seemed like everybody looked at me weird like. Even the teachers and the cafeteria workers seemed like they stared at my fucking crotch. I didn’t want to not fuck, but I didn’t want to be a freak either!

A few of my classmates and friends experimented with pot. It was California, and we were adolescents. It seemed perfectly natural; still, I didn’t do it. I didn’t sneak any of my dad’s beers or my mother’s wines either. I had my own high. It was the feel of a tight, hot, wet pussy sliding all along my big dick. I couldn’t imagine anything else feeling as good. Sometimes I’d make the sliding in be a long, slow, crazy making event. The girls would just lose it sometimes. We’d both be like out of our heads, totally animalistic by the time we came. What a fine thing I had hanging off of me! What a freaking fantastic thrill it was to feel it moving in and out of a girl’s wet sweet spot!

Then high school. I learn to use my tongue. Shit! I fucking LOVE eating pussy! I like getting a girl to orgasm two or three times before we slide my bigger than ever dick in. My mouth goes everywhere, and my dick gets like so good at finishing them off. I’m a modern man, and I respect women for all the things they can do just as well as any man, but I also like being in complete control, taking them way over the top when I’m fucking them. It’s a good thing I go to a high school that’s not into loads of homework. When I start swimming my junior year, there’s no way I could have kept up my grades, swum, fucked, and done some shitload of homework like some schools like to pile on their students.

My parents are doing their own things. My dad still surfs, but now he works for Curl Magazine (no, it’s not about fucking hair, dude), and he doesn’t travel so much. He and I talk pretty openly about what is going on in my life, and he even gives me pointers on sex. My mother is around in the mornings and a couple of days each week, but the rest of the time they are keeping her busy at like four different restaurants. Meals at our house are like vegetarian gourmet, but most of the time it’s from the microwave, and I’m often the one who gets it cooked.

So, I’m like a grown man almost, still living in my parents’ house when I’m in high school. As if it isn’t bad enough to have a dick that everyone knows about, my body gets like big time sexually hot. I mean my nipples do this thing like my dick did: suddenly they’re bigger than anything, sticking out and showing through all of my shirts, even when I’m wearing two layers. The swimming coaches have us doing weights as well as the pool workouts, and my muscles react like I’m on steroids. Yeah, I even got tested because a coach from some other school thinks I couldn’t look like I do without steroids.

Shit, I know some guys who used the juice. They are fucking BIG. I’m happy, I guess, my chest and lats are growing so much, but I’d never want to be that fucking big, and it’s ridiculous that a coach would think I was doing steroids. Fuck!

People come to the meets just to see if I can get my big dick into a Speedo. Our team wears jammers, but there’s still no place my dick can go inobtrusively. It’s just there. What are you going to do? To make things worse, I happen to be good at butterfly. I overheard (maybe they meant for me to hear?) a couple of guys talking once about how watching me swim the “fly” was like seeing me fucking. They didn’t sound disgusted, and I pretended I didn’t hear. Anyway, it seems like I am even more popular than ever after I start swimming. Getting nearly naked in front of a crowd feels natural enough for me, but the training has made my body “totally hot” according to several sources. It’s like it and my eyes are even more potent than how big my dick is, and I’m starting to wish people will pay some attention to how I think and what I know.

Yeah, life has been good to me, I guess, but it seems like troubles have always been there. I mean why do I have to be stuck with this dick that shows down my leg when I want people to listen to what I’m saying about the ethics of stem cell research? Why do I have to love fucking so much when I should be marching against the war in Iraq? Why do I have to have a body that makes people think about sex (even when they aren’t aware, for some unknown reason , of my huge dick) instead of understanding the message about capital punishment in a painting I’ve done on a piece of recycled plywood? And why do I have to have eyes that hypnotize people when I want them to be alert and thoughtful as I suggest my gay friends should have the same right to marry as my straight friends do?

