Gender: N/A Age: N/A Location: N/A
I sit here reminiscing on what has happened in my life. Some bad, some good, a lot fucking great, lol. But I know one thing; There is absolutely nothing to be gained in regret. I do not regret my life at all, and I do not wish it over. Mainly because no one can undo the past; you can only learn from it, but also because I have enjoyed my life. For what it’s worth, I think my life is pretty normal, with one or two deviations, and this chronicle is worth telling.
My name is Judy, I am now 52, and I have one child, a daughter, Penny. This is also, eventually, her story.
[I don’t apologize to any of you for the language I use, both in this narrative, and in my life. When I was younger even ‘vagina’ was a ‘hushed’ and ‘naughty’ word, whereas, these days ‘pussy’, and even much worse, are freely spoken by all ages. My language reflects my changing lifestyle, and my growth into myself. I am comfortable using ‘fuck’, and even ‘cunt’, in conversation, and I will not allow anyone to ‘brow beat’ me to their narrow-mindedness any longer. I am honest to my needs, and know who I am. I don’t have any hang-ups, and don’t subscribe (nor have I ever) to the ‘proper lady’ theory. Fuck that priggish nonsense! Oh yes, and I love sex.]
My early childhood was uneventful, by most people’s standards. I do believe I was born in a more innocent age. Definitely life was slower, and we didn't seem to have the sort of problems, world wide, that unfortunately, occur now. Was it really innocent though? I thought so then, and have never thought otherwise. At nearly 16, I was still a virgin (but weren't all the goods girls still virgins at that age?), and in fact still hadn't really started dating. And sex, especially casually, was still taboo, and not discussed, as it is nowadays.
What do I remember from those days? I had a drunken, (semi) abusive father, but didn’t everyone? Certainly the other kids I went to school with did, and we all took it in our stride. While he drunk frequently, and yelled a lot, I can’t ever remember one incident where he put me in personal peril (at least before I turned 16). I will admit that some of his punishments were beyond normal (dragging all of us kids out of bed one winter evening, and lining us up in the kitchen to check our mouths for food remnants, because a favorite snack of his went missing, comes to mind, as one sorry example). But even my mother, rest her soul, couldn’t actually condemn him to hell for eternity. Yes, he did hit her, and I had even seen her strike him, but they stayed together (for us kids it turned out – he left when my youngest brother turned 15). He still lives up north, in a small town, with his latest floosie, and isn’t even much of a memory to me any more. My caring mother died only three years ago, and (apart from some post-pubescent dramas I caused for her [as I am sure most daughters did!]) we were life long friends. I have three sisters, and two brothers, who I also don’t see much off anymore. Life just goes forward the best you can.
This story is about my life (and with Penny). Oh boy, what a life, lol. But, you know, we had, and still do have fun, and as I said above, we have no regrets. Life is delivered without a training manual. You do the best you can within the limitations given to you. I cannot even put a finger on specific changes, everything seemed to happen gradually, with one or two exceptions, but change did occur. Massive change, as it turned out. Oh, certainly events surrounding my 16th birthday were a beginning to the change, but the gradual, continual change after that time, just seemed to occur progressively (although, I can recall three or four events that do stand out).
I don’t really remember much of my life before puberty. A rare birthday party, the odd (very) occasional good time, some trips with my family; but general life was uneventful, and normal until I turned 11. Puberty turned me on my head, literally (I guess like many others at that time in their lives), and I knew I was changing. The first thing that changed was my body. I started growing tits quite early, and even had the distinction of being the only 11 year old at my school with tits. Not only did I have tits, but I seemed to have gone from totally flat to 34B, apparently overnight, without a bra! My mother, bless her, was either ignorant to my needs, or just plain ignorant, because not only did I sprout out, but I was still wearing ‘kid’ clothes as my chest expanded (no bra yet for me!) My nipples grew larger with equal speed, and I had pointing, hard nipples poking through my school shirts! [Being the eldest daughter meant that my own mother learned as much from me, as I did from her. It was my younger sisters who benefited, not me.]
When I finally got my first bra, a 36D, I thought all of my Christmases had come at once.
While my tits were growing rampant, I also sprouted hair around my pussy, lots of hair (it wasn’t till years later that I knew exactly how excessively hairy I was). I had hair growing out onto my legs from the sides of my panties, up over the top of my panties towards my belly, and down past the crack of my ass. Long, thick, curly hair, easily over an inch and a half long by the time I was 14.
I tried asking my mom about the hair, and like every other time I asked about sex, I either got a stuttered rant, a sermon about how unclean I was, or, occasionally, a slap on the face. Sometimes all three! I learned to live with it, but never even thought, in those days, to trim, or cut the hair. I just hid myself more and more.
