"Tommy: Part 27
"Tommy"
By Gentile
Part 27
---------
It was not like I'd envisioned in a thousand fantasies of Girl and "him" fueled by what I'd read and what'd I'd seen in "dirty book stores" so popular in that era and the arcades housed therein. What I'd made up out of whole cloth, what I wanted, what I'd seen in my mind's eye another thousand times, would, in the end be a reasonable facsimile. More than that even.
Bedside was just too close. I recognized that at once. If I didn't move I'd have surely left the room if not run the amok. I got to my feet and on the way to the chair I pushed the door almost closed, so I wouldn't be tempted to run thru it, out the patio door and down the hill into the forest.
I settled in as Tom Jones got done with it:
"For there's a guard, and there's a sad old padre,
Arm in arm, we'll walk at daybreak"
The last disc on the changer.
Somehow her white cotton gown was taken. I didn't see Tommy remove it. She wore no panties. Girl was nude.
Her long legs stretched out with his. They were not tangled, that would come later.
Her tan lines not as exquisite in the candle light.
He removed his white briefs in what I thought would end in a direct attempt to mount her and have intercourse. I was wrong. There was no hurry. None. There was no TV show to be watched after the one I'd watched first, no swing out with the Plymouth to show off after a Sunday afternoon of spit and polish:
"C'mon, Girl, it's ready." She'd come out in her jean shorts with a white cotton top that would extend past the shorts so one wasn't quite certain she had actual shorts, or anything for that matter on under that top, except me and sometimes I'd lift it just to make sure.
When I made note of that to her you know what she said?
"I know, boy."
They were on their respective sides, pressed together, their lips active, not in the French, but, more in the butterfly motif. The French would come later and would remain a constant, sometimes to the point I did not know how the two of them took air.
There would never be frenzy between them, ever, or, at least when I was present, but, frenetic would take place over the nexttwo days & nights and from time-to-time thereafter. Tommy was the consummate lover, at least for this girl. He'd had other women, probably dozens and nosy Girl tried to ascertain the exact number and their names. Tommy put his foot down rarely with Girl, if ever, but, his prior relationships was one point where he stood fast. She finally gave up, well almost, Girl never actually gives up totally, but, he didn't give in, or, at least as far as I knew.
"I don't know why not, Tommy, you know about Culburn."
---------
There were whispers, too soft for me to hear even in the silence of the finished record changer, so, I made up their content, for later, for later when I'd be alone down the other end starring out the window at the Road Runner and the Jeep, her screams at orgasm coming pretty much at regular intervals. There was a difference to her screams with him versus with me. Or, so I told myself. There were more screams of that there was no doubt. These were guttural screams. I'd never heard her scream at distance. I was always in the same bed, or, at least the same room when she'd spend and scream. Being sixty plus feet away was different. I knew she was enjoying herself, but, it almost sounded like she was being attacked, these were wild screams, not contained like with me. For the longest time, perhaps the entire time of his stay I'd lay awake and anticipate those screams. Girl screaming could take place at any time of the night. I mean just because we'd say our good nights and I'd leave them at rest didn't mean a thing:
"We're bushed, Cully, good night, sweetheart."
"Sleep well, Culburn."
I'd lower my chair from where I'd learned to lean back and cock it, my socked feet pressing on the corner of their bed and get up from my chair:
"Good night, angel. Night, Tommy."
An hour later: a scream in the night. At the first I'd of course skulk down and listen at the bottom of the hallway bathroom door opening. Get right down on my knees. I could hear fine, their post coitus/orgasm/pillow talk. What I really was listening for (after those three) were signs and signals of mutiny, deception, conspiracy. Did I wish to hear such? I cannot lie. It is inexplicable, but, persists to this day. That would never happen though, ever. My name was rarely spoken of. When it was it was just in passing, the humdrum. Me and him having to perform a chore for her, or, what I'd like for breakfast. Just mundane references, never a conspiratorial act or threat of any sort. Was I disappointed? Again I will not lie. It is inexplicable, but, sustains to this day.
And they'd, well the girl created a sleep system, or, position, a dwelling, whatever you want to call it. (The Cave)
"Cully, look; Tommy lays on his right side like this." He'd actually get into the position as she described it.
"Then I snuggle up in there and like spoon." She gets in there, in her jammies, he's in briefs.
"Then he d****s his left arm over the top of me. Okay Tommy, go ahead, boy" Tommy d****s it over, all smiles.
"This guards me, and that's it. I'm in The Cave where nothing can hurt me."
