Portrait of the 'all-American' Girl

(NOTE: This story is something that actually happened to me during the brief period that I lived in the States with my Father and brother. You guys that complain about girls being prudish here…you've just gotta get them in the right situation, I guess. Anyway, I hope you like it.)

* * * * *

"They always make them too watery," she said to me, poking at her "grits" with a heavily-spotted fork. The Waffle House was thick with cheap cigar smoke and NASCAR talk. I fucking hate NASCAR. On top of it, our waitress was ugly and mean. A restaurant full of redneck idiots, and my waitress, their queen. I could almost see her leaving after her 27 hour shift and hitting the sack with her brother and dog in the same, twin-sized bed. ((WHAT!?!?! That was totally harsh)) My friend's complaining words snapped me back into reality. "There's never enough salt, either." Her slight southern drawl accented the inanity of her complaints.

"Is that a big deal?" I asked. Even after all that had gone down, I was still acted like a damn nervous kid around her. Like a damn nervous kid about to ask his parents for something he knows he shouldn't be getting. Unbelievable.

"Well, yeah, I mean, you can't just have some watery, saltless grits, can you?"

"I don't eat grits…so yeah, I could." Something clever, finally…something clever.

She looked up at me with her big green eyes and smiled. "You know, I kinda wish I'd have been a dork in high school." She began to shake her head and laugh. "You're so much more fun."

This bares some explanation. I'd ask the cliché' "Why don't we start from the beginning," but I won't, because it's OBVIOUS THAT WE SHOULD START FROM THE BEGINNING!!! I fucking hate that pseudo-clever questioning shit! Imagine if we were NOT to start from the beginning. Imagine if it were like "No way, dude, I'm not gonna do that!" DO WHAT? What the fuck!?! I swear…

why don't we start from the beginning

…Jesus Christ.

Anyway, here's the beginning…

It was too tight. So tight, in fact, that I could barely breath with it clamped around me like that…er, my tie. My tie was too tight. See, the senior prom was that night (both participants of the following story ARE and WERE at the time, although in high-school, over EIGHTEEN…so shut up) and I was having a little trouble getting myself together. To make an EXTREMELY long and complicated story short, my rental tux and accessories were…let's say…

borrowed

from my car without my knowledge the night before, and I had to make some last minute, annoyingly make-shift adjustments. I fiddled around in front of my rear-view mirror for a few more minutes and, to my moderate satisfaction, was able to fidget this golden-rod bow-tie loose enough to where it didn't put me in a sleeper hold.

I sighed to myself one of those 'take it like a man' sighs and hopped out of my Oldsmobile. Being heavily a part of the slacker/grungy crowd, I felt more than a little out of place at this gala event, but it was just a necessary evil. My mission was extremely clear. See, as our slacker senior prank, my buddies and I (or, actually, just my buddies…I don't remember being in on the brain-storming of this one) had crafted a masterpiece. A real KILLER gag. Actually, it was kinda minor-league, but I think everything in life is like that. Like, the funniest thing you've ever done would probably only evoke slight chuckles from an audience were it re-played in a movie. So maybe you had to be there. Anyway, it was hilarious in conception to us. The long and short is that I was to finagle my way to the deejay booth during prom-king/queen announcements and start this tape we had of the chick about to become prom queen saying something to the effect of how she hated all the kids at our school. It was taken way out of context, as she was actually referring to the faculty acting like kids, and how they bickered and bossed and bitched. Regardless, it sounded mean on her part, and we wanted to embarrass her. After all, she stood for everything we stood against. Popularity, beauty, fun…

COME ON, WE WERE FRIENDLESS GEEKS!!! HAULDEN CAUFIELD!!! READ A BOOK!!!

I stood cross-armed in the doorway of the hotel ball-room for a few minutes deciding whether or not to go in. Maybe it was dumb idea I thought - a couple passed by and walked in. Maybe I shouldn't go through with it - a couple passed by and walked in. Maybe this whole thing was actually a plot by my friends against me and they had switched the tapes of her voice to one of me, like, singing "My Hero" in the shower or something and everybody would laugh at me more than they already did and - a couple passed by a walked in. "What the hell," I thought to myself. "Stop being paranoid."