And periods, god I thought I was bleeding to death the first time it happened. My mother never did warn me, and she was less than consolatory to me when it did first happen. All she did was show me where she kept her ‘supply’ as she coyly called napkins, and told me to tell NO ONE. She also gave me a rough and tumble lesson on using them, and where to dispose of them, end of sermon, again. Not only did I start my periods early, I always bled heavily, and erratically. Some months for only 2 or 3 days, other months for as many as 8 or 9 days, and always with extreme cramps! And I was never regular, missing many periods, sometimes even 2 in a row.
My first clear memories involving sex were around the months just before I was due to turn 16. I remember being unhappy at school (I guess like every other 15-17 year old around me), and I was impatient to move into adulthood. His name was Pete, and at 19, and with a car (1956 Chevy, nice car), he was a ‘big man’ around the neighborhood. No one knew his past, or where he was from, but I didn’t care. I met him at a local dance, and we became inseparable. Why he went after me, I still don’t know, but I do know all of my friends were jealous of the attention he gave me.
I secretly hoped he was my ‘ticket’ out of my small town doldrums, and I would have followed him to the ends of the world if he had asked. I was in love (or, was I just in love with the notion of being in love?), and I thought, hoped, prayed that Pete returned my love. I prayed to God every night before I went to bed, kept his picture next to my heart, inside my bra, and wrote his name on all of my books, lol. Silly, puppy love, I realize now, but back then he was my whole reason for living.
As I said above, my body had started developing young, and I remember my father leering at me often, as my breasts grew (and I often wondered if he would have done anything sexual to me, if he had had a chance?). By 15 my tits were 38DD, and every boy in school ogled at me as I walked by. Many brazenly touched my tits, with some even squeezing and pulling at them, as I walked around school. And it wasn’t just the boys, either.
Many of the girls were either envious, or spiteful of the attention I was getting, and many a girl at school was downright rude to me. I felt so self conscious and cursed my tits every day, even going as far as to strap them to my chest, to reduce their size. (All that ever did was squoosh them further, and make them seem even bigger, but at least my nipples stopped poking out!)
I admit now, in retrospect, that even Pete dated me for my tits. The first time we went out on a date, he groped my tits through my dress. Poor boy, all he got was a handful of cotton bandage (yes, even after school, I was still self conscience) for his trouble, lol, and I told him off too. How dare he. I wasn’t like that.
Over time, though, he got quite good at undoing my bra, and petting and rubbing my tits. Oh, I did then, and still do, enjoy my tits getting action - the more the better. Depending on the clothes I wore, he would ‘release’ my tits and suck on them for what seemed like hours. My nipples would get hard, and even though they hurt slightly (it took me years to recognize that it wasn't 'pain', I felt, but sexual desire), I loved the feeling. From those first clumsy dates, I knew I loved sex, and have never regretted the odyssey I commenced in the back of his Chevy, months short of my 16th birthday. But I did know that loose tongues, and idle gossip, could ruin one's reputation, and in those days, reputation was everything, and I did so much want to be liked, and not thought of as a slut, or worse.
But sex with Pete was inevitable. I knew it then, know it now, and I freely admit, even now, that I was willing to let it happen. I wanted him to keep me safe forever. If letting Pete grope and suck my massive tits was my price to pay, then I was eager to oblige. Unfortunately, he wasn’t satisfied stopping at my tits. After I gave in to him, making him promise to go no further (and he accepting), he promptly started trying to get into my panties.
Every time I scolded him, or refused him, he would act all hurt, and sorry, but he would frequently say things like “I don’t know Judy, I do like you, but I am a growing man with needs. My friends are all getting some pussy, and I am being laughed at. Damn girl, I got some thinking to do, and so do you, if you wanna remain my steady girl.”
Of course I know now it was emotional blackmail, but at 15, going on 16, my whole world was about to collapse if I lost him (or so I thought). The one man (and yes, at 19 he was definitely a man, in more ways than one) I loved, was going to drop me for a lady who ‘put out’. I didn’t know what to do. Hell, sex instruction from my mom was, “Don’t you dare get pregnant.” End of sermon; and my friends were no help. Secretly, many of my friends were chasing after Pete, and willing to let his hands roam too, so if he dropped me, they would be there to claim him. After all of the arguments we had about him touching my tits, I knew he would want more, and when the emotional blackmail didn’t seem to work, he started getting angry at me. I always knew he had a temper, just not how much. He hurt me with his words, initially, but wasn’t adverse to slapping me either. Yes, I put up with it. I thought that was how all ‘men’ and ‘women’ behaved, it was how my folks behaved, after all, so I accepted it as ‘normal’.
You know what happened, without my even needing to telling you. He started to touch me ‘there’. [In those days, even ‘vagina’ was whispered, for fear the priest, or some nosy neighbor would overhear, and ‘pussy’, well that was just too vulgar to even think, lol.] And yes, I enjoyed it. I never knew that sort of pleasure until he started fingering me. I liked it then, and like it even more now.