I’m in college now, community college, and I commute from the same house I’ve always lived in. I’ve got a girlfriend, but my freshman year was like totally crazy. Guys and girls were all over me, and I had tons of sex; all good, I guess, but it almost screwed up my grades. Shit! I was so high on all the freaky sex I was doing, I almost didn’t care about fucking grades. Shit! And I’d be dressing like I didn’t know I was putting all my assets out for display. I mean it was like I’d wear some pants that were just riding right at the top of my dick. My shirt would be unbuttoned just so, and that little bit of pubic hair I have would be like showing over the top of the pants, if you could get close enough to see it. Between classes I’d pull the shirt off and you know my ass crack would be right out there.

I even let my too-big board shorts trick happen a time or two with my low rise pants. Like I’d be so innocent, and then the pants would just happen to fall off. I’d pull them back up, and still be all innocent, but it’s like I’ve got this essential need to let people see my junk. So, it’s all been seen in some pretty public places, but it always seems like an accident or like I don’t know I’m giving a show. Nobody EVER complains, though. It’s like I’m psychic, and I can feel the desire people send my way. I just wish they’d want to see what’s in my mind, my heart and my spirit as much as they want to see my dick.

Good Story, Male B.
Consider this effort the background material, and let us have some of the specific events that you alluded to here. More please!
X

You have a good writing style, however your content is insufferable. It sounds like this guy is just bragging and I probably wouldn't believe this story if he was in front of me telling it.

My advice is, cut down some (alot) of the background and launch straight into an experience this person had: The swim meet, the young girl, sex on campus...whatever. Flesh out one of those main thoughts and you'll have a great series on your hands.

The more stories you write with this character, the more opportunity you'll have to build him into his own entity. You don't have to give all of the story at one time.

The first word of your story is a perfect review.

Well, thanks, Xav and YJ20 (we'll leave B's comment elsewhere for the time being).

I was experimenting with trying to do a minimal piece since my last one had taken so many posts. It was something of a burst of egocentric me-if-I-was-19-etc.. My intention was to avoid telling the longer story and just see if I could say something compelling in one sitting. So, B, I can appreciate your scathing, if succinct, review: this didn't aspire to be fine literature.

However, if others feel as Xav and YJ20 do, I can generate more for this guy (I haven't even come up with a name for him yet).

Okay, sure, I [the author slips into character] can deal with being called a braggart and my writing shit. What you aren’t getting, though, is that my life isn’t all good, man. I mean, being thirteen was probably the worst, but nineteen isn’t always a whole lot better. And I’ve heard some pretty mean shit just because I happen to be born with the genes that made me grow a big dick. Yeah, it’s nice when the chicks and the dudes look at it and admire it, and sometimes they are more liberal with their favors because of it, if you know what I mean. But sometimes the name calling crap is just wrong. Nobody should get shit for what they can’t control!

I don’t know what all is in my genetic make-up. Like, my skin color is not African, Caucasian, or Asian, but that time I got called the n-word, it just wasn’t right, man. It wouldn’t be right even if my ancestors all came from Africa. Nobody’s ever insulted me because of my eye color, but that’d be just as wrong. So, the “donkey-dick” and “dildo-in-your-pants” stuff is just mean and rude. It makes me wonder why people want to hurt other people. I guess maybe they’ve been treated shitily themselves and don’t know any better than to try to make someone else feel bad.

Fuck, even when I was a little kid, I knew you didn’t do that shit.

Anyway, I’m a sophomore now at the community college, and I finally, like, have a real girl friend. You know, I’ve fucked a lot of girls, and that was fun, but this is different. She pisses me off sometimes, and, oh, yeah, I piss her off too, big time! Still, I get over it, and I want to, yeah, fuck, that’s a big part of it, but I also like to talk about stuff with her, get all wrapped around her, be places with her. I don’t think we are like totally-in-love-ready-to-get-married, but this hanging out, being a couple thing is cool.

The other thing is that spending more time with her and kind of caring (you know?) how she feels, means I am loving fucking even more than I used to, and who the hell thought THAT was possible! I don’t know if I have the same number of nerve cells in my dick or if they are better at FEELING sensations that any other guy’s dick, but DUDE, I love feeling a pussy sliding ALL the way along that damn thing.

