The Story Of Cue

My first foray into writing with the "Those Eyes" series was fun enough that I wanted to tackle this idea for another story that I've had. A big "Thank You" to those who provided positive and supportive feedback on my other submissions...that is what fueled my effort and commitment to authoring this.

I'm submitting this as one long story in respect to a couple comments about the "Those Eyes" series. It was much harder for me to write in this fashion but now that it's done I'm glad it is in a single story format.

I really put my personality into this one and those who read any of "Those Eyes" know I like to inject humor, pop culture or whatever other mainstream references I can to really personalize the story and bring it and the characters to life. I hope that it makes it as enjoyable for you as it is to me.

PLEASE NOTE: All characters in this story are 18 years old. There is some history and backstory provided by the main character about occurences happening prior to his 18th birthday but all sexual encounters and/or any other interactions of a sexual nature described or detailed in this story take place between adults.

I did my own editing (Which seems the fools errand. Haha) but it's done and any remaining errors are all mine. Please read past them and enjoy!

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THE STORY OF "CUE"

"Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet.

Little Miss Innocent sugar me, yeah, yeah."

From the song Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard

When I finally pulled my spent cock from her I looked down on that incredibly taut athletic ass, and seeing our mixed fluids start dripping from her swollen pussy lips, I couldn't help but pause and admire the view.

She rocked forward off her knees and lay down fully on the bed, rolling to her side and pulling up into an almost fetal position. I say almost because I'm not sure her 6' 4" height allowed her to tuck into a full fetal. But she curled up as much as she could and I watched her legs continue to spasm periodically out of rhythm with the soft moans that were still escaping her mouth. Part of the erratic breathing she seemed unable to control.

Damn. That was an experience. She was an experience. And the trust she had put in me to make our get togethers an experience for her was not lost on me. Looking at the state of her now, following the "marathon" we had just completed together, made me believe that I'd fully lived up to the trust she'd given me.

I'm not sure when she'll be coherent enough again to validate that belief, though. She is pretty much a puddle of goo right now...and truthfully, I wasn't far from that myself. I may need to reassess my ability, and stamina level, to meet the needs of girls less than half my age.

Ha ha. Shit. Is that really something I'm going to give serious consideration to? No fucking way. No chance in hell.

If you looked on the correct university volleyball team roster, the girl laying there is #11, a middle blocker from Altadena, CA who is just starting the spring semester of her junior year in college. To me, she's just Hanna. A really, really sweet and sexy girl.

And did I mention her fine as fuck ass? Like many tall women, her facial features are a little longer than most but hers not egregiously so. Her elongated face and naturally curly hair gave her a kind of regal air with a classical look and from there on down it is just slender, athletic and finely tuned. Even her mid-sized breasts seemed firmer than what you'd expect.

Me? I just turned 46 and up until a few months ago I was content being the sad, lonely face in the crowd. A loner wallowing in my own pity. That's who I had been for almost two decades. But it all changed following a chance encounter with someone from my past. A meeting that has me again looking forward to getting up each morning and wondering, "What's next?" Or maybe, "Who's next?" Ha ha.

A crazy turn of events for sure.

As my life now seems to be going a hundred miles and hour, I feel compelled to at least try and organize my thoughts, write shit down and start keeping a record.

This isn't meant to glorify my current actions or as a way to brag, even though I'm sure it can't help but come across as self-indulgent as fuck. But it truly is intended to help me keep the record of events straight in my head since it seems at times I no longer have control, or can maintain an accurate account in my mind, of all that's happened recently.

No complaints from this end, though, because life is good. So fucking good.

"Glory days, well they'll pass you by

Glory days, in the wink of a young girls eye."

From the song Glory Days by Bruce Springsteen

There's definitely some background that needs provided to hopefully help all of this make sense. Not make sense rationally, because my current situation is a total mind fuck. Just background to provide context for how this situation even came about and why it happened to me.