I darted my hand out bravely and grabbed the door handle, opening it with a fling and marching triumphantly into the dance. Until I bumped into someone three steps in and ended up looking like a clumsy jerk. I made my dorky apologies and proceeded over to the empty chairs, only sparsely occupied by fellow nerds and rejects. I eyed across the dance-floor until I caught my victim. Her head was bowed down and she was playing with her accessory purse. I imagined she was perfecting a bow or something, making sure she was the best looking female in the joint, but that's not what she was doing at all. When she looked up, actually, she was crying. A tall football player-type walked up and put his hand on her lower-back, saying something that I'm sure was rooted in an attempt to get layed…then he grabbed his face and stumbled back after the impact of being bitch-slapped.

I swallowed hard and realized that there was no way I could go through with this. After all, I'm not a monster or anything…plus, I didn't really want to receive one of those open-hands either. So, I kinda ducked my head and scurried towards the door.

Half-way out of the lobby, I was bumped from behind. I turned around to see who it was (not that I was gonna do anything…that would take courage) and was met with those same teary green eyes. Tatum (that's the girl's name, by the way, Tay-tum) looked up at me and smiled (as if she were programmed to be the polite) and said "excuse me," in a soft, sadness-hiding voice. I dumbly and mutely stepped out of the way and she ran past, muttering her thanks.

What I did next is still a mystery to me. Maybe I did it out of straight curiosity, or maybe it was that I realized that I, myself, was about to try and evoke the same reaction out of her, but, in any event, whatever the reason, I decided to follow her.

Now, one must understand the chemistry here. This was Tatum McGrath, homecoming queen and cheerleading star. Blonde hair, green eyes, perfect teeth, big tits, nice ass, yadda yadda yadda, and I was Nigel, the slack-ass, greasy haired, listened to too much NIRVANA, watched too much porn wastoid. We had never spoken more than three words to one-another (excuse, me, and thanks were those exact three), and could not have been (at least we thought) from further ends of the social spectrum. But here I was, walking towards the sobbing girl, formulating my line of questioning and comforting.

"Hi." That was my big opener. Hi. I'm a natural at this, I tell ya'. A pro.

"Hi," she sniffled back to me. These smiles she was donning were nuts. She obviously wasn't in a smiling mood, but she did anyway. Like she'd been taught this. I assumed in her "My First Ms. USA" pageants or something of the sort.

"What's wrong," I asked. I'm tellin' ya', a pro.

"Oh, it's nothing, I'm fine," she forcedly giggled, wiping her eyes.

"You don't look fine," I said, beginning to calm down after realizing that she wasn't gonna be all 'who the hell are you' about it.

"It's…I don't know…don't worry about it," she shrugged. I started to mouth something else before she cut me off. "Guys are such assholes," she said, harshly. I was surprised by her communication. "They just…have you ever had sex with a girl?"

What a question! Two seconds in and we're discussing sexual past. Cool.

"Uh, yeah, of course…lots…why?" I could barely keep a straight face. For the first time, I realized that my anger towards Tatum was not based in some principles or ethics, but out of the fact that she was EXTREMELY hot and was NEVER going to fuck me. Note that I added in the "of course" and "lots," emphasizing my vast sexual experience.

"Did you tell everybody?" There it was, the age-old problem. Girl is perfect, does something HARDCORE sexual with a dude, he tells everyone he knows, and girl is now uber-slut.

"I don't have any friends, who would I tell," I joked back.

She smiled and laughed, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. I reached my hand down to help her up off of the asphalt parking lot where she had been sitting. She reached up and grabbed it, her skin being unbelievably smooth.

"Come on, I'll take you home," I offered.

"Can't. I'm staying with a friend cause my parents are out of town." She patted some gravel off of her yellow dress. "She's still inside and I don't want to ruin this for her."

"You can come to my place and hang-out if you'd like," I said, as nervously as I had ever said anything in my life.

"Are you sure?" You could tell she was hesitant. She didn't even know me and this had been a pretty dramatic night for her. "I don't know…I think I'll hang-out out here until this thing is over."

"No…don't," I blurted. "You'll have more fun at my house. I have Playstation." Playstation? Whatadork…

She looked at me for a second, then laughed, rubbed her hands together. "Sure."

SURE!?! SURE!?! It was at this moment that I realized that I had just invited this girl to my house! Dumbass…dumbass…dumbass.

(I think I could tell you more about our drive to my house, or whatever, but there was nothing that interesting. She told me she listened to Nirvana, too, and that she didn't really like being popular all that much. She asked who was home, and I told her that nobody was, that about covers it. Instead, let's fast-forward to when we're coming in.)

