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by Lauren McAllister

Mary Beth and I had been firm friends since I stuffed a button up my nose in pre-school and had to be rushed to the hospital because I sounded like a punctured pirate’s concertina every time I took a breath.

Our parents were both a little on the overprotective side. We went to an all girls’ elementary school and a very strict Catholic boarding school, once we’d developed body parts that were of interest to demented fiends (in other words, boys) who would seek to brutally deflower us. In short, they did everything to protect our virtue short of stringing up police crime-scene tape inside our underwear. Needless to say, by the time we had finished matriculating with that pack of scowling nuns, we were a few yards behind all the other girls in the neighborhood in matters d’amore. Mary Beth and I had eaten each other blind in our spartan dorm, but now we felt it was time to experience some righteous penis-pummeling before we went off to college in the fall and all carnal hell broke loose. Being good at sex, after all, is one percent penetration and ninety-nine percent perspiration (especially if done in the summer months).

But, we decided that we weren’t going to just hand over our Tender Vittles to the first tomcat that looked good in a pair of Levis. Mary Beth and I were 18-year-old virgins, for crying out loud! A commodity in our town about as rare as a hillbilly wearing a retainer. We had a very valuable gift to bestow on some uber-lucky lad or lads and my BFF and I agreed that much consideration should go into whoever got to go into us. So, we set about the serious task of choosing a worthy be-testicled candidate to receive such a pink and prestigious award.

Admittedly, there were a number of disagreements, bordering on hissy fits, during the arduous elimination process. Several dreamy beefcakes fell short of the studly standard of one of us or the other and the agreement was that the voting had to be unanimous. Mary Beth tended to favor the more generously endowed nominee while I preferred to start out with a slightly more modest package and slowly work my way up into double-digit inches.

The winner came upon us quite by accident (that’s not the way it sounds). I was doing some borderline-obscene-underwear shopping at the mall and I tripped on one of those stupid concrete thingies in the parking lot and fell nose first into a car (again with the nose!). It was horrific. I was bleeding like a one-armed boxer and my naughty under-apparel had fallen out of the damn bag and was blowing around for all to see on the tarmac.

Embarrassing and life threatening – what a perfect combination! Before I could gather up the strength to just kill myself, a boy gently grabbed my head and pulled it back. “Keep your face up like that for a couple of minutes, it will help slow the bleeding,” he instructed me in a calm voice. He then picked up a couple of pairs of my small-and-silkies and pressed them lightly onto my nose. “Hold these here firmly and try to breathe slowly.”

Within a few minutes, my knight in shining armour had gotten me to my feet, into his car, corralled my remaining frilly-delicates and driven me home. Not once did he make any comments about what I was planning on doing with my provocative purchase or try and “accidently” feel my tits while my head was back. (Sure, this sounds like a given, but you hear some real disturbing stories in an all-girls school and you realize that nothing is outside the realm of possibility when it comes to your average “gentlemen” and an opportunity to grab a quick handful.)

Back at the house, and once the pain pills and icepack had started to work their soothing magic, I began giving that nice young man some serious thought. His name was Gary and he lived over on the next block. If my parents hadn’t confined me to a testosterone-free wasteland since the day I was born, I would have gone to school with him. I’d seen him around the neighborhood but he’s just not one of those guys that sends the average girl’s heart a-fluttering. Or any girl, probably. He’s just a nice, nice guy. I was still mulling things over in my battered and swollen cranium when Mary Beth showed up with a bottle of wine and just the right amount of sympathy. A couple of healthy glasses later, I’ve got my head in her lap and she’s stroking my hair and I woozily bring up Gary’s name.

“Who?”

“You know. The guy who lives down the street, in that house that puts the Nativity Scene on their front lawn each Christmas, only someone stole the baby Jesus and they had to replace it with a Cabbage Patch Doll.”

I could see a very unimpressed bell starting to ring in Mary Beth’s noggin. “Oh, him,” she dispassionately replied.

“He’s a really nice guy.”

“And…”

I could see that she didn’t like where this conversation was headed and that hearing someone was a “nice guy” was her equivalent of yelling “Next!”
“Well, he was so kind and helpful and gallant when I did my face-plant into the Ford Fiesta.”

“And….”

“And…and I think kind, helpful and gallant are some wonderful qualities in a man. Don’t you?”

