Those Autofellatio Blues Ch 12

Every so often it's a good idea for a man to have a frank conversation with his penis. So much of our lives are governed by the floppy, greedy, one-eyed worm hanging between our legs that an honest discussion about pressing issues can be beneficial for all concerned. I had such a cock-talk early on the morning after I witnessed my mother and Bridget having sex together and I then screwed Bridget's mom Julia as payback. I woke up around 5AM with an erection I could have scored marble with.

"About time you woke up," my dick said. "I've been awake for hours. Suck me."

I sighed. "No."

"You know you want to. Come on, get into that crazy position and put me in your mouth."

"No."

"I promise it won't take long. I'll be spitting the white stuff in you mouth in thirty seconds flat."

"Knock it off, you're making me sick."

My cock throbbed with frustration. "At least jack off, will ya? You can't expect me to stay locked and loaded all day."

"Look," I said. "I've been very good to you, haven't I? I've gotten you in places that most teenage penises can only dream about. Inside Elaine, inside Julia, inside Bridget."

"Wrong, buddy-boy. I got you into those places, ME. If you had a normal, workaday five-incher you'd still be a virgin right now. You might have a nice smile and a winning personality, but don't forget what makes the ladies go weak in the knees and gooey in the good parts. ME."

"Don't flatter yourself," I retorted. "They don't go weak in the knees, YOU do. Bridget crosses her legs and you pop up like a jack-in-the-box. You see Elaine's tits and nearly pop my zipper. So don't get a big head." I paused. "No pun intended."

"Buddy, pal, no need for us to argue," my penis soothed. "Remember, I'm your biggest fan! And we both want the same thing, don't we? We both want Bridget Landau to like us, right?"

"Right."

"We just favor different tactics. You think you can win her heart with looks, brains and charm. I think a big, nasty hot beef injection is the way to go."

I rolled over as far as I could before the stave between my legs blocked me. "Good night," I said.

"Come on, please, give me head."

"Forget it."

"You know I'll win in the end," my penis said. "You won't be able to control yourself if Bridget makes a move."

I laughed. "Well see, my Cyclopean friend. I have few tricks up my sleeve."

"Your best trick is still sucking me off. So how about it, right now? Buddy? Pal? Chum?"

But I was already asleep.

*****

When I woke my penis still slumbered, and that gave me some clarity of thought. As I showered I thought of the past few months, all the way back to my mother discovering me blowing myself and turning me over to Elaine's tender care. Throughout these momentous days I'd been a passive participant in the goings-on that had so complicated my life. Mom sent me to Elaine, who fucked me every which way and then showed me off to her friends. Julia took my cherry and then fucked me up the ass while I reluctantly deflowered her daughter. Bridget decided we would go to the prom together, and then she and Mom conspired behind my back for control of my very soul.

Well, enough of that bullshit. No more would I sit back and let the women in my life move me about like a very well-hung pawn. It was time for me to step up to the plate, take the bull by the horns, and some other macho cliché I can't think of. It was time I seized the initiative.

My first objective was sorting things out with Mom. When I went to bed the night before tensions were running high between us, and I knew that she would feel horrible about it, but not so horrible as to apologize. Not yet, anyway. So I took the first step. I entered the kitchen and found Dad eating cereal and Mom waiting on the toaster. "Good morning," I told my father, and then I moved behind my mother and kissed her on the cheek. "Good morning."

She looked surprised. Dad mumbled, "I didn't get a kiss,"

Mom's toast popped and she took it to the table. She kissed Dad on the temple and he said distractedly, "Thank you." Mom looked at me and said, "Sleep well?"

"Like a champ." I composed my cereal bowl and started chomping away. Dad got up, kissed Mom, and said, "Maybe we could go to dinner tonight. My treat."

"Can't," I mumbled around my mouthful of cereal. "Gotta get my tux."

"Your loss," he said, and when he walked out the door Mom's eyes burned into mine. "So, you haven't changed your mind," she said, meaning I hadn't taken her advice and decided against going to the prom with Bridget.

"No, I haven't. I'm not backing down."

"You're making a mistake."

"Maybe. But I've turned over a new leaf. I won't be a sitting duck for Ms. Landau."

"Don't get so cocky." Mom said. "You don't know what that girl is capable of."

I lifted the bowl to my lips and drank the leftover milk. "I know her better than you think."