The first time I took my panties down (well, actually he took them off for me) his eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of my hairy pussy. He started to finger my pussy every time we were alone. He would tell me to wear a dress always, never pants, and he would then push his hand straight up, and into my panties. He even told me not to wear panties, but I flat out refused! But I did allow him to remove my panties in the car (his nice car), and many a night my butt froze on his cheap plastic seat coverings, as he fingered me. I admit I enjoyed it though, so I can’t always be negative in describing my teenage actions. Hell, he excited me every time. I totally loved my pussy getting worked on.
I was a virgin, not only physically, but even mentally. I didn’t even know about touching, or foreplay, or arousal, or anything. In those distant days (mid 60’s) there were no books, and no one to ask (I was the oldest of my sisters, and my mother flat out refused to answer any of our questions), and even my school friends, either refused, or didn’t know the answers. We didn’t even know the right questions to ask; let alone understand any of the answers when heard! Yes, we were sexually naïve back then.
He would always start by stroking the hairy bush around my pussy, curling his fingers in the thick bush, then he would stroke my pussy lips, rubbing them for many minutes, before pushing one finger in. It did feel good, and after the first shock, and pain, he managed to get a finger into me. After that, I always hoped he would stick his finger in. I enjoyed it, why lie? He did try two fingers once, but that hurt! One finger was nice though, and he would rub and stroke inside me, as he pushed and pulled it in and out, and I always got excited. We learned early on that I had to be ‘wet’ before he could enter me, and we further learned that his initial touches would make me wet. But like everything, it was trial and error to find out. I didn't know I had a clitoris in those days, lol, but I knew I enjoyed his touch.
[Oh, and the joy at home alone, in my bed at night, when I explored my body further. I didn’t even know the word masturbation, let alone that I was actually masturbating, but after he had shown me how, I spend every night frigging my pussy silly with my finger as I lay in bed. And not just my pussy, I got to know my tits equally intimately. I even started sucking and pulling my own nipples regularly.]
Every date from then on, I would sit in the back seat of his car, legs wide open, panties thrown on the front seat, as he fingered me to orgasm. My bra was a constant companion to my panties, as I lay back in whorish pride, as he finger fucked my wet and willing pussy, his mouth nibbling my demanding tits.
But dammit, he was never satisfied. Each and every time he got one demand satisfied, he demanded more. I guess he was no different to any other hot-blooded man, but I was sure as hell not about to get pregnant, or a reputation as a loose woman! And . . . I was not about to lose the love of my life, either! Yes, I always gave into him, after the appropriate amount of arguments, of course, but give in I always did.
“Cock!” His word for penis. “Dick was ok,” he said, but ”cock was the right word,” for his manhood. “Touch my cock,” he would say, and yes, I did. He would take it out of his trousers, and I would stroke it. I know now, but didn’t back then, that he had a good sized cock. He was well over 7 inches long, and thick, very thick (at least two inches), but I had never even seen a cock, not my brothers, or father, to ever compare. And comparison wouldn’t have helped. Even if I had seen my siblings, they would have been soft and small. Pete’s cock was always hard when I saw it. (After sex, he always put it back immediately, so I never saw him small either.)
Each time he took out his cock, I never really knew what to do, and he was little, if any, help. All he ever told me was to stroke my hand up and down the shaft as he lay back. Every time I stroked it he went totally stupid, and jelly knee-ed on me. Oh and every, every, every fucking time, I stroked his thick cock, he blew his load. Usually onto my dress, sometimes anywhere in the car (did I mention that we did all of our dating in his car, his fantastic car). He didn’t care where he blew his load, and he never attempted not to cum, or ever worried about where he shot (there were cum stains all over the back seat of his car). Once (I used to think, and hope it was by accident, but I know different now), he blew his load on my face as I was stroking him. That was a shock to me, and he was more excited than ever. I was horrified and started yelling at him!
“Real men have cocks, and real women suck their men’s cocks,” he said to me that day, without ever apologizing. His temper then rose, in response to mine, and he yelled at me for being silly and a little girl. He threatened to throw me out of the car if I didn’t grow up, and then he drove me home as he pouted.
The next night we were sitting in his fucking car, me stroking his cock, as his finger poked away at my hairy hole (as if the night before had never happened), when he said to me “Judy, suck my cock.” That simply.
What? “No way,” I told him. “There is no way I am even going to touch that ‘thing’ with my mouth, let alone actually put it IN there!” I screamed at him.
He slapped me, on both my face, and also my tits (he had started slapping my tits a few weeks earlier, it stung like hell, but he kept doing it, even after I begged him not too [and secretly I craved he do it, I enjoyed the “pain”]), and another argument occurred, and he threatened to drop me completely. His words hurt me badly, but I believed him too. No! I couldn’t let that happen, oh God no. He drove me home again, and I didn’t see him for nearly a week. I cried my heart out all of the time he was away.
