A short story by J.K Ermon (jokermon)
The following is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this kind of material is unlawful where you reside due to your age or other legalities, don't read it. All characters in sexual situations are 18+, even if it seems otherwise for dramatic or narrative purposes. This story is entirely imaginary and nothing in it represents any actual people, events or real-life medical conditions. Please enjoy responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©2010 the author.
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Author's note: A slightly different version of this story was posted without my permission to Literotica in 2018. The response to it was so positive that I didn't kick up a fuss. The text below, however, should be considered the definitive Literotica version of this story.
)
~~~
Yvonne and I first met in the summer before my senior year, in the woods behind my family's property. It was kind of embarrassing. She caught me lying naked on a mossy log by the stream, beating off in a single-minded frenzy. I've made better first impressions.
~~~
I was masturbating in the woods because I didn't dare do it at home. I grew up in a very conservative household. My parents had a strict no-porn rule, and I was prohibited from having girlfriends or engaging in 'acts of self-abuse'. If you think that kind of ban is unenforceable, then you don't know my parents.
It amazes me that people so sexually phobic were able to procreate. It also amazes me that I accepted their regime as normal for so long.
While I wouldn't describe my parents as evil or abusive (they provided as best they could), when it came to sex, they were just...weird. For instance: I had stripped naked there in the woods to ensure no evidence would accidentally spatter my clothes. My mother would carefully inspect every article when doing the laundry, and I would have to explain any mystery stains. I'm not kidding. At night, they would listen at my bedroom door, sometimes for hours. If so much as a bedspring creaked, they would fling open the door to "just make sure everything's all right."
I won't go into all the other tactics they used to restrain my burgeoning sexuality during those hellish teenage years, but they were all equally neurotic. None of them actually
stopped
me from masturbating of course, but I had to go to ridiculous lengths to get my private time. And I would feel so guilty about it afterwards that it would be days before I would get desperate enough to do it again.
Sadly, they didn't have to work too hard to prevent me from dating. At that age I still hadn't properly filled out, or attained my full height. I was a nervous runt with no social graces. The girls in my hometown couldn't be bothered with awkward clods like me. Our town hosted a big, prestigious university and the girls only had eyes for the male students. Every year a new crop of old-money boys from upstate would come to town, all destined for bright futures elsewhere. My fellow townie boys all learned to say "fucking stuck-up college-groupie" before they learned to say "pass the salt." My virginity had no end in sight.
Masturbation, however, was well within my grasp. Even with all my parents' moaning about hairy palms and blindness, I couldn't be stopped. It was years, incidentally, before I learned the whole were-palm thing was a myth. Not that it slowed me down any. I was at that age where my penis would stiffen up of its own accord several times a day, and it was too tempting not to play with it.
I loved the nasty images that came into my head as I masturbated. Visions of naked people doing exciting sexy things to each other, and sometimes to me, would just spontaneously appear. The exact details were always vague, as I had no sexual experience beyond masturbation, and precious little visual material to draw upon. I had no porn and no access to any. The imagination is a wonderful thing, though, and as I rubbed myself, the pleasure and those sexy thoughts and feelings would rise to an awesome peak. When I shot my load all over the bushes, it was pure heaven.
Not much was fun or pleasurable in my life in those years. Masturbation took me someplace else, and that made it an Unquestionable Good.
My parents worked long hours during the summer break, and fortunately, that summer there was only part-time work to be had for students. I had whole days to myself. Our house was out past the town limits, on the edge of a state conservation area, and we had no neighbors. While the house was a sexual no-fly zone, there was plenty of opportunity to fool around naked outdoors. I knew lots of secluded little dells where I could strip and play with myself in complete privacy.
In retrospect, I guess it seems obvious my home life was a pretty repressed, miserable existence. In my young naïveté, I thought everybody lived like this. Yvonne taught me differently.
~~~
So there I was, sprawled out nude on a log in the woods, happily whaling away on a very respectable teenage stiffy, when a girl I'd never seen before strolled into my line of sight.
"Hello," she said politely.
Someone gave my heart a brutal squeeze. The air wheezed out of me, along with all rational thought. I gaped at her.
She wore round, wire-frame glasses over large, pale-blue eyes. That was the first thing I noticed. She had the most disconcerting eyes. You looked into them and whether you were looking for it or not, you saw right to the very bottom of her soul.
I remembered I was naked. I remembered I had my dick in my hand. I let out a horrified yelp and fell off the log. I landed face-down in the muck of the riverbank with a loud splat. It was pure luck I remembered to close my eyes at the last instant.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
I was unhurt, but embarrassed nearly to death. I was covered from brows to toes in mud. My dick speared straight into the muck, and as discomposed as I was, it still felt kind of good. If I weren't overcome by shock and horror I might have been tempted to give it a few humps. As it was, I had absolutely no idea what to do next.
"Are you okay?" she asked again. I peeled my face up out of the mud and looked at her. She just stood there and regarded me with polite concern. As a definitive moment of one's worst nightmare realized, it was somewhat anticlimactic.
"I'm okay," I answered at last. My voice had a funny hoarse sound, like it was breaking again.
"I'm Yvonne," she said. "Hello."