We walked into the front door and I turned on the hall light. "Nice place," she said, removing her high-healed shoes and kicking them into the closet.

"It's pretty alright, I guess."

"Where's your bathroom," she asked.

"Uh, right up the stairs and to the right. First door."

"Thanks," she said, trotting up the stairs, raising her dress hem so she didn't trip on it.

I heard the door shut quietly behind her before I practically jumped out of my fucking skin. Holy shit! Tatum McGrath was at my house, ALONE, with me. And she was in my bathroom. In my bathroom. In my…bath… Oh no. Tatum McGrath was home with me, alone, in my bathroom, where my TOTALLY GEEKY STASH OF JERK-OFF MAGS WAS ON THE BACK OF THE TOILET! I had left them there from earlier because no one was home and it didn't matter! I slowly started melting into a pile of loose skin, stomach butterflies, and sweat beads. This was WAY bad.

Quickly, I darted up the stairs and ran to the bathroom door. I stood silent in front of it for a few moments, figuring out what I would say, how I would just pretend they were my brother's and that he was some type of sex-fiend. Breathing heavily, I raised my hand to knock on the door, and almost hit Tatum in the face.

Just as I was about to knock, she had come out. And there she was, nose buried in one of my magazines, her body clad in only white sting-sided panties and a matching bra.

"My dress was way too restrictive and I didn't want to sit on your furniture with it being as dirty as it was from the oil and gravel," she told me, completely straight-faced. She walked further down the hallway, face remaining planted in the porn, me watching in utter-disbelief as her half-cotton-covered ass swayed with her steps. Was she serious? Guys are stupid about these things, and I didn't want to make a move and be wrong. Maybe she really was just dirty. Women…

She pushed down the hall, peering into the bedrooms one by one, turning the pages of the magazine and smiling little half smiles with each new layout. Finally, she looked into the room on the far left, noting the big Smashing Pumpkins poster and the Fender Roc-Pro guitar amp. She turned her body completely around on her right heel, and asked slyly, "Is this your room?" Not waiting for an answer, she closed up the porno-mag and walked in, sending the echoing sounds of someone flopping down onto the bed thundering into the hallway.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, this is, uh, my room," I said, clumsily walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind me.

"Cool. Nice collection you got, there in the bathroom," she smiled.

"Oh, it's, uh, my broth…er…you like it?" I was reduced to half-worded mumbles and sentence fragments at this point.

"Oh, yes. It's interesting. I've ALWAYS liked porno. Since I was probably 16 and found MY brothers stash in his room." Her words were each like there own separate little dreams now, as I began to wonder where this might be headed. "Anyway, thanks for letting me come here. God, that Brad is such and ASSHOLE!"

"How so," I asked. This was my big attempt. I was gonna get some sexual information out of this girl. I needed it. "I mean, you said that he'd spread word about you, or something like that. What happened?"

A devilish grin came on Tatum's face as she pulled her legs up under her to sit. "I told him that I wouldn't go through with it if he told anyone, and he promised he wouldn't, but I caught him taddling to his best friend, Ren about it."

"About what?"

"Me sucking his cock. Me letting him fuck me in the ass. Me swallowing his cum, and using a dildo on my pussy while I licked his virgin sister's twat, and letting him film us. You know." Her words were delivered with all the seductiveness of a Jenna Jameson 'come fuck me' line. "Problem is, if he told, I can't really fuck him any more. Sure, I can deny it, and I'll be believed, but that's because it's just him. Imagine if there were a bunch of guys going around mouthing off about all of this. What ever would I do?"

My cock was harder than compressed iron in a concrete box. I swallowed my saliva and stood in disbelief as Tatum switched position on the bed and layed on her side, resting her head on her right hand.

"You wouldn't tell anybody, would you, Nigel?"

"No, no…of…of course not. That would be..horrible. I mean, if we were to have sex…hypothetically speaking, I mean…I wouldn't..uh…nope. No." I sounding like a total retard. Are those words? God.

"That's good, that's good. I really hate it when guys do things like that," she pouted. This was WAY too much. "Why don't you come lay down with me," she suggested. I began to lay down on my bed before she stopped me. "No, no. Take your tux off. I feel kind of embarrassed being the only one in their underwear, here."

Okay, now THIS was amazing. I hurriedly shucked my golden vest and oxford and ditched my shoes, socks, and slacks. My boner was standing out like a Nazi at a Black Panther Convention.