Shit! Am I bragging again? I’m just trying to be honest here, man. I love a good rim job, would pay money (even though I never have) for a rockin’ blow job, can orgasm from having my nipples sucked on, and have cum like nobody’s business in a few guys’ asses, but the thing I do love the most is the way a pussy gets all hot and wet and just grips and massages your dick like nothing else can. Gets me hard just thinking about it.

So, my girl friend is not a virgin when we hook up, but she’s never had so big a dick before either. She hasn’t been as slutty as I have either. I’ve maybe been with fifty girls and maybe eight guys, and she’s been with just four guys, total, no girls. She says she might hook up with another woman some day, but it hasn’t happened yet, and while we’re together we’re being exclusive, monogamous, you know? Weird for me, but I’m actually liking it. Got the good sex, and I don’t feel “easy” or used.

That’s what I was going to tell you about. It’s like, I guess it sounds like I have it made or something because I look unusual in a way that a lot of people seem to like. You know: killer tan, “awesome” blue eyes, muscles showing without being just gross-steroid-big, hair looking like I fuss over it (but I don’t), and a cock that’s meant to be seen. I guess I should try harder to wear pants that hide it, but it’s just too damn much fun to get the stares and big eyed double takes.

One time we are going to a dinner, an awards banquet for my mom. My dad in a suit, funny, but he looks sharp. Mom takes one look at me, dick showing probably clear as anything in my khaki pants, “Different pants, dark ones.” I don’t argue. I know this is a special night for her, and my dick doesn’t need to be the center of attention. So the black pants are what I wear next. She doesn’t really stare at my crotch, but she gives me a casual glance, and thanks me as we head out the door.

At the dinner, do you know, one of her chef buddies comes on to me? Like, dude, I’m here for my mom and you are offering to suck my dick? Okay, I almost let him, but then I saw her looking at me from halfway across the room, and I laugh like he’s told a funny joke. My parents are cool. They know I don’t care if someone’s gay or not, and they know I’ve been with guys and girls, but still, it’s like weird for some guy she knows professionally to be hitting on her son. So, no, I didn’t let him suck me off.

Yeah, yeah, back to feeling used. Have you ever tried to talk to someone about something you think is important and they just seem to keep looking at something on the side of your head.? Then you go to the bathroom later, maybe a lot later, and you see some glob of lint or something has stuck in your hair, or even that your hair is sticking up in some huge spike that just looks stupid? Well, I get that happening all the time with my dick.

Right! If it bothered me so much, I’d do more to hide it, right?

Well, okay, I’m nineteen: I like the attention still. But, jeez, sometimes I have to move in closer so that it’s harder for them to look down there and see it. Probably some of them think it’s some Bulgarian thing, you know, moving in closer than Westerners think is comfortable. I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been back to Bulgaria since I was two. So, closer in they have to look me in the eyes. Maybe they’re admiring them too, but at least we do expect people to look us in the eye when we’re talking!

Okay, I’m getting to the getting used business! My freshman year in college I’m in this class with about twenty other people and a real mix. I’m loving feeling all grown up, even though I still live with my parents. I’m hanging out with people from all over, not just surfers, not just Malibu people, not all even that close to my age. This one woman, not as old as my mom, but a bit older than me for sure, takes an interest in me. She does the whole long look at the long line in my pants thing a few times and smiles at me each time. I’m polite and smile back, but she’s like too wannabe actress looking for my taste. You know, the type with her clothes just a little too, like, animal print and her makeup just too over the top?

So, she wants to talk about the Federalist Papers, and I’m all excited about Hamilton and the early days of the Republic. She’s not my type, but she’s an adult and she wants to talk about history and how it has molded our country. I’m feeling so mature. Sure, I’ll go to dinner with her and discuss our reading assignments! It’s some restaurant where it turns out she knows a few people. We don’t get to talk that much because she’s saying hi to this one and waving at that one and telling me we have to eat in a hurry before someone else she knows comes in and she has to talk to them. Okay, yeah, I think it’s weird, but I’ve been places before where it seems like everyone I know is showing up at the same time for some reason.