Yes, you know I did eventually suck his cock. Don’t we all inevitably give in to these men? And, yes, I couldn’t stand to think of losing him either! And like so much of Pete, it was a typical let down.
[Hey, don’t get me wrong. This is not a man-bashing story, nor even a Pete-bashing story [I am merely trying to invoke those far-away, long lost, innocent thoughts I used to have, and convey them, within that context, to share my emotions at that time in my life. I admit my present cynicism creeps in, inevitably, and you will have to make allowances, lol. But recalling those days now, damn, he was not the dream man I thought (I believe the medical term is premature ejaculation, lol), and as I am comparing my teenage fumbling to my more experience self now, even I am cringing at my initiation into sexual freedom. But isn’t that life? And I am trying to use the words I used then, but that is also sometimes hard to do; fuck and cunt are part of my vocabulary now, and are creeping in to this narrative, too! Ah well, love me, or piss the fuck off!]
The night I finally took his cock into my mouth, was a cold winter night. We were sitting in his car, his precious fucking car, freezing our butts off, listening to the radio (the Beatles, or Stones, mmm, I did love growing up in the 60’s) as we always did. He had taken his cock out, and I was stroking it (again), and he was nagging me to suck him off (also, again). As much to shut him up, as to do something to take my mind of the tit freezing weather (he really was a cheapskate, why couldn’t we go to the movies, like everyone else?), I lowered my mouth, and licked his cock knob. ‘Salty’, was my first thought, then ‘hot” came to mind. His cock knob felt hot to touch. I cautiously took his knob into my mouth and licked, then sucked it warily. It definitely felt hot as I started kissing it.
The bastard shot his load within seconds of my mouth touching his knob, right into my mouth, and I spat and spluttered for several minutes. How vile, I though, and immediately dry retched, then vomited. There was no way I was ever going to do that again, and I told him so, and that resolve lasted for oh, at least, let me think, . . . 30 minutes!
“Judy,” he said, “That was awesome, honey. Oh I do love you. Don’t worry, next time I’ll tell you I am cumming, and you can pull out my cock if you don’t want to swallow.” Mr. Innocent personified.
“Next time? There wasn’t going to be a next fucking time,” I told him (Yes, I used the ‘f’ word, I think it was my very first time, I was so angry). I told him to his face, over and over, tears streaming down my face, my mouth tasting like a sewer, and my dress a mess from the vomit and cum.
He held me close, stroking my hair, touching my face, kissing my cheeks, soothingly, as I cried myself out. Dammit, he felt nice.
His hand went up my dress, and into my panties. I did try to stay angry, I swear I did, but his touch was both insistent, and extremely comforting. He started stroking my pussy, gently, not impatiently as he usually did, and try as much as I could, I really couldn’t remain angry. He was turning me on. His fucking hand was stroking my pussy, through my panties, and I wanted more . . . much more. He adjusted our positions, and lowered his own head to my lap. What was he up to? I wondered, not even thinking for a moment that he would try to kiss my sex organ, like he had made me do to him.
He slowly raised up my skirt, hooked his thumbs into my panties and removed them down to my knees, then off. But it was what he did next that shocked, excited and horrified me all in one emotion. He started kissing the top of my legs and kissed up to my pussy. Yes, I opened my legs to let him in, and he took my invite literally. His tongue felt wild, as he entered my pussy, and I started squirming immediately.
Oh God, whatever he was doing felt wonderful. I knew he was kissing me inside my pussy. I knew it because I felt him. I felt his tongue lick my velvet smoothness, I felt the tingles of excitement he was causing. Fuck, I felt his tongue push deep into my hole. Then he raised his head, and kissed me.
He kissed me with my cunt juices on his lips! His word for pussy was cunt, lol.
I thought I was going to vomit all over again, but in fact, after the initial shock . . . I actually enjoyed it. I liked the taste, I liked the image in my mind, I loved the feelings he gave me, and I loved the rawness of what he had done. He had performed oral sex on me, for the first time (even though I didn’t know that term for it then), and I knew right then, that I was going to permit him to do that to me any time he asked. Any fucking time he asked, I would drop my panties, spread my legs, and let him! (Now it is probably my single biggest turn on, ever.)
He kissed me again, and this time my tongue licked his lips clean.
“Judy,” he said, “did you enjoy that?”
“Oh yes, Pete,” I told him truthfully.
“Well, if you suck my cock,” he calmly said, “I will enjoy the same feelings. Don't be selfish, Honey, please?”
Fuck! The bile was already rising in my throat. But I said yes, I would try, AS LONG AS HE TOLD ME IF HE WAS GOING TO CUM! I did owe it to him to try and do it once, properly, for him, I thought. (Isn’t ignorance bliss, lol?)