And that's how they slept. I'd check on 'em sometimes, go down and she was always in there, in The Cave, both of 'em sleepin' like Rip Van Winkle.
---------
It was those whispers, and sighs, the soft laughter and calm conversations in the midst of preparations to fuck, oh, and the squeals, yes, her girlish, her feminine squeals as he touched and stroked places where I never had, places I never even knew existed, or, would venture their existence. Ever. I found this to be at once both highly exhilarating and somewhat disturbing, even close to maddening.
"What is he doing to her?" To-my-self as I watched from the lone cheap seat.
And the man would fuck Girl whether the goal was to spend, or, after spending just to enjoy that intimacy with no goal to spend. It wouldn't be a full bone, but, it was stiff and very serviceable. He'd drive her to ecstasy in those times.
"Cully, would you come close then and run your hand down there and play with me? I want to cum with him inside me while you rub me. I can cum that way, I know I can. Please, darling?"
I could readily reason that to do so I'd most likely come into contact with Tommy somewhere along the line. But, she briefed Tommy: he lifted, I kept my eyes on her face, my hand flat across her heated breasts and just past her belly button I'd find her nest of soft downy hair---then her wetness. He'd stroke ever so slowly, talking to her in whispers, spurring her on with words of his deep love for her, again & again.
"I never knew folks who talk as much as you two do during sex." He'd commented early on.
But, he got with the program rather quickly and would talk up a storm, in that deep voice he had. Even talk in the third person, which I never did:
"Yes, baby-girl, Tommy, loves his ***********. Yes, baby, we're here, sweetheart. Let it go, Girl, tell Culburn, tell Tommy all about it."
"I love you, Tommy, I have from the very start."
From the gun.
"I just love you. Cully, I love, Tommy. I do. Please."
"It's okay, baby, you can love Tommy. I want you to love him. He loves you, baby."
Tommy stroked.
I'd rub.
Tommy would talk.
I would talk.
Girl would crest.
Girl would scream.
He would pick her up in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing and hold her to his chest, talking her down in a tone so soft I could not make the content out.
I'd drift back to my chair as he formed The Cave, and ensconce her within. He had incredible strength.. They'd either sleep then,, or, rest, and start anew.
And just a whisper from The Cave: 'I love you, boy."
---------
(to be continued)
By Gentile
Part 27
---------
It was not like I'd envisioned in a thousand fantasies of Girl and "him" fueled by what I'd read and what'd I'd seen in "dirty book stores" so popular in that era and the arcades housed therein. What I'd made up out of whole cloth, what I wanted, what I'd seen in my mind's eye another thousand times, would, in the end be a reasonable facsimile. More than that even.
Bedside was just too close. I recognized that at once. If I didn't move I'd have surely left the room if not run the amok. I got to my feet and on the way to the chair I pushed the door almost closed, so I wouldn't be tempted to run thru it, out the patio door and down the hill into the forest.
I settled in as Tom Jones got done with it:
"For there's a guard, and there's a sad old padre,
Arm in arm, we'll walk at daybreak"
The last disc on the changer.
Somehow her white cotton gown was taken. I didn't see Tommy remove it. She wore no panties. Girl was nude.
Her long legs stretched out with his. They were not tangled, that would come later.
Her tan lines not as exquisite in the candle light.
He removed his white briefs in what I thought would end in a direct attempt to mount her and have intercourse. I was wrong. There was no hurry. None. There was no TV show to be watched after the one I'd watched first, no swing out with the Plymouth to show off after a Sunday afternoon of spit and polish:
"C'mon, Girl, it's ready." She'd come out in her jean shorts with a white cotton top that would extend past the shorts so one wasn't quite certain she had actual shorts, or anything for that matter on under that top, except me and sometimes I'd lift it just to make sure.
When I made note of that to her you know what she said?
"I know, boy."
They were on their respective sides, pressed together, their lips active, not in the French, but, more in the butterfly motif. The French would come later and would remain a constant, sometimes to the point I did not know how the two of them took air.
There would never be frenzy between them, ever, or, at least when I was present, but, frenetic would take place over the nexttwo days & nights and from time-to-time thereafter. Tommy was the consummate lover, at least for this girl. He'd had other women, probably dozens and nosy Girl tried to ascertain the exact number and their names. Tommy put his foot down rarely with Girl, if ever, but, his prior relationships was one point where he stood fast. She finally gave up, well almost, Girl never actually gives up totally, but, he didn't give in, or, at least as far as I knew.
"I don't know why not, Tommy, you know about Culburn."