She apologizes and suggests we talk at her apartment, it’s just a couple of miles away, won’t take long, she’ll pay for the meal since it was her idea and we didn’t get to talk. “Okay,” I say, feeling a bit like the jock only knows football and has been dumped into a room full of college professors talking about global warming and carbon footprints. I mean, come on, I know we’re going to fuck, but I do think we’re going to talk about history and government a little too. Even so, there’s this undercurrent of something I just can’t quite figure out.

I follow her in my old beat up Jeep. She’s driving a Mercedes from like 1970 or something, but it looks like it is brand new, very shiny, very cared for. I’m kind of surprised it’s not a convertible or painted red. She tells the parking attendant to let me in, and he gives me a good look as I drive in, like he could recognize me in a police line-up if he has to later. There’s an extra space next to the Mercedes where I park, and shit! Someone else she knows starts talking to her as we start walking away from the cars. She introduces me as a fellow student from her class, but it’s like her friend knows it’s a joke, smiles and gives me a good look. Yep, the dick is looked at too!

The apartment is like something in a magazine, but one where you “look like a million bucks for pennies!” I mean, it’s nice, but a bit overdone, maybe a little pretentious, and you kind of know when someone’s REALLY spent a ton of money. She’s spent some money on it, but not tons. Anyway, the whole thing is like something from a predictable movie. She won’t sit still. She gets us drinks. She has to get out of her uncomfortable shoes, but she comes back wearing a slutty looking thing that is like a street version of a negligee. Nice breasts. And I am smelling something too, can’t quite say what, but I’m thinking she looks like almost a whore one minute and wanting to suck on those breasts the next. Maybe we can talk about the Federalist Papers later. She’s definitely expecting me to like what I see. I do and I don’t, but my dick starts pulling blood away from my brain, and I start thinking with my dick, not my brain.

I peel off her thing, whatever you want to call it. It is not hard to take off, and she has absolutely nothing on under it. Oh, yeah, NICE breasts. Maybe she’s had some work done on them, but they feel natural and they are not fucking huge like some. Each one is a two-hander. I can hold it with both hands while I bring my lips down on her puffy nipple and suck on it. I let the suction kind of vibrate it and she moans a little. Her hands are unbuttoning my shirt and playing with my nipples. She doesn’t spend that much time on my chest though; I know what she wants. It’s that thing in my pants, and it’s already bigger than she’s ever seen it before, except her eyes are closed.

Her pussy is wet, way wet, before I even touch it. She’s probably had the hair there lasered because it’s like a little triangle pointing at her vagina, and the labia are just glistening with her juices. I love eating pussy, and I’m about to dive down there, but she’s still trying to get my pants off. Maybe she’s expecting a zipper or something, but she seems to be confused by the buttons. I give the thing a yank and pop, pop, pop, my fly is open. She slides my pants down and whispers, “FUCK!” Her eyes are definitely wide open now.

I giggle a little, yeah, I giggled. “That’s what I had in mind.”

“Mother of God! That is one big, beautiful dick!” She’s not acting like a movie star or even a slut now. She’s just amazed. I know how it goes. She’s gonna want it in her asap, but I want to work her pussy over with my tongue and lips some first. I massage it with both my thumbs working up and down each side first. If it’s possible to get her mind off of getting my huge dick into her vagina, this may do it. I keep my thumbs away from her clit for the moment and she’s definitely getting the vibrations. Her head is rocking around, but she keeps looking back at my dick. Oh, yeah, she wants that fucker!

She’s well lubed when I plant my nose on her triangle of hair. I lick her labia like a lollypop, a soft one with a big slippery slot running up the middle. Five licks, ten, and she’s grabbing my head. I can’t tell if she’s trying to pull me up to where her clit is or if she’s trying to get me in position to send in the big boy. Does it sound crude, inconsiderate, uncaring to say I knew what I wanted and that was to lick her clitoris a spell before I gave her my dick? I guess I really didn’t care what she wanted, I was pretty sure she would like what I gave her.