“Well, there’s no way I’m going to blow out my hymen on Gary from down the street. I don’t care how fucking gallant he is. I want a hunk with amazing junk.”

“But we’re women, for Christsakes. We’re supposed to be able to put all that superficial stuff like looks and a dreamy smile to one side and concern ourselves with the beautiful person within, right?”

“For marriage maybe, but we’re talking about a week of drunken fucking and sucking at a cottage. How important does inner-beauty have to be for something like that?”

“Listen, if we don’t start rewarding really, really nice guys for being really, really nice, then what incentive do they have to be nice in the first place? What kind of message are we sending to menkind, huh? ‘We want you to be nice, and if you are, we’re going to suck-off your asshole friend instead of you.’ Is that what we women are all about? I say, ‘surely not.”

“You nixed Brent Sullivan, you stinking bitch! And now you want me to spread ‘em for Gary von Geek?”

“Just let me go over to his house and invite him out for a drink. As a thank you. Then, we can get to know him as a person, a human being, and not just some object that carries a cock around. If you still don’t warm to him, then we’ll go to the lake with Brent fucking Sullivan, okay? Deal?”

“Sister, you not only have yourself a deal, but I am going to finish this bottle of hooch and spend the next hour making obscene noises underneath your skirt.”

I sighed and sadly pointed to the undulating purple mass in the middle of my once pretty face. “Unfortunately, I can’t return the favor.”

“Baby, with Brent Sullivan in my future…you don’t have to.”

And with that, Mary Beth licked her way up my legs and treated herself to a lip-smacking, lingual lunch. I came so hard the neighbor’s dog started barking.

So, a couple of days later, we’re in the one bar in town that doesn’t even card pre-schoolers. Gary was just so sweet and kind, I wanted to drop down under the table and swallow his pant ferret (Not that he would have ever asked!). By the end of the evening, even Mary Beth was starting to see his positive side. Sure, he wasn’t what you’d call a “real looker” but how much of a guy do you actually get to see when he’s banging away on top of you like an epileptic with turrets?

We were walking home from our third or fourth “date” with Mr. Gallant, when Mary Beth slapped me on the back of the head and blurted out, “Damn you, Suzie Mae!”

Bingo! I knew I’d won. Besides, she had the whole rest of the summer to get all sweaty with Brent Sullivan. It was now time to lay out our man trap.

“So, we booked this cottage by a beautiful lake for next week…” I casually mentioned, over underage cocktails.

“But now we’re having second thoughts about it,” sighed Mary Beth.

“We’re a little afraid to be all alone, out there, by ourselves.” Okay, so we’re not the most subtle of seductresses but we hadn’t really had any practice at it.

“Even though the lake is totally beautiful and we were so looking forward to it.”

“Oh, that’s a real shame,” sympathized our victim. ‘Have you thought of taking a dog with you?”

“You read Suzie Mae’s mind,” Mary Beth snarked under her breath, just before I elbowed her.

“It may sound awfully retro of us,” I faux-apologized, “but having a man around, would sure calm our nerves.”

“And it is a really beautiful spot.”

“A man?”

“Say!” I brighten, as a thoroughly rehearsed lightbulb just went on in my head. “I don’t suppose you’re free next week, are you?”

“We realize it would be a terrible imposition, but we’d do all the cooking…”

“Do you like beautiful lakes, at all?” I enquired.

“Ah, sure. I’d love to go. Ah, are you sure you want me?”

“You’d be doing us such a favor.”

“And visa versa.”

Mary Beth received another elbow.

Gary was super sweet, helping us to pack the car and dragging all our girlie crap up the long cabin-driveway and into the cottage. The wine alone took three trips!

That night, after we’d unpacked and eaten and had a glass or two of something red, it was time to start implementing our evil scheme. First, it was off with the clothes and on with the exceedingly short nightshirts and almost non-existent underwear. You could see Gary’s eyes almost fall out of his head and into his lap as we sauntered out of our bedroom.