He agreed, and I positioned myself. I lowered my head to his erect cock, and very cautiously, very uneasily, I kissed his cock. No cum, phew. I took his cock into my mouth, carefully, and still no cum. What was I supposed to do now, I wondered? I closed my mouth and felt the hotness of his cock in my mouth. I let my tongue reach out, and I could taste that salty flavor again. I licked the tip of his cock, and licked his piss hole. This time he started to pump his cock in and out of my mouth, and I started to lick his shaft. I used my tongue to lick his cock as he continued pumping. As I was doing this, I felt one of his hands go back to my pussy. He was using the other hand to stroke my head. It felt nice.
This was going ok, I thought. Nothing to write home about yet, but I was doing ok. Then I felt his cock jerk once, then a second time, just as I took his cock deeper into my mouth, and fuck, the bastard came in my mouth, again. This time it all went down my throat. What I didn’t know till then, or even feel him start to do, was that the prick was now holding my head down onto his cock, so I couldn’t lift my head. The fucking bastard was forcing my head down onto his cock, as he pumped his seed into my mouth. As his cock released more and more seed, he started fucking my mouth.
I wanted to spew and vomit again, but I was frightened I might choke, so I tried so damn hard to just let this finish, then I was gonna be gone, forever!
Instead, I found I was enjoying it. Oh not as much as his ‘oral sex’ to me, but I was beginning to relax, and his cum taste wasn’t too bad. A bit salty, definitely (and maybe even tangy), but ok. I eased up my panic and sucked his knob again. I could now taste his seed on the tip of my tongue, and I licked some more. Not too bad, I though. But, still he held my head down, and yes I did actually consider biting his cock, but I knew he would hurt me, so I (wisely) didn’t. Instead, I licked and sucked his shrinking cock, until he let my head go. To show him he had never ever needed to hold my head, I licked some more cum from his piss hole, flicking my tongue over his cock knob a few more times, before I came up.
He kissed me immediately I was up, and try as hard as possible, I couldn’t be angry with him, really. But I wasn’t going to let him know that. For the next ten minutes I threw a ‘hissy’ fit in the car, and it finally ended with him in tears, after I threatened to call the police and charge him with rape. That was the first (and only) time I actually saw fear in his eyes. He knew he had gone too far.
Over the space of 8 to 10 weeks we had gone from holding hands, to tit sucking, to pussy fingering, to cock rubbing, to oral sex, and now I was a cocksucker! But you know what? I liked it! After the initial shock, I genuinely liked doing it. I was young, still really a kid, but with a woman’s body, and now a woman’s mouth, and I knew there was no way back. I also knew I would do anything to keep my man. [And I have never, ever regretted that "awakening". Oh I know now that I was a rank novice, bungling my way to adulthood, but I wouldn't undo a fucking thing.]
Pete knew too, and we started mutual oral as part of our dating ritual. Whenever we went out, always in the car, and always never further than the car, I would suck his cock, and he would lick my pussy. Yes, I swallowed his seed every time (I really did grow to love the taste), and yes, he always got me incredibly wet. From then on, I insisted on ending all of our dates by kissing my juices from his mouth.
I knew what was next. He knew too, but just didn’t tell me. No words were passed, no plans made; but he was going to fuck me soon. It seemed as inevitable as the daily mail delivery, and while a part of me was excited at the thought, a larger, more rational part of me, knew it was wrong.
I had not yet turned 16, and was still in high school. He was an equally young 19, immature, and out of work (again!), and the prospects didn’t look as rosy as they had several weeks earlier. What if he got me pregnant? All I ever knew was if you did ‘it’, you got pregnant. I definitely didn’t know about contraceptives back then (and in reflection, I even doubt if he knew much more than me – after all, you couldn’t buy condoms (if he even knew about condoms; I know I didn’t!) in gas stations back then, and in our small town, every one knew every one else. Even the pharmacist was a family friend!). My knight in shining armor was unmistakably looking more and more tarnished as each day passed.
Yet, I wanted his cock. I will never deny it! I had this silly notion that if we fucked we would both become 'real' adults. People would no longer treat us as kids, and we would gain instant respect. (How fucking stupid, lol?)
There were other thoughts sailing around my increasingly confused head. Every time he put one finger in my pussy, it felt wonderful, but every time he attempted two, it hurt like bejesus. His cock was unquestionably thicker than those two skinny fingers he had tried to use. I knew I couldn’t take him. Oh fuck, I was in a dilemma.
Did it happen? When, where, how? Yes, it happened; guess where? Yup, his fucking car, again, lol.
It took a further month before we did the deed, in part due to the winter weather. We finally went out one early Sunday evening, and after driving around aimlessly, found ourselves up at the local ‘Lover’s Leap’ (the regular hang out place, lol). Surprisingly, it was empty, and we had the choice of spots. Every time we had been up here, we noticed different cars, always parked further down the road, in a more secluded area. It didn’t matter which car, as long as they got there early, and today was our turn to snag this special spot.