You never know with women when you first get to putting your tongue or finger on their clits. Some of them are so sensitive you can never touch it directly, others like that thing worked hard. My movie star wannabe liked it with direct attention. It was a nub there you couldn’t miss, and my tongue was just the thing for it. More pussy juice, more moaning, and she was grabbing my thick hair like she could tear it out. I was getting ready to pry her fingers away from my hair if she started to yank, but she climaxed like a female mud wrestler. Her hands were sliding everywhere and grabbing and letting go. Yeah, eating pussy is like getting to have dessert before the main course, with maybe the promise of more dessert later.

“Oooo, baby,” she moans. “So nice, ummmm, but I want that now.” She gives a big satisfied sigh as she stares at my dick. It’s standing way out, precum is glistening on the little ring of skin that is still covering the head. Moment like this, I’d love to just drive it in, but a condom is like a seatbelt: you just have to automatically put it on before you drive. I think about showing off a little and self sucking before I slide the condom on, but I’ve already got her attention. She’s looking sortof like sleepy and alert at the same time and watching that dick like it’s a king cobra swaying to the music of some guy with a flute.

There’s a Magnum XL in my pocket. I fish it out and roll it on. She’s licking her lips. I think she’s probably a little high from too much blood moving away from her brain. I know the blood pumping into my dick has to come from somewhere, and my brain sure feels like it’s a little high.

My hands move all over her. They play with her breasts, damn nice breasts; her nipples, fleshy and full; her skin, smooth and a little damp; and her pussy, hungry and hot. Pussy play is so easy for me. Man, it’s like Play Dough, Silly Putty, and flying a kite all rolled into one, times ten, with the controls for an electric train added to the top. “Give it -- to me-- now” she’s panting after my fingers have explored the area thoroughly and warmed her up for the stretch that is coming. Well, I am the expert on what it takes to get a pussy ready for my dick, and I think she’s been prepared.

I push it in. All the fucking way in. She’s moaning, and saying “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” as I slide it in. Sometimes I can’t get all the way in, and that is a bummer, but she takes it all. Nice! I do a little swivel thing and she’s coming unglued. I’m pretty sure she’s never had anything this big in there, but she’s dealing with it. Her breathing is like grunts. I get ready to slide it all back out, but she licks her lips some more and smiles. “Oh, yeah,” she says, “hot little mama been wantin’ this big boy!” I start to slide out just a little so we can enjoy her pussy kissing the base of my cock for a bit. Slick noises and sensation like no toy ever invented. I could almost cum right then and there, but I’ve been doing this for a few years now. I know I’ve got to make it last a little longer.

The little drives grow longer. I mix in some more swivels. I pull the whole thing out very slowly and rub her pussy with my hand to keep her warmed up while I give my dick a chance to cool down a little. I push the giant thing back in again and she’s got tears in her eyes. I’m thinking she wants it out of her, it really is too big, but she’s grabbing my ass and pulling it in again. I slide out enough to let the head dip in and out for a bit, and then I’m over the edge. No stopping and thinking, just pile drivin’ sex. I’m hoping the walls are soundproofed. No, I don’t care. We’re noisy, both of us. And my glutes are just like some machine in high gear. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

Two days later in class she’s like my owner or something. She makes it pretty clear we’ve fucked and everybody, guys, girls, transsexuals, had better keep hands off. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but my dick remembers her too well, and it hardens up on cue. Like, shit, I don’t mind showing in my pants, but it is a little embarrassing when I’ve clearly got a boner almost to my knee, and I sure don’t want to get some precum spot showing.

Anyway, we go on like that for a while. She’s got me coming over to her apartment three, four times a week. The parking attendant lets me in with no expression. Her door’s unlocked when I get there and half the time she’s already naked on the bed. Then she wants to go out for drinks or a bite to eat after, and shit! Every time we go somewhere, just about, there’s somebody she knows. I know we smell like sex sometimes; we sure as hell look like we’ve fucked, even if we’ve taken a shower . Slowly, I figure out that I’m being displayed. Look what I’ve got is what she’s saying even if she isn’t saying it out loud.