---------
There were whispers, too soft for me to hear even in the silence of the finished record changer, so, I made up their content, for later, for later when I'd be alone down the other end starring out the window at the Road Runner and the Jeep, her screams at orgasm coming pretty much at regular intervals. There was a difference to her screams with him versus with me. Or, so I told myself. There were more screams of that there was no doubt. These were guttural screams. I'd never heard her scream at distance. I was always in the same bed, or, at least the same room when she'd spend and scream. Being sixty plus feet away was different. I knew she was enjoying herself, but, it almost sounded like she was being attacked, these were wild screams, not contained like with me. For the longest time, perhaps the entire time of his stay I'd lay awake and anticipate those screams. Girl screaming could take place at any time of the night. I mean just because we'd say our good nights and I'd leave them at rest didn't mean a thing:
"We're bushed, Cully, good night, sweetheart."
"Sleep well, Culburn."
I'd lower my chair from where I'd learned to lean back and cock it, my socked feet pressing on the corner of their bed and get up from my chair:
"Good night, angel. Night, Tommy."
An hour later: a scream in the night. At the first I'd of course skulk down and listen at the bottom of the hallway bathroom door opening. Get right down on my knees. I could hear fine, their post coitus/orgasm/pillow talk. What I really was listening for (after those three) were signs and signals of mutiny, deception, conspiracy. Did I wish to hear such? I cannot lie. It is inexplicable, but, persists to this day. That would never happen though, ever. My name was rarely spoken of. When it was it was just in passing, the humdrum. Me and him having to perform a chore for her, or, what I'd like for breakfast. Just mundane references, never a conspiratorial act or threat of any sort. Was I disappointed? Again I will not lie. It is inexplicable, but, sustains to this day.
And they'd, well the girl created a sleep system, or, position, a dwelling, whatever you want to call it. (The Cave)
"Cully, look; Tommy lays on his right side like this." He'd actually get into the position as she described it.
"Then I snuggle up in there and like spoon." She gets in there, in her jammies, he's in briefs.
"Then he d****s his left arm over the top of me. Okay Tommy, go ahead, boy" Tommy d****s it over, all smiles.
"This guards me, and that's it. I'm in The Cave where nothing can hurt me."
And that's how they slept. I'd check on 'em sometimes, go down and she was always in there, in The Cave, both of 'em sleepin' like Rip Van Winkle.
---------
It was those whispers, and sighs, the soft laughter and calm conversations in the midst of preparations to fuck, oh, and the squeals, yes, her girlish, her feminine squeals as he touched and stroked places where I never had, places I never even knew existed, or, would venture their existence. Ever. I found this to be at once both highly exhilarating and somewhat disturbing, even close to maddening.
"What is he doing to her?" To-my-self as I watched from the lone cheap seat.
And the man would fuck Girl whether the goal was to spend, or, after spending just to enjoy that intimacy with no goal to spend. It wouldn't be a full bone, but, it was stiff and very serviceable. He'd drive her to ecstasy in those times.
"Cully, would you come close then and run your hand down there and play with me? I want to cum with him inside me while you rub me. I can cum that way, I know I can. Please, darling?"
I could readily reason that to do so I'd most likely come into contact with Tommy somewhere along the line. But, she briefed Tommy: he lifted, I kept my eyes on her face, my hand flat across her heated breasts and just past her belly button I'd find her nest of soft downy hair---then her wetness. He'd stroke ever so slowly, talking to her in whispers, spurring her on with words of his deep love for her, again & again.
"I never knew folks who talk as much as you two do during sex." He'd commented early on.
But, he got with the program rather quickly and would talk up a storm, in that deep voice he had. Even talk in the third person, which I never did:
"Yes, baby-girl, Tommy, loves his ***********. Yes, baby, we're here, sweetheart. Let it go, Girl, tell Culburn, tell Tommy all about it."
"I love you, Tommy, I have from the very start."
From the gun.
"I just love you. Cully, I love, Tommy. I do. Please."
"It's okay, baby, you can love Tommy. I want you to love him. He loves you, baby."
Tommy stroked.
I'd rub.
Tommy would talk.
I would talk.
Girl would crest.
Girl would scream.
He would pick her up in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing and hold her to his chest, talking her down in a tone so soft I could not make the content out.
I'd drift back to my chair as he formed The Cave, and ensconce her within. He had incredible strength.. They'd either sleep then,, or, rest, and start anew.
And just a whisper from The Cave: 'I love you, boy."
---------
(to be continued)
5年前