We drove down to this area, and immediately noticed the privacy it offered. As Pete reversed into the spot, I observed it was overgrown from behind, and it offered natural shielding on both sides. All we had to worry about was any one walking in front of us, and NO ONE walked around up here, lol.
He jumped into the back seat without delay, and stripped off his clothes (by now we were always naked for our sex fun), and was already telling me to hurry up. I slipped over the seat, letting him catch a glimpse of my panties as I lifted my leg, and he got hard immediately. We were both so excited, and he helped me strip off. Naked as the day we were born, he started kissing all over my body. My tits got a work out, my belly, my thighs, . . . and finally, he got to my already wet pussy.
I wanted his cock now, and lowered my head and took him in my mouth. By now I had become an expert cock sucker (so he said, yeah, yeah, lol) and I got the immediate reaction I was hoping for. He gushed within minutes, and I swallowed him all. (His buddy had told him that if he came first, quickly, the fuck would last longer. I hoped so, damn, he always came too quickly (premature ejaculator, remember?)!)
We were ready. I lay back, as best as I could, and he got between my legs. His cock was fully erect again, within minutes, and my pussy was still wet. I was shit scared, and hopelessly excited, all in the one emotional upheaval, and I desperately wanted his cock in my cunt, now!
He lowered his cock into my open, waiting pussy, and pushed.
Jesus, fucking hell on earth! I thought he was going to tear my pussy apart, the pain was so bad. Oh fuck, I was hurting like hell! But he pushed further, and further, ignoring my screams. I was crying in total pain, and still he pushed that monster in. My pussy felt like a million needles were pricking me, my legs felt like they had turned to blocks of ice, and my ass was on fire.
Still he pushed his fucking cock in further, until finally, he was fully in me. Then he stopped. I was in sheer agony. I was totally freaked and hurting big time. He slapped my tits repeatedly, and told me to be quiet. At that I cried even more.
As the minutes passed (and they did pass eventually, because the bastard refused point blank to get off me), the pain seemed to ease up, and I then just felt like I had a giant turd stuck in my ass. (Why I felt that, I am not even sure today, but I guess I was trying to find a comparison my brain would understand.)
Slowly, ever so slowly, he started to pump his cock in and out of my painful pussy. Surprisingly, after a few minutes the pain dulled, although it never truly went away, and the sensation of what we were actually doing took over. (Does every woman feel the same thing?) We settled into a rhythm, and he pumped in and out of me with relative ease. I was waiting for the fireworks to start, as I had read about, and I confess, that first time, there weren’t any, but that didn’t seem to faze him.
We had agreed that when he began to ‘feel’ himself cumming, he would pull his cock out. I had been adamant about that (that being one of many reasons it had taken over a month to get to this time, my woefully erratic periods were one of the other reasons). He had agreed, and I was relatively sure he would keep his word. You guessed it. Nope. He blew his load deep inside me within two minutes of starting (fucking premie ejaculator!).
A few grunts, a jerk or two, and he was done. My cunt was now burning, and he weighed a bazillion tons, lying, dead-weight on top of me. What a fucking great way to start my life of fucking, not!
Jesus Christ, I thought, and started to cry all over again. Immediately he finished, he pulled his cock out, sat up, and lit a cigarette. No kisses, no stroking me gently. He was finished, and that was all that mattered (to him). What ever happened to him warning me, or pulling his cock out as he felt himself cumming? It was just one more example of the selfishness he constantly demonstrated.
“That was great, honey,” he said, all smiles. “I wanna do that again. Come on get ready.”
What? No way, and I told him so. I told him how much I hurt, and how he had broken his promise, and he hit me, hard. He slapped my face and tits several times, and told me to grow up, or get out of his fucking car. He turned nasty; berating me for being a lousy fuck.
I cried more. I couldn’t stop. He left me to cry, as he started to dress.
Then he hit me again, with his closed fist, and started calling me a whore, and a slut! What? Why?
“You’re bleeding, you cunt, you’re having your period. Look at my cock.” He said with venom in his voice, “You nasty little tramp, you knew. You lied to me.” He screamed and yelled. His rage was terrible.
I was petrified. I looked down. Oh God, there WAS blood on his cock, and blood all around my pussy. [In fact, I was hemorrhaging, I later found out.] Blood seeped everywhere.
“No, no, honey, please,” I begged him, “I promise you, oh God no, please believe me. I finished my period 6 or 7 days ago, I promise, and I even waited an extra couple of days to be sure. Please, oh God, please believe me.” I ranted and begged.
“You lying slut,” he spat at me, screaming, and hit me again. “You knew all along you whore, and wanted me to fuck your dirty, slutty cunt, on purpose. Well, fuck you.” He yelled, and he punched me again.