We never talked about the Federalist Papers or anything else from that class. I was her unpaid escort service. Oh, I know she liked the fucking, she liked it a lot. But what she liked more was showing me off to her friends. I think some of them must have been old boy friends because a couple of the guys would shake hands really hard and then walk off without ever really smiling much. And those were the ones she seemed to be happiest to introduce me to. In fact, now that I think about it, she must have been trying to get back at one guy in particular. Once she’d introduced me to him twice (you know, we’re both like, we’ve MET already!) and seen him get even a little more tense the second time, she seemed to lose interest in me. She’d done what she set out to do.

After that she sat in a different part of the classroom and seemed like she was always busy. I don’t know if she’d gotten him back good, or if he’d hooked back up with her or what. What I did know was that I had been used. It didn’t feel good, no matter how much we liked the fucking. I probably would have been more bothered but she still wasn’t really my type, and I think I learned a lesson or two.

So, it wasn’t all bad, but being used is being used.

Btrell gave us the mother and daughter story, he's practically Ernest Hemingway.
Good attempt at actually fleshing out your character although I do agree he comes off as a little full of himself.

Um, given your high praise, I checked out B's posts. Someone named Large was the OP on the Daughter and Mother story. B's contributions have been rather terse, even when he's the OP on something. I don't channel with Papa Hemingway, but I suspect he might bristle at B being classed in his league. Then again, it might be a function of what time of day you hit him with this comparison.

But, Princess, you are so dry with your wit. Instead of quaking with chagrin at having had the temerity to expose pig swill to the likes of our succint critic, I should have simply been grateful to have snagged your most excellent attention with my tedious tale.

Of course, this guy is full of himself! He's nineteen, testosterone is oozing from every pore, his life has not been that difficult, he lives in the center of the land of self-absorption. Even I am bored with him.

[Back in character]
Elize, my girfriend, says that if a princess is reading what I'm writing, I have to do a better job of showing I know HOW to write, and I have to lose the foul language. Elize doesn't like me using all the four letter words so much anyway. Her parents both play with the L.A. Philharmonic; so, everybody in the family plays an instrument, and they behave rather proper, in an old fashioned kind of way almost. Elize plays the cello. She can play the piano too. I'm not so musical myself, but I can figure out "Fur Elize" on the piano.

Thus, I shall employ those writing skills that helped me get A's in school, but I have to confess that it feels a little put on.

Elize is like... okay, um, Elize is truly the best thing that has happened to me. She's beautiful, but that is not what most attracts me to her. She's talented, got a sense of humor, oh yeah, she fu... uh, she attends to my needs like a cultured courtesan, and she knows how to keep me engaged in stimulating conversation.

She's mixed race also. Her dad is like the whitest guy you've ever seen. He's originally from somewhere back east, but his ancestors have to have been all from northern Europe. Pale and blond this guy, can't go out in the sun for anything. Elize's mom is totally from everything different. She's Hawaiian, but full blooded Japanese. So, here's Elize and her brother. They look like dolls almost with their complexion. Dark hair and eyes, Asian eyes, but not like you'd be sure they are from Asia, beautiful. I'd be totally into her brother if I wasn't already with Elize. Funny, he has the same name as me, too: Dan.

Anyway, I mentioned troubles, and it seems like some think I've had it too easy to be complaining about troubles. Hey, I've been around long enough to know that there's always someone who has it better than you and someone else who has it worse. In fact, you know, there could be someone who's got it better than you in one way and worse than you in some other. Maybe that's what people should know when they look at me. It seems like I've got it made looking like I do, if you are into guys who are clearly mixed race, dark skin, blue eyes, and all that.

However, let's start with the adoption part. I've been fortunate to have my parents who are weird and embarrassing and all of that sh.. that stuff. Still, they've loved me and given me a good home. I can't complain about that. What's trouble is that we don't know what my actual genetic heritage is. I mean, I could be right on the cusp of getting some horrible disease that strikes members of my blood family. There's some nasty ... stuff out there that people inherit.