In a nutshell, the "why" is easy. My name is Michael Rairdon and am generally known by my family and the other adults in my life as "Mick". A nickname since I was a young boy that my dad gave me while I was being silly one day. Strutting around like Mick Jagger lip-synching to "Brown Sugar" from the Stones. My dad would play his music WAY too loud out in his garage while tinkering on whatever shit a guy can come up with to avoid being cornered by his wife to clean the attic or take out trash.

Standard middle class up-bringing. Nothing particularly special in my experience growing up until later on. The period of 15 through 18 years old is definitely a part I'd like to forget. In fact, I've now successfully run from it for 30 years. But like most crap you keep shoving away in a closet, eventually the door gets opened and all of it dumps right back out at your feet.

Football two-a-days going into my sophomore year was when the largest anomaly of my otherwise "slightly above average" self were revealed to me. To everyone, really. A six foot two inch frame at the time with 200 pounds of lean but well distributed muscle made up my physique. I'd always been on the bigger side as a kid and the trend continued as I matured.

Dark, shoulder length hair that my dad tolerated was on my head. Ice blue eyes and a strong jaw graced my face, along with a pretty quick wit and a reasonably intelligent brain to fill my head.

Decent grades, better still at sports and enough social skills to get and maintain some pretty good friendships. No complaints.

But the locker room in football late in that summer is where that critical difference was determined and started derailing what was left of my youth.

See, my dick wasn't like the other guys. It'd had a growth spurt all its own since my freshman season and I'd also sprouted additional hair all over, even started shaving.

Apparently, my buddies on the team didn't share all the same results coming out of puberty. For all I knew at the time, we'd all have our equipment hanging differently once we left our freshman locker room behind and moved up into a varsity locker. Not the case. At all.

And the first to point out the discrepancy just happened to be a kid I didn't really like. Jake Tucker. His dad was the produce manager at our local grocery store where he also had a part time job. Anyway, as I'm going into the shower he's coming out, sees my new equipment and yells out for everyone to hear, "JESUS, MICK! YOU GOT A CUCUMBER DANGLING!"

Couple of hasty glances from me to the guys who were already in the showers that had turned to look at what the yelling was about quickly revealed to me that there obviously was a difference. And while I wanted to punch Jake for making a scene, it was clearly a justified observation. I was now packing something entirely different than the other guys.

That was the day when my life irrevocably began to change. Not just the big dick revelation. Everything. Just over a month later, dad was killed when his jeep got rear-ended by a semi truck hauling furniture...or appliances...or some shit.

Eight months after that, mom got a new husband who had no interest in me. I was happy to not give a crap about him either. We kept our distance and I lived the remainder of high school life without much in the way of parental supervision or restraint. No worries though, because I had no desire to be a knucklehead.

But besides coming to grips with my new family and all of the emotional turbulence, there was still the big dick thing. Of course it didn't stay within the confines of locker room. Idiots blab. And over the next couple of weeks following the revelation, the nickname "Cucumber" was bestowed upon me which quickly got shortened to just "Cue". That moniker stuck.

So all around school, boys were calling me "Cue"...and more and more the girls whispered about me behind their hands, giggled and struggled to make eye contact.

Let's go ahead and deal with the two, big fucking elephants in the room before we go any farther;

One, I was still a virgin. I'd been to 2nd base with Ellie Williams my freshman year but I didn't know what the hell I was doing and she would only let me paw at her over her undergarments but wouldn't go past that. Doesn't mean I hadn't masturbated. By freshman summer, I could've signed a semi-pro contract for jerking off. I was covered in that department.

Two, just how big is it? You might as well ask it because I know you're wondering. Well, once the "revelation" happened, I eventually figured I'd better know the answer to that for myself. Fully erect, top side pubic bone to tip it's 8 7/8" long and it averages just at 7 1/4" around the shaft and almost 8" around the mushroom part of the head.

Found out eventually it is actually closer in size to a garden variety cucumber than that of the average male penis. That validation didn't make me want to punch Jake any less. That guy was a complete tool.

And I was simply the guy who didn't know how to use the tool he had.