"Hmmm…what's this," she asked, staring hard at my cock.

"I uh…um," before I could finish, she had pulled my cock out from my shorts and wrapped her hand around it, pumping up and down.

"It's so BIG Nigel. Tell me, why didn't we meet before tonight?"

Before I could say anything, she lifted her head up and jammed my cock down her throat. Swirling her tongue around the shaft and letting her spit coat the entire member. She grabbed onto the waste-line of my boxers, tugging them for leverage. My God! This girl sucked cock like it was her heroin-fix.

She pulled her legs up underneath her so that she was hunched over, bobbing her head up and down on my "BIG" dick. I didn't DARE think to do anything without her permission at this point. (Girls, THIS is how you can be sexual and not be looked down upon. Not all slut-chicks are disrespected by guys, just the ones who obviously fuck because they're told, not because they want. Demanding sluts, like this girl, are the MOST respected chicks in the world. I promise.) She pulled her lips off of my rod and looked up at me, smiling, then pushed my cock back through the opening in my boxers and tugged them all the way off ravenously. Setting herself back into her position, she stared at my dick for a second, before violently wrapping her lips back around it.

"Oh, God, Tatum," I moaned, receiving a cock-muffled giggle from the homecoming queen.

Her head moved back and forwarth with speed like The Matrix now as my cum shot up my shaft. I felt it race up to the head of my cock.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," I nervously sighed. She popped my cock out of her mouth, the saliva running in strands from her mouth to it's head.

"Oh, no! But, you haven't fucked me

yet

," she cried in her best little girl voice.

She pulled her lacy bra over her shoulders, exposing the nicest pair of tits I had EVER seen. Her nipples were almost colorless. They merged seamlessly with her flesh and perked up just enough to be noticeable. Ducking her head underneath me, she took my balls into her mouth, sucking gently as she pulled off her cotton panties. She slammed herself down onto the bed, spreading her legs and frigging her clit ferociously. Her demeanor changed dramatically as she demanded to get fucked.

"Bring your cock over here and fuck my tight pussy," she commanded.

I made my way between her legs and stared at her shaven cunt. Tatum let out a grunt and grabbed my by the cock, cramming my shaft all the way up inside her and bucking her hips like a deranged freak.

"Do you like this? Do you like it when I act like a little slut," she asked, returning to her helpless girl voice. "Oh, it feels so good, stretching my pussy with your big, fat cock. I'm such a little whore, aren't I?" Her words served only to drive me further and harder, slamming her pussy with everything I had.

"Give it to me harder, baby. Fuck my slut pussy," she commanded.

Suddenly, she pulled away from me and started jerking me off. She winked at me slightly before turning over onto her knees, burying the side of her face in a pillow and telling me to fuck her from behind.

"Stick that fat cock inside me. Come on, baby, I need to feel it in my wet cunt."

I slid into her from behind and began to rock back and forwarth. She had positioned herself so that all my weight came down on her with the force of each thrust. Her pussy was dripping juice as I was driven by her demonic moans.

She began to go into her first orgasm, shouting at me to keep going.

"FUCK…MY…PUSSY…OHHHHHHH…GOD…I'M CUMMING…SUCH A SLUT! OH GODDDDDDDD!!!!" And then she went silent, her pussy pulsating and vibrating around my dick like she'd been holding in that orgasm her whole life. I continued pounding into her hot box knowing that I too would soon be shooting my load.

She began to breath in unison with my thrusts. "I want you to cum all over my face and down my throat," she panted. I had no objections.

"Come on baby, cum on the little dirty whore," she urged me. I pulled out of her pussy as she resumed her position on her back. She grabbed hold of my cock and brought it over on top of her face. Droplets of pre-cum dripped down, landing on her lips, which she devoured like a Venus fly-trap.

I began to feel my cum race up my shaft again as I announced that I would be cumming. Tatum wrapped both hands around my cock, pumping and jerking like there was no tomorrow, opening her mouth and holding out her tongue, waiting for my cum to shoot down her hot, cock-sucking throat. Within seconds it erupted from my cock's head, shooting like a water pistol into the prom-princesses mouth. She licked and sucked the remainder of the cum from my dick and layed back on the bed, gazing into my eyes as she noisily swallowed every last drop.

"Did you like me being your cock sucking little slut," she asked as I lay back, my eyes half-shut, my mind still trying to wake-up from what had to have been a dream. I couldn't say anything.