The plan wasn’t to ravage him the first night (we didn’t want to come off as scandalous slut-monkeys) but to torture him till he was practically involuntarily ejaculating into his Fruit of the Looms and then put him into us and out of his misery. We were absolutely shameless. There were nipple-shots galore. We sat in each other’s laps and girlie laughed as we playfully grabbed at each other’s boobs. We kissed a few times (just some short smooches – tongues and open mouths would come later). Gary tried to remain calm but you could see that he an erection you could have jacked-up a car with. The poor guy, he had to sit there for hours. He desperately wanted to go to the bathroom but every time he stood up, we’d look over from our female frolicking and he’d have to sit back down to conceal his righteous boner.

Now, I couldn’t wait for tomorrow. Mary Beth and I had ogled a million pictures of trouser truncheons but we’d never actually seen one up close and in “the throbbing flesh”. I was so looking forward to finding out what one actually felt like in my mouth. I’d been going down on cylindrical legumes all week for practice but it just wasn’t the same.

Eventually, we said goodnight and I slapped Mary Beth’s practically naked ass as we entered the bedroom. We heard the toilet flush about a minute later and then Gary let out this big, big post-pee sigh. Sure it was cruel, but we’re girls and besides, we were more than going to make it up to him.
This was where it got a little tricky. We wanted him super turned-on but not so much so that he took matters into his own hands…so to speak. After what we put him through, we knew if left to his own devices, he’d be thwapping that poor thing till he fell unconscious in a big pool of his own goo.

If we just could convince him that we could hear his every breath from our room, it would keep his making sperm-geysers to a minimum. We stood next to our bedroom wall and whispered really loudly to drive this point home. I think it worked because when I saw him the next morning, all the blood had drained from his face and I had a strong suspicion I knew where all those red corpuscles had wondered off to.

We kept our tiny nightshirts on through breakfast and then changed into our microscopic bikinis with the bedroom door wide open. The day was full of rubbing up against him and rubbing up against each other. To tell the truth, Mary Beth and I were a little nervous too. I mean, you don’t lose your virginity every day. Melissa McDonald, back at our boarding school did, but then she was a very special case.

By that night, all three of us were suffering from severe lap-longings. It was time for Operation Jacuzzi. We acted like we were so surprised when the cottage had one – even though we’d search for a month to find the perfect bubbling tub of sin. After a wine-soaked dinner, Mary Beth jumps up and says, “Say, you know what I’m in the mood for?”

Gary was initially crestfallen when he couldn’t find his swim trunks (Too bad he didn’t look in that Baggie we’d thrown way under the porch.). I think it was me who came up with the brilliant solution to his bathing-apparel dilemma.

“If Gary doesn’t have any swimming trunks – then none of us will wear anything in the hot tub. Problem solved.”

“I’m not sure,” he shyly stammered.

“Oh, please, please, please, Gary. We so want to go in and it wouldn’t be the same without you. We’re all here together.”

“That’s right. Pleeeeeease?”

I wonder when was the last time that two smokin’ hot girls had to beg a guy to allow them to take off their clothes (My guess is, mankind still hadn’t invented fire yet.). After a little more cajoling and inveigling, the deal was reluctantly agreed to. Before he could chicken out, Mary Beth and I had doffed our fineries and stood there with our nethery naughties smiling up at him sideways. I thought he was going to pass out. It was absolutely vital that we didn’t act too provocatively or he’d be so intimidated he’d be peeing in his soon to be removed pants. I was practically dripping with excitement but I kept my voice very calm and reassuring. “Hey, Gary, why don’t you take those things off so we can get into the hot tub.”
“I’m a little cold,” Mary Beth faux shivered.

Poor Gary removed his clothes like we were going to strap him into the electric chair as soon as he’d completed his task. Just before he undid his belt, he paused and looked up at us with a face as red as Lucille Ball’s muff. “I’m afraid I have, you know, a…a hard one. Is that okay?”
Was it!!?? Bring it on, buddy!

“It’s absolutely fine, Gary. Our nipples are hard too. See?” With that, Mary Beth brazenly waved her magnificent set of face warmers up under his nose. His Dockers were off in seconds and praise be! it was a quite a bit larger than I had imagined. I don’t know why I equated dick-size with personality size, but I was very happy to be mistaken in my estimation.

So, there I was, face to face with the “male mechanism” for the very first time and it appeared to be fine working order and just waiting for someone to fire it up. Boy, had it come to the right place!

We each grabbed a hand and led him out to the warm, frothy water. Sploosh. Sploosh. I sat right up against him on one side and Mary Beth squeezed in tight on the other to make us a yummy “Gary Sandwich”. The feel of his naked skin next to mine had me about as wet as the hot tub we were sitting in.