“Darling,” I whimpered, lost in the pain, “Please . . . I love you so much.” It was no use.
He threw my clothes at me, opened the door, and kicked me out of the car. I landed next to the foliage hiding the car from other parkers. He followed me out of the car, and spat on me again, and then he pissed on me! The bastard took his cock out, and pissed on me. I had piss dripping down my back, in my hair, and all over my clothes. He pissed on me!
He kicked me in the ribs twice (and I heard something snap), climbed into the car, started it, opened the window, spat on me again, as I lay there naked (and still bleeding), and then he drove off.
I never saw him again! So much for him being my knight in armor, he was nothing more than trash. Good riddance to utter shit! Fuck you Mr. Pete.
I lay there naked, unable to move, for a long time. Sobbing. It started to rain, and I was freezing, but still I didn’t move. I was bruised, and bleeding around my tits and face, and my pussy felt like I had a flagpole shoved up into it. I couldn’t move. Fortunately the rain washed away his piss, so I didn’t smell like a urinal any more.
There was matted blood in my pubic hair, and in my pussy. And I was still bleeding! Why? Every time I tried to move, I cried out in agony. What the fuck had he done to me? It wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it?
[I never even knew about my ‘hymen’ or anything else back then, but the damage he did was much more than just a torn hymen, I found out later.]
I tried to stand, and sharp excruciating pains ripped inside my belly. I collapsed again, and sobbed wildly. My whole world had gone to shit in ten minutes flat. I tried to stand again, and after several painful minutes I was finally able to get up to my feet. My clothes were soaked, and I didn’t even bother with my bra or panties (I threw them away!), but I did manage to pull my dress on. The rain had saturated everything, but at least I now felt decent enough to try to walk home.
I took one step and buckled over in pain again. Fuck, what had he done to me? I cried uncontrollably.
It was fully dark by now, the rain was still pouring down, and I was in trouble, deep, bad trouble. I was in many different types of trouble, I knew that, but I also knew I had to get help, NOW!
I saw car lights approaching, and tried to stand again. The pain was unbearable, but I pushed myself up onto my knees as the car seemed to head straight to me. "Yes, let it hit me," I thought (I confess), "and then my worries will be over". The car stopped several feet from me, and a voice called out, “Are you ok? Do you need help?”
I felt like calling back, “No, I always crawl around ‘Lover’s Leap’ on my knees”, but thought I better bite my tongue, to stop the sarcasm, and I answered simply, “Help me please.” Before I collapsed again . . .
I woke up in the hospital.
My mother was sitting beside me, and my father was pacing the room. I felt like I had been hit by a freight train. My head hurt (as if I had my own private marching band in there), and I had trouble focusing. I raised my arm, and noticed several tubes stuck in it. My stomach churned, and my chest shrieked every time I breathed.
“She’s awake,” I heard my mother say, and my father came closer.
“You little slut,” he said to me. “Look at you, you deserve what you got.” And he stormed out of the room.
I started crying, and the aches and pains screamed at me.
My mother reached for my hand, and stroked me softly. “There, there,” she said. “He’s more scared than angry. He’ll be back.”
“Mommy,” I started to say, but my voice sounded muffled, “Mommy, I am so sorry.” My throat hurt to talk, and my mouth hurt too.
[I found out later that I had three broken ribs, a torn vagina, a fractured cheek, two black eyes, bruising to 45% of my upper body (mostly my tits), extreme bruising to my vaginal area, concussion, and a badly bruised jaw (The doctor was surprised it wasn’t broken!). I was told that if I hadn’t been found that night, I would probably have bled to death, or died of hypothermia (it had gotten down below freezing that night!).]
I stayed in hospital for nearly two weeks, so severe were my injuries. (I had, in fact slept for over 48 hours after being admitted, and it was nearly midnight Tuesday when I first woke.) My parents, for all of their faults, had been by my side without sleep since I had been brought in by a frightened pair of teenagers, who swore they would never go back up 'there' again!
My father never did return to the hospital (except to drive us home), but my mother stayed on a cot in my room, and never left my side. Amazingly, she never asked me what happened, and never berated me. Mom basically accepted I had been raped, through no fault of my own, by Pete, who had then fled. I never did tell her any different. Let sleeping dogs lie, I thought (wisely?).
Did they know the truth? Of course they fucking knew (at least something). They must have known. Maybe not all of the details, yet, but they knew something alright. If I hadn’t been raped, then I had consented. It didn’t matter anymore. Either way, I was the victim of a severe sexual and criminal assault (I was still a minor, and it was statutory rape regardless), and their daughter was definitely no longer a virgin, and we would all have to deal with it. Whether together, as a family, or separately, remained to be seen!
The doctors and nurses were great to me, helping me all of the time, but they knew too, and yes, I saw them snigger. No, it wasn’t paranoia on my part. It was 1965, in the middle of nowhere, and I was now the town scandal!