She looked pissed, and I decided to play with her a bit. "You and Bridget have this thing going, I think it's best not to talk about her."

"What do you mean, we have a 'thing' going?" Mom asked. Her face flushed bright red, and I knew I had her reeling.

"You two don't like each other," I explained, innocent as a lamb. "You can't stand her, she can't stand you. You've both made that quite clear to me." Of course, yesterday while hiding under the bed I heard my mother and Bridget licking and sucking each other with gusto, but it wasn't the time or place to let on that I knew about that encounter. Still, it felt good to put Mom on her heels, and the blush didn't fade from her cheeks until just before I left for school.

*****

School. The usual stuff. Quizzes, homework, death threats. The latter came from Michael Panucci, the gentleman who, after getting the cold shoulder from Bridget, had decided to console himself by making an omelet out of my face. I'd connected with only one punch, a blow that broke Panucci's nose like a cheese puff. His face was bloated, his eyes were black, and he when he talked he sounded like a congested seal.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you," he barked.

We were in the hallway, lots of people walking past, so I wasn't too worried. Plus he'd said he was "going" to kill me, so my demise wasn't imminent. "What did you say?" I asked, cocking an ear.

His voice was pretty funny, more honk than snarl. "I'm gonna kill you. You're fucking dead."

"When, Mike, when?" I said. I made sure everyone could hear. "Every day you tell me you're going to kill me, and," I did a deep inhale and exhale, "I'm still here. Can you give me a time frame maybe? Is it worth my time to get my teeth cleaned at the dentist?"

Got a few laughs for that one. His face purpled and I thought he was going to come after me, but then he gingerly touched his bandaged nose and turned his back. "That's right, walk away," I taunted. "Bother me again and I'll break your other nose!" More laughs. I was rather enjoying this new popularity. I didn't know that in eight days these people who so enjoyed my jokes would refuse to make eye contact with me, that I would become the most ridiculed and loathed person in school. But for the moment, I had some fun.

At days end I walked out to my car and found Bridget, wearing a black miniskirt and an oversized white dress shirt, waiting for me by my car. She looked so lovely I almost tripped over my own feet. But I steeled myself and sauntered over. Keep the initiative, I told myself. Don't back down.

Bridget wasn't in a mood for sauntering. She checked her watch and scowled at me. "Come on," she said. "Your appointment is for 3:30."

"Which one?"

"The salon." She ran her fingers through my hair. "Hope they can work a miracle."

We drove to an upscale mall halfway across town and I was put into the care of woman with chic black clothes and chic black eyeglasses and chic black hair. She had me sit in an extremely well-padded leather chair and she said, "So, what are we doing today?"

Bridget answered for me. "Move him forward in time about 40 years."

My stylist, whose name I learned was Naomi, kept me turned around so I couldn't see what she was doing. I could see from the accumulating clippings on the floor that she was taking quite a bit off, but I had no idea what I was going to look like. "He has nice hair," Naomi said. "Very thick."

"And soft," Bridget said, surprising me by paying me what could be considered a compliment. Then she said, "That's not the only thing he has that's thick. And it's definitely not soft."

There was a woman holding scissors three inches from my ear, so I didn't jerk around violently when Bridget said this. But I sure wanted to. Naomi giggled and said, "Oh my God, this is the guy?"

Bridget sighed. "He's the one. You see now why I brought him to you? All that talent in his slacks and the rest of him looks a mess."

"You...you...you told her..." I spluttered.

"Girls tell their stylists everything," Bridget said. "Don't worry, I didn't tell her the really shocking stuff about you."

Naomi moved in front of me to check the length of the hair over my forehead. "You take this from her?" she teased.

"We're still on working on discipline." Naomi leaned over and I got a peek down the front of her blouse. She was an attractive woman, with a nice smile and a slender figure. She caught me peeking and gave a little wink. I moved my eyes elsewhere and she slowly turned me to the mirror. She said, "I think you'll like it."

I didn't like it-I loved it. My dull, parted-on-the-side-and-pray hairstyle was transformed into a trendy, spiky, fantabulous 'do. I looked totally different. "I look fantastic!" I said.

"You do," Bridget admitted. "Almost human."

I paused before every mirror we passed, checking out the new me. "Now I know how you feel," I told Bridget as we made our way to the front counter. I paused before yet another mirror and sang, "I'm so pretty..."