Then I am not like them in so many ways. In other families, you can see the way people walk, the facial expressions, the things they do that came from the previous generations. Sure, there's the whole nature (genetics) versus nurture (environment) thing, but there's nothing on the "nature" side that connects me with my family. My parents are open and cool about a lot of stuff, but this business of me having to get nude seems to have come from somewhere else. Dad's got a great surfer body, and he's not that shy about it being seen, but he doesn't seem to have the same need for people to see it naked that I do. Mom doesn't get naked for anyone except her man. Me? I'm wearing the white board shorts that show everything when they get wet... and plenty even when they are dry. If that wasn't enough, I wear them and my pants loose enough that they really do just fall down once in a while, and I just don't always catch them fast enough to stop them.

Sure, people love seeing me naked, and some surely think I'm just being a crowd pleaser. Nevertheless, there's more going on. It's this compulsion to be naked that is almost like an instinctual drive for me. It's trouble because I feel like it is too much of a drive, too without thought, and it just might get me busted for indecent exposure some day.

My parents' lovemaking when I was younger was trouble. Yes, I learned from it, and I was a bit of a voyeur watching them, but truth be told, I'd just as soon never have seen them that way. Okay, no, I'm not going to say "ewww!" but they could have been more discreet. Kids really don't need to see their parents that way. I probably should be in counseling or therapy. I don't feel like I have a disorder, but it's just not healthy probably for parents to be intimate like that in front of their kids.

I didn't need to be sexualized that young, by my parents being sexual with no regard for me being there, but also by that girl taking my virginity at age nine. Perhaps I am sounding persnicketty, but childhood gets over too fast anyway. I was so much still a kid. It sounds like some kind of cool thing to have lost my virginity at nine, but the truth is that it was way too soon. I didn't really understand it, and I didn't really want it. It would have been much more special to have maybe done it when I was sixteen and finally got my pubic hair... or even nineteen when I finally had a girlfriend I liked enough to think of her as someone I like spending time with and not just fu... being intimate with.

Our school didn't go that "abstinence" route when they taught us about sex. I guess it's a good thing because hardly anyone was still virgin by the time they were seriously talking about it. Still, even when they first started telling us about it in real detail at school, I was already not a virgin. The funny thing is that I would support abstinence as a great way to prevent sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted teen pregnancies if there was some other way to deal with the hormones. Some people think that sports is a way to distract kids from sex, but it seems like to me that sports just kick the bodies into higher gear. Maybe they do give us something to do that is supervised, and that is good.

Sex is fantastic. I can't deny that, and I am glad I enjoy it so much. It's probably a lot healthier in the long run than getting involved with drugs or other dangerous behaviors... then again STDs and pregnancies aren't exactly not dangerous! Sometimes it seems like life would be a lot simpler if I was still a virgin. I'd probably be masturbating a lot though.

That's the other trouble. I can't put my above, way above, average endowment into proper perspective. Nobody seems to be able to. My dad has warned me that it's always going to complicate my life. I think he wishes he had that complication himself, but he's also smart enough to see that it does superimpose a sexual aspect on my life. I know it being so visible makes that sexual aspect harder to ignore, and I can do more to dress and behave so it is not so visible. Yet, it IS so much part of who I am, what is special about me. Part of me is loving it being there and obvious, and part of me is disgusted when that is all people seem to notice about me.

It seems like people see me as a walking phallic symbol. As such it is okay to laugh at me and not take me seriously, to think I'm only interested in sex and can't contemplate anything cerebral or important. I get sick of it, but then I do go to what I'm so often sucessful at, and thereby reinforce the image of myself as a solely sexual creature. That's frustrating because I seem to contribute to my own marginalization.

So, yes, I have troubles at a personal level. Then there are the troubles that come of being an American at this point in history. My parents were too young to march against the war in Vietnam, but they and I are part of the percentage of people in this country, the growing percentage it sounds like, who are disgusted with this war in Iraq. It seems like we've behaved like puppets on Al Quaida's strings, dancing on a world stage and proving their points for them. I should be marching in the streets, sending letters to Congress, signing petitions to impeach, reading up on the Constitution, and studying to be a lawyer or preparing to do something to curb abuses such as we've experienced. I should be doing more...