Her name didn't suit her. That's all I could think in that moment. With her plain round face and long straight hair, she looked more like a Mary or a Barbara. I belatedly remembered my mother mentioning earlier in the week that a family had moved into the old Peddimore farm. It hadn't sunk in that we were no longer alone in our rural little corner of nowhere.
"Hello Yvonne," I answered stupidly. "I'm Martin. Marty."
"Hi Marty. Do you need a hand there?"
I fought off hysterics.
"No...I'm good."
I realized she wasn't going to freak out, and some of my panic subsided.
I needed to wash the mud off me. That was my first imperative. My second imperative was not exposing myself to this strange girl any more than I already had. After a moment's deliberation, I stayed on my belly and crawled backwards into the stream. I suspected I looked even more ridiculous that way, but I wasn't about to stand up and give Yvonne another front-row seat to my persistent boner.
The water was cool and pleasant on such a hot day and came up to my chest as I knelt on the riverbed. It rushed quickly enough to obscure my submerged nudity. I wiped away the clinging mud as quickly as possible.
"I think I've seen you before," she said. "Your family lives in the gray house just over there, right?" she waved back in my home's general direction.
Oh that's just great
. I closed my eyes. She knew where I lived. I had visions of her showing up with a housewarming casserole.
Hello Mr. and Mrs. Wozniak, I'm Yvonne and my family just moved in down the way. I've already met your son and boy, can he ever spank the monkey
.
I could feel the warmth rushing into my face. My vocal cords seemed frozen. She didn't seem to mind the silence.
"We just moved in last week. We're a couple bends down the road from your place."
I was clean inside a minute. This ushered in a new problem. My clothes were still on the bank.
I was too uptight to just stroll out of the river naked in front of her, but it seemed lame beyond description to ask her to turn her back.
I cleared my throat. "Could you throw me my clothes, please?"
She looked puzzled, but shrugged and said, "Sure."
She tossed them to me, and I put them on underwater. Then I walked out of the river, dripping wet, feeling more like an idiot than ever. I stood on the bank and stared down at my waterlogged self.
"What?" she asked.
"I can't go home all wet like this." Inside my head, I was cursing my stupidity.
Today was my parents' day off, and they were home, expecting me back soon. They thought I was at work, and there was no way to sneak in without them noticing me. If I walked in as soaked as I was, a full-bore interrogation would ensue. I was still fairly easily browbeaten in those days; even if I didn't crack under questioning (by no means a sure thing) my parents would still be more suspicious than ever. I'd have even less freedom. Hell, I wouldn't have put it past them to stick me with an electronic ankle bracelet. All my covert jackoffery would be on indefinite hold. My dismay at that prospect overshadowed my current humiliation.
I thought about just staying out until I was dry, no matter how long it took, but coming in late would just as surely trigger a parental water-boarding.
"What's wrong, Marty?"
Yvonne wasn't having hysterics or even agitated. She was unruffled, almost serene, and when I came out of my self-absorbed funk, I saw she was still studying me. This set her aside from most of the girls I went to high school with, who considered the mere existence of local boys a gross personal affront. They would have been freaking out in her place. Scratch that; they would have been
running
in her place, and gibbering all the details of my transgressions into a phone as they ran. Yvonne just sat there on a rock with a small Mona Lisa smile curling her Cupid's bow lips.
It was hard to feel embarrassed or upset in Yvonne's company. She seemed to radiate a disarming, inclusive calm.
"My parents...they'd be pissed if they knew I fell into the river." I looked down at myself. "Our dryer's on the fritz." It was humiliating to have to lie. I was always covering for my family in those days.
"You could use ours," she suggested. "We have a big dryer. Your clothes would be done in half an hour. You could dry off in the bathroom. We've got...hairdryers, towels, all that." She shrugged.
I looked at her. "That's okay? Your folks wouldn't mind?"
"They're out. They won't be back until dinnertime. But they won't mind. They're really nice."
For a moment I was bemused at hearing a teenager describe her parents as 'really nice'. The kids I went to school with described their parents as assholes, if they ever spoke of them at all. Mind you, most of the kids at my school were assholes themselves.
"Thanks," I said. "That would be...really great."
Within minutes we were on the path to her place. We chatted as we walked, and I was able to look at her properly for the first time. She wore her brown hair parted in the middle, and had the slightest double chin. She wasn't overweight, though - she just hadn't yet lost what my parents would call her puppy fat. Her short, sleeveless dress smoothed over the faintest bulge of girl-tummy and flared out, swirly tennis-skirt style, above her knees. Her legs, what I could see of them, were sleekly well-fleshed.
She was in her late teens, like me, and like me, had the awkwardness of one who still hadn't fully grown into their body. Her breasts and hips, while showing definite potential, had yet to blossom to their fullest.
Yvonne wasn't pretty, but she was...attractive. It didn't take me long to be compelled by her mild, nonjudgmental demeanor. I felt I could say anything to her. To me, that was a new and wonderful quality in a person, and it made her attractive as hell. Within twenty minutes of meeting her, I knew I wanted to be around her a lot.
"Do you like beating off outdoors? Are you an exhibitionist?"
It was a matter-of-fact question, spoken with nothing but genuine curiosity.