Bridget rolled her eyes. Naomi laughed. The bill was totaled and when I heard what the damage was I winced. I got out my wallet and Bridget said, "I'm paying for it. I'm the one who made you get your hair cut."

"I'm not your kept boy," I said, offended. "I don't expect you to pay to have my hair done. What's next, a boob job?"

Naomi laughed again. "I thought you said he was boring," she said. "Seems lively enough to me."

I paid my new stylist and gave her a very nice tip. Bridget said, "Come on, we still have to get your tux."

"Coming, dear." I thanked Naomi again and she said, "I hope you'll come back again, and this time leave your better half at home. I'd like to hear about the stuff Bridget won't tell me about."

"I will." We smiled at each other, and then I was off to show the world the new Daniel Payton.

Our next stop was the tailor's. Bridget's father apparently got most of his suits from this particular artist, and he also apparently could get his hands on tuxedos that hadn't been worn by two hundred other teenage slobs. The man who greeted us had magnificent snow-white hair swept up into a towering pompdour. When he saw us he threw his arms open and boomed, "My beautiful angel!" Bridget actually smiled with delight as she stepped into his embrace. He kissed her noisily on both cheeks. He looked over her shoulder and said. "And this is your handsome young escort."

At first it looked like she was going to argue the point, but then she gave up and said, "Yes, it is. Danny, this is Carlo."

I took his offered hand and was nearly brought to my knees by his crushing grip. "I knew it would take a remarkable man to catch your eye," he said, shaking my hand with such force I thought he might wrench my arm from its socket. "Come, let's get you sized."

He led me into a fitting room in the rear of the shop. There was a three-way mirror and I admired myself in them all. "OK, pop your pants on the chair and I'll take some measurements."

I did as I was told, and Carlo took his tape and spread it over different areas of my frame. "I'll should have no trouble finding something for you," he said. "You have a magnificent build for a suit, the broad shoulders, the long lines..."

Compliments galore today. Everything went well until he did my inseam. It wasn't that there was a problem with my legs, it was a problem with what rested between them. "Um," Carlo said, looking at my crotch. "Uh."

"Something wrong?" I asked with some concern. There usually is cause for concern when a man is kneeling before you, looking at your groin, and making "Um, uh" noises.

"Well, I usually ask a gentleman whether he carries himself to the left or the right. You...you're sort of all over."

Once again, the topic of conversation centered on my penis. "Mostly to the right," I said, and that seemed to satisfy him.

I got dressed and we met Bridget in the main part of the shop. "We'll have no trouble finding something for your boyfriend," Carlo said. Bridget was about to correct him when he said, "You make such a lovely couple.

"We're not a couple." It wasn't Bridget who said that, it was me. Her blue eyes flashed with anger as I said, "We're just friends."

His bushy eyebrows rose. "You're content to be just friends with this beautiful young lady?" He took her hand and gave her a loud smooch.

"Quite content."

Carlo put and extended finger by his ear and made a circular motion. He said to Bridget, "If he breaks your heart, all you have to do is call, and I'll be there for you." He laughed. I laughed. Bridget laughed with all the warmth of a Siberian air mass.

We left the store and I could almost see the waves of rage radiating from her golden hair. She didn't say anything the whole way back to the car and I wasn't about to break the silence. All it would take would be the sound of my voice and she would snap and start throwing punches. I really didn't want to look like Mike Panucci, so I kept quiet and hoped nothing would happen.

And nothing did, until we got in the car, with the doors shut and safely locked, and that's when she attacked me.

She took my face in her hands and mashed her lips against mine, catching me so completely by surprise that I tensed all over, expecting a fist instead of a kiss. She pushed me back so hard that my head hit the driver's side window, and her teeth cut the inside of my lower lip. Her tongue dove into my mouth and wrestled my own into a quick takedown. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut; mine were wide as headlights. Her fingers pulled and yanked at my belt and when she had enough room she shoved her hand down the front of my pants.