That is a trouble, but I am indeed a typical American kid growing into a typical American adult. I don't know many who are serving in the military. I can still buy gas for my car. I can still go to the movies, and I can still buy a milkshake at the fast food places. Every week people my age and older are dying in that mess, Americans like me. Even more Iraqis are, every day. It hurts, it is a real trouble, to think I am smart and talented and to still not feel like there is anything I can do to move my government away from this mistake, this deadly mistake.

They keep saying that we are fighting over there to keep it from coming here. I keep thinking we are doing things there that are bringing it to us here. Elize and some of her musical friends did a free classical concert for some of the wounded at the local veterans hospital. Men and women with expensive prosthetic devices to replace their missing limbs were sitting in a circle. Some hadn't been fitted yet. One guy had an arm left, just one arm, no legs. Still, they were all so appreciative of the concert. I smiled and talked with them, but I cried when we got in the car. Elize hugged me. She is wonderful.

It's not that I want to bi... complain about how expensive it is to fit all of them with prothetic legs, arms, eyes and all, but it hurts to know that as expensive as their replacement parts are, they'd all still want to have what they had originally if they could. We're going to have all these people trying to be normal, but if it was me, I'd be angry, furious about being forced to live the rest of my life that way. How healthy can that be for a society?

Troubles, I've got a pretty soft life, but you can't look at me and think that I have no troubles.

Apologies to btrell, his name rung a bell so i checked his posts but not closely enough it appears :-)
I like your writing style, phrased as if you were talking to a friend and I don't really agree that writing should be free of foul language, sometimes the context of the story means that foul language is the only language that can be used in certain places.
'Softly I moved closer, inhaled the musky warm smell of her, as my tongue moved over her plumply pouting pudenda......' just doesn't have the same impact as calling a cunt a cunt.

Wait 'til I tell Elize! The princess likes the word cunt! Wow! That's one I never can bring myself to use, just seems too pejorative or something. "Pussy" really sounds silly, and "vagina" sounds too formal. But my tongue, my fingers, and my dick don't care what it's called: a good woman hole is damn good to find.

Now, I have another trouble: a gentleman never tells... supposedly. I want to share something that happened with Elize a couple of weeks ago, but it is so fresh, so intimate, and we are so tight right now... it just seems wrong to go blabbing about it. Still, think about two nineteen year olds, sharing a tent in the mountains, the guy built and looking like me, the girl a delicate but healthy beauty, both of us uninhibited, sensual, able to keep going like the Energizer bunny. "The tent, $250; the sleeping bags that can be configured like a large single, $400; the park admission, $12; the fucking, PRICELESS!"

Really, if I want to be a real "gentleman," I shouldn't be sharing what happened with any of my partners. There was the guy with alopecia, no hair at all, made me feel better about the skimpy bits I have, but then he was so smooth absolutely everywhere, and a body builder... I've never felt anything, guy or girl, like what he felt like. If he wanted to be a prostitute, he could have probably made fantastic money, but I don't encourage anyone to do it for money.

Then there was the class saluditorian my senior year in high school. Man, she was so the quiet, studious type on the outside. You never saw her with a crowd, but she'd be with one or two people often, and talking about something serious or funny. Weird because she was really beautiful in her own distinct way, but she didn't do the popular stuff. She was ignored by the "in" folks, and she didn't really seem to mind. One day we were leaving the school at about the same time, and she just gave me a look.

She kinda used me to take her virginity. She couldn't take all of me... well, really that first time it wasn't what I'd normally really call all out sexual intercourse. Eventually we did fuck, and she had been doing some reading or had a very creative streak because it was some of the best high school sex I'd ever had. Anyway, we were completely not a couple, not headed the same direction at all, but we had fun a few times, and we did use each other for sex, but it was in a respectful way, if that makes sense.

I'll have to think about how I can be genteel... lol, surfer kid with straight A's from Malibu... okay, how I can with some grace share an intimacy or two that instruct and illuminate.

On here you can do it easily as none of us know who you are, and none of us know who you're talking about :-)