"Soy un perdador

I'm a loser baby

so why don't you kill me?"

From the song Loser by Beck

Eventually, the girls started making a run at me. Go ahead ladies.., call men "pigs" all you want, we've earned it over time, but you all want a piece of that piggy. Especially if it's all hog.

I was a moderately popular, decent looking, physically mature guy starting his sophomore year with a totally unremarkable dating history and no record of sexual prowess or conquest with the ladies before becoming "Cue". I was totally naive and ignorant as it relates to all things female. Then all of the sudden I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to say to girls my own age, as well as the junior and senior girls, who were now approaching me and dropping hints about hanging out, going on a date, etc.

Coincidence? I think not.

That new found attention from the ladies lasted all of about 3 to 4 months. The word quickly got around that I didn't have the real world experience to successfully operate this particular piece of equipment. The one that had so captured their imagination. The fact that they didn't know how to handle it either apparently wasn't part of their critique. Hardly seemed fair.

Attempts typically ended with more discomfort, embarrassment, shame and ultimate failure than it did an enjoyable completion for either side. The girls were frustrated with me for not knowing how to make their experience a satisfying one and I was frustrated that I pulled so much high school tail but didn't get to really enjoy it. Lose/lose.

The remaining two years of high school were less turbulent once the "Cue"-mania had stagnated and then eroded away unceremoniously. I avoided my mom when my stepdad was around, which was pretty much all the time, and I went steady with a really nice girl who was a Pastor's daughter. One that was outwardly vocal throughout our school about how she was saving herself for marriage. No pressure whatsoever for me to perform.

Our dating worked less because of our fondness for each other and more because we provided "safe harbor" to one another in avoidance of our own personal situations. We never did discuss it, just appreciated the calm and normalcy it provided.

At graduation, we hugged and went our separate ways without much fanfare or emotion. The unspoken terms of our agreement had been satisfied.

The one "win" from my high school days was with a girl named Angela Whiting. Everybody called her B.A. after the A-Team character B.A. Baracus, except hers didn't stand for "Bad Attitude", it stood for "Big Angela".

She wasn't fat by any stretch. She was just one of those big girls who pushed 6 foot tall, weighed close to 200 pounds, had mountainous curves since like the 5th grade and now made her living throwing the shot and discus on the track team...and anchoring any tug-o-war contests in gym class.

The thing about B.A. is that she owned who she was, had a great personality and was really very, very pretty. Not very outgoing, and didn't have a lot of close friends or socialize very much, but she'd been a fixture in our class since kindergarten and everyone generally liked her. She and I shared the same birthday month and were always recognized the first couple weeks after school started each year in the list of "September Birthday's". We turned 18 together early in our senior year. Thankfully, it was the last time I'd have to hear that stupid shit read over the schools P.A. system along with the other boring announcements.

Anyway, working with B.A. not long after our birthday's on the Homecoming Committee, she and I were struggling away one evening trying to build the framework, and then a chicken wire sculpture, on our senior class parade float. It was supposed to resemble a tiger head, which is our school mascot, but I wasn't seeing it. Hopefully, the decorating team could salvage it with all the orange, black and white crepe paper rolls we could see laying around.

B.A. and I got into one of those silly grooves you can find yourself in at times and we really had fun completing an otherwise unstimulating task. Egging each others goofiness on as there wasn't any teacher supervision to stop us. Apparently, we students on the committee were on the "honor system" for these projects and had been left alone.

So we shared lots of dumb jokes and wisecracks that made no sense but kept us laughing. Music was playing in the background of the school bus maintenance building we were located in while constructing the float. Pretty laid back time. And we somehow got into this game where anytime either of us used a cuss word the other would point and yell, "REPENT, SINNER!" and the offender would have to bow down and beg for the forgiveness of the accuser.

Pretty stupid stuff...but like I said, we had an unexpected good time.

As we wrapped-up, it was a surprise then when B.A. stopped me right after shutting off the lights and locking up and kissed me. I froze. She kissed me again. That time, everything was frozen but my lips and I kissed her back. Next thing I knew, she had me backed up against the deck of the float with a hand full of my package and her tongue down my throat.

