The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Notice: All ye censors, perverts, and oddballs - no one under 18 years of age did anything sexual to anyone in this story (because there are none). They didn't in the original version either.
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The fall evening echo whispers with its leaves as I sat on my porch smoking a cigarette. I sat there for a long time as dark drew near.
A blue mustang pulled into driveway, it's lights unwelcoming and bright. It was Monica. The predominant adults in my life were out of town and thought I needed supervision. Their choice was interesting and without intimate previous knowledge, quite foolish. Upon turning twenty-one, Monica had received, what she referred to, as her Stallion. The electric blue, 2001 Mustang convertible which brought her much attention in our small town.
She greeted me with a warm smile and a, "Evening, cuz." She hugged me tight, then walking passed me allowing her left hand to linger on my shoulder. Entering the house, she tossed her jean jacket over a chair and fished around in one pocket.
Turning around and grinning even wider, I beheld a bottle of vodka in her hands. I couldn't help but lift the side on mouth in excited amusement. In the coming hours, the clear liquid first filled tall glasses and colored with alternating mixtures. The rivers of my blood began to swell and as we talked into the night I found I could not stop laughing. Sometime during the night the stereo came alive with the unnamable meanings embedded in melody. These elements created a whirlwind of delight and caught in its grip I fell down, laughing still.
"That's it. You're cut off. No mas for you's.", she giggled and helped me up. "Time for bed, buddy boy." She led me to my room and took off my off my pants and shirt, tossing them in a corner on the white rug. Emboldened by this, I tried to kiss her. Her response was to almost effortless push me onto the bed like a wayward feather.
"Aw, come on." I said. She smirked and said nothing. I lay there like a sack. Her long, long black hung over her shoulders, framing her pale face. She stood up and slid her shirt off in one motion. Her breasts, round and pale, stood against my gaze, defiant in their perfection. Her bra was the next victim to my expectations. Nipples tinged with pink stared at me, helpless in by bed.