My pussy hurt like a thousand needles were sticking in to it (I had to have 15 stitches, so severe was the trauma, and to my (eventually pleasant) surprise, they had shaved me), and my face was black and blue. My body screamed at me, my legs ached and burned, my head never stopped it’s relentless pounding for days, my arms were like lead, and my vision was blurred for over a week. But I was alive. I was fucking alive.
And Pete? Fuck him! I never heard from him again. He had no family locally, and I never did know where any of his family was originally from. The few friends he had had, dropped him go like he was poison (which he was!), and no one heard of him again. I eventually heard that after he raped me (and he did, I am not rationalizing here; he performed “statutory” rape on a minor, whether I consented or not (due to my age)), he joined the army, went to Vietnam and stayed for the duration. In early 1971 he was caught in enemy cross fire, and died. Fuck him!
[In late 1970, I received a check (via my mother) for ,000.00 from a bank in Bangkok. No names, no forwarding address. I considered ripping it up, but fuck it, I took that money! Was it from him? I don’t know and don’t care. Was he feeling guilty? I don’t care. Was he the benefactor? I never ever bothered to check that out, and no one ever came after me, so fuck them all! That check gave me a good down payment for my home. Fuck it!]
And me? Well here is where my story begins in earnest.
After 11 days in hospital, I returned home with my parents. I was nearly totally healed. The bruising and black eyes had gone away, the concussion was finally over too, my vision was back to normal, and even my ribs were no longer hurting too badly. Only my vaginal area needed some more minor care. I had had the stitches removed two days ago, and although embarrassed to have a nurse down '‘there'’ poking and touching my now bald pussy, I was finally recovering. I was still slightly sore, but had only minor bruising left in my pussy. As a precaution, I was warned not to fuck (of course they didn’t say fuck, they said “sexual relations” so primly, but unmistakably clear) for at least a week (they knew, all right, why else would they say that to me?), but was also told I would recover fully. Phew, fucking phew.
My father waited in the car, as my mother brought me down. He never said a word to me as we drove home, and even after we got inside he still remained silent.
My mother was marvelous, fussing and helping me. I had never seen this side of her, and was pleasantly surprised. (For all of the rest of her life (even after I found out more about her), she never changed her caring ways towards me, always being there for me. Up to this incident, I was just a child, did she now think I was a woman?) My kids sisters and brothers were all helpful too, and I retired to my room (my kid sister moved next door with my other two sisters, so I had a room to myself).
All I wanted to do was sleep. My mother understood, and took the kids out for the afternoon, telling me my father would be down stairs if I needed anything. Then with a kiss, she was gone, and the house fell silent. Within minutes, I fell into a sound sleep, and slept for several peaceful hours.
I don’t remember how long I slept for, but I awoke with a start. It was nearly dark outside, long shadows danced around the walls. There was someone in my room. I was sure. I looked around the dim room, and saw my father standing by the closed door. Why?
He saw me waken, and came closer. My god, he had his erect cock out, and was stroking it! I looked at him, and instantly knew what was about to happen.
“Well, well, my little slut. Been caught fucking have we?” he spat at me. “Did you like it? Did he have a good big cock?” He said as he pawed at my nightgown.
“Well, what am I gonna do about you, huh?” he asked, and didn’t wait for my answer, “I’ll tell you. Either you suck my cock, anytime I want it, or I’ll kick your cunt out of my house, forever. What’s it gonna be slut?” And he pushed his cock towards my mouth.
Silently, I opened my mouth.
His cock wasn’t as thick as Pete’s, but it was longer. Sobbing, I took his cock into my mouth, and yes, I sucked him off. He only took a few seconds to cum (not another premature ejaculator, I wondered?), then he shot his seed into my mouth. I swallowed, and then licked his cock knob clean. I knew the drill.
“Show me those fucking titties of yours, slut,” He commanded, and pulled at my nightie.
I pulled down my gown, and his big hands started pulling my tits. I closed my wet eyes, and let him. Why not? I knew I had to pay someone, something, for this incident. I would rather it be my father, than a stranger, I guess!
Then his hand went lower to my pussy. I had started to grow some stubble back, and it itched like hell. His hand reached my pussy, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to enter me yet.
“Girly, in a few weeks, I am gonna fuck you, you do know that?” He said.
Sobbing now, I didn’t respond.
He continued, “You know where I keep my razor, don’t you? Make sure you keep this here cunt well shaved, I like bald cunt, understand?”
Still sobbing, I didn’t respond, again.
“Listen you little cunt, you might be able to fool your mother, and everyone else too, but I know what happened, and you know I know, so don’t fuck with me. If you wanna stay under my roof, put out, or get out, understand?” and he slapped my tit, then walked out.
I cried myself back to sleep.
There was nothing else left to do.
To be continued . . .
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