I hopped my butt up on the float and lay back on the boards pushing my shorts down. B.A. had also climbed up and was pushing down her jeans. She mounted me and had a level of wetness I'd yet to experience, so with just a little bit of work on her part she had me buried to the hilt. Oh...fuck! That felt different.

So different that she got maybe 8 bounces on me before I lifted her off and blew my load. Woah!

I didn't know what to do or say after. While I technically wasn't a virgin at the point B.A. made her move, that was definitely my first time having a satisfying bout of intercourse that ended in a successful completion. It felt incredible and I liked it. A lot.

I was basically mumbling and thanking B.A. like a little bitch but she seemed unaffected. Just said with an, "oh by the way" tone that she "knew she could do it" and pulled up her pants to leave.

Apparently, she'd overheard the stories from other girls, knew of their failed attempts and set out to prove to herself that she could handle me. Score one for quiet determination.

From that point on, it didn't seem to affect our relationship at all. In fact, from her side it didn't even seem like we shared what we did. I tried to give her knowing glances and talk to her about it since she'd definitely captured my attention but she went on with her life like she'd been doing up to that point.

I went on dating the pastor's daughter and finished out high school.

Graduation proved to be my saving grace. I needed out. Away from my family, away from this town and away from all the friendships that had become so artificial ever since that day in the locker room.

I always wonder how things may have been different had I not lost my dad. He always seemed to have an answer for everything that would smooth things over. I missed him horribly as I walked away from our house and his garage that last time. It left a hole in my chest but still I boarded the bus to travel 2,400 miles away to a middling university in SoCal where everything that had come before was now in my rearview mirror. Sayonara, bitches.

"Cause I've got to be free

Free to face the life

that's ahead of me."

From the song Come Sail Away by Styx

College life was a breath of fresh air. Anonymity suited me. No longer known as "Cue" and becoming just "Mick" again.

I threw myself into my studies and joined a fucking rowing club of all things. What the hell do I know about rowing? I'm from rural Ohio for chrissakes. I fished in a 4 acre farm pond once. That and screwing around with buddies at the local pool when we were kids is the extent of my knowledge about open bodies of water.

But just a few days on campus a guy from the club with a similar build to me approached and made his pitch. Said they were short a guy and needed help. Would I consider giving it a go to help them practice until they recruited a more permanent member?

Sure. Why the hell not? Found out it was a hell of a work-out and the dedication, determination and teamwork it required suited me. I'm not saying I was a natural, but I was athletic enough to not be a liability after just a few practices and once I committed to staying on, really dove into the conditioning necessary to compete at a high level.

A watershed moment in that part of my life came early in the spring semester as our competition season approached. Cash from prior team fund raising efforts purchased our uniforms and they were ordered through the university procurement system. The primary faculty member that oversaw club athletics also worked as director of the Student Union. So when we went there to get measured prior to order, I had a Ms. Bangston on her knees in front of me with a tape in hand to get my inseam for the warm-up pants.

It's generally strange to just meet someone and then have them digging in your crotch to get an inseam measurement. I'd went through that just under a year ago when the old guy at the tuxedo shop measured me for the senior prom. Dude was heavy handed and didn't even offer breakfast.

But Ms. Bangston wasn't an old guy. Early to mid-40's with the poster child looks and body of a SoCal trophy wife...but I didn't see a ring.

During measure, she bumped my junk with the back of her hand pulling the dimension. There was a brief moment where time stopped, you could see her brain reset as it reassessed what she thought had just happened. And I've got to give her credit, she didn't lose her shit. Progressed like nothing happened, completed the measure, made eye contact with a perfunctory smile and said, "Next."

About 3 weeks later, the team was notified the uniforms were in and we set up a time to do fittings through a sign-up sheet posted on the Student Union bulletin board. Eight appointments with start times spaced 10 minutes apart. Being one of the newest members, I drew the last slot.