She pulled away long enough to gasp, "Help me take my clothes off!" Without waiting for a reply she pulled her shirt loose and yanked up her skirt. No panties. She put her arms around my neck and she kissed me again, somehow finding time to unbutton both her shirt and my shorts. She hiked up her skirt, showing me her pussy, with it's trim little bikini stripe, and she crawled into my lap. Her hip bumped the horn and we both jumped about a foot in the air. She looked at me, I looked at her, and then she kissed me hard again and resumed her assault. She reached down and pulled back the elastic band of my boxers, her searching fingers cool against the soft skin of my belly. "Pull it out," she moaned, "pull out your cock, put it inside me..."

My penis was, as you might expect, fully deployed. I could almost hear his voice in my head, "Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" I pulled my lips away long enough to take a breath. I started to speak but Bridget stuck her finger inside my mouth. "You're bleeding," she said. "I can taste your blood on my lips." She started kissing again and this time my eyes rolled back in my head and I felt myself floating away on a cloud of pure endorphins. I was making out in my car with Bridget Landau. I was, probably, about to have sex with Bridget Landau, in the middle of a parking lot. I was about to live out the dream of probably every heterosexual man on the planet.

It is sometimes said that what differentiates Man from the animals is our ability to control our urges. This is supposed to be a item in the plus column for homo sapiens, but I'm not sure I agree. Because at that moment all I wanted to do was give into my urges. I wanted to fuck Bridget. I wanted to pour my semen inside of her. I wanted to impregnate her and watch as my child grew inside her womb. That was what the animal part of my brain wanted.

The human part, alas, wanted something else. "Stop," I said, pushing her away.

"No," she said, and kissed me again.

"Yes!" I took her shoulders and held her at arms length. "What on God's green earth are you doing?"

"I'm gonna fuck you," she said. "You're gonna fuck me. You're gonna stop teasing me with that big dick and give me what I've been dreaming about!"

I kept my hands on her shoulders. I somehow made my mouth form the words. "No, I'm not."

"Yes you are!" she shrieked.

"No, I'm not."

She looked like she might scream, like she might cry, but then she took a deep, ragged breath, and controlled herself. The glaze coating her blue eyes slowly faded. "I'm sorry," she said, and slumped against my chest. "I promised I wouldn't beg you for sex, but I lost control of myself."

It should have thrilled me to the core, to hear this beautiful, beautiful girl say that she was willing to "beg" me for sex, but it didn't. It cut me to the quick. My feelings for her were becoming just that, real feelings, not just lust or fear or envy. There were moments, like this one right here, when Bridget showed that she was actually human, and it was my heart that throbbed, not my cock. I wanted her-but to hold, to hug, to kiss. She looked at me, I looked at her, and she crawled off of me. We rearranged our clothes, and for a long time we didn't speak.

Then she smiled, actually smiled, and said, "I heard what you said to Michael Panucci today. You're going to break his other nose? What exactly does that mean?"

I gave Bridget a brief dissertation on the use of the absurd in humor as I drove her home. When we pulled into her driveway I felt more relaxed and happy than I had in a long time. I felt that Bridget and I had made some important progress today. I felt like we might become actual friends, instead of mere fuck-buddies. I had fabulous, fabulous hair. Life was good.

And then Bridget said, "Oh, I forgot, My daddy wants to meet you. Tomorrow. He said he wants to have a long talk with you."

It started with my hands, and then my shoulders, and pretty soon I was shaking all over. "Your father?" I squeaked. "What does he want to talk to me about?"

She opened her door and unbuckled. "Maybe he wants to me the guy who's taking his daughter to prom." She got out and leaned back through the open door, giving me a very nice view down her shirt. "Maybe he wants to talk to the boy who deflowered his daughter."

"He knows about that?" I quailed.

She winked. "He might."

I swallowed hard. "Does he know I had sex with your mom?"

Her smile vanished. "Yes, but you'd better not fuck my mommy ever again."

"Why, did he say something about that?"

She jumped back in the car. "No, I'M saying something about that! I don't want you ever having sex with my mommy ever again! If you do, then this little arrangement we have is over! Do you understand me!"

My back was pressed tight against my seat. "I won't, I won't, I promise. It's ridiculous to even think that I would do that." Well, not that ridiculous. After all, I'd screwed Julia just the day before. Best not to mention that at the moment.

Bridget relaxed a bit. "Give me a ride home after school tomorrow and I'll introduce you to him."

"Great. Can't wait."

She got out of the car and shut the door. I put my car in reverse and was about to back up when she tapped on the window. I reached over and rolled it down, and Bridget said, "Your hair does look really great."