Much giggling, girly horseplay and accidental lap fondling ensued. When things were good and warmed up, we jumped into our carefully worked-out argument. Mary Beth and I got into a good-natured discussion on who gave the best blow job. Now, neither on of us had ever even seen a pie filler up close before that night, but it really didn’t matter. There’s an old joke about these two guys talking. The first guy says, “Remember the worst blow job you ever got?” The other guy says, “Yeah.” The first guy asks, “How was it?” and the second guy replies “Fucking great.”

So, we quite rightly figured, even if we weren’t very good at it, Gary was gong to love it anyway.

“Say,” I said turning to our unsuspecting prey, “why don’t you decide.”

“What?”

“That’s a great idea,” Mary Beth chimed in. “Just perch up on the edge of the hot tub and spread your legs.”

“What!?” he queried for the second time.

“You do like getting your cock sucked, don’t you?” I asked innocently.

“Well, ah.”

Before he could finish his sentence, Mary Beth and I had physically lifted him onto the lip of the tub and pulled his legs apart like they were the doors to a shoe store. Since I was the one who picked Gary, it was decided it would be only right if I tested out my oral skills upon him first. I felt this powerful mini-spasm in my cooch as I wrapped my hand around his pant carrot. At least I hoped it was like a carrot because that’s what I had been mostly practicing on. I took one last breath as a fellatio virgin and dropped down on it like I was an owl and it was a golf-course bunny.

My, what a weird and funny thing to have in your mouth! The head felt one way on my tongue and the shaft was this totally other thing. And all the time I’m marveling at the newness of this mysterious fleshy object, so long denied me, I’m pretending like I’m the Greg Louganis of dick-diving. From the noises Gary was making, I’m sure he believed that I knew what I was doing. I just kept it in my head (pardon the pun) to keep my teeth as far away from it as possible and to bash the mushroom-shaped bit around on the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat. I was really starting to enjoy myself and, needless to say so was Gary, when I received a firm tap on my shoulder. Apparently, Mary Beth felt it was way past her turn to “tongue the schlong”. Reluctantly, I bade farewell to my first phallus, giving his cute little balls a tender tug as I retreated back into the water. Just so they’d know I would return later.

I thought Mary Beth was going to bite it off and swallow it whole, the way she went down on him. Luckily, no major injuries occurred and Mr. Whoopie was still if full working order when we pulled him into our bed later that night.

As I lay there on my back with Gary on top of me, I was so glad that I was sharing this moment with my best friend. I looked over and smiled at her as I felt him slowly insert his Popeil Vag-O-Matic inside me. Wow, what a rush! The sensation of his meat tube sliding up into me like that practically made my eyes cross! I came within about a minute. Luckily, I had a clitoris and not a cum gun so it didn’t really matter (I had another really big “O” about two minutes later and gloriously massive one soon after that.). It’s one of those things about being a girl that is really, really great. He banged me and then he banged Mary Beth and then he banged us both again. Of course, we made him pull out of us just before he spewed so we could taste his sperm. Interesting flavor. Turns out, we’re both swallowers! I had him deposit his second load on my tongue and then Mary Beth and I had a hot and messy session of spunk-necking.

I think we both wanted thirds but it looked like Gary was going to start crying under the strain, so we gave him a break and let him fall asleep.
What a totally bitchin’ and fuck-tastic night! Men can be really cool creatures when they do precisely what you tell them. I was now demonically in love with the whole “sex” thing. After Gary wandered off into snooze land, I played with his weenie for about an hour like it was a cat toy.

The rest of the week was spent feeding, and caring for his every need during the day and exacting our pound of flesh (well, maybe just a couple of ounces) as soon as the sun went down.

So now, Mary Beth and I are juniors and we’ve had more than our share of men – and yes she did indulge in some major hammock-humping with the resplendent Brent Sullivan. We’ve done steamy threesomes with just about every guy we’ve ever looked sideways at but not Brent. I just can’t open ‘em up for that jerk, no matter how pretty he is.

Gary is still as sweet as Mary Beth’s pie and we do a week at the same cottage with him every summer. But, no matter how many times we try and figure out which of us is the best cocksucker, it always seems to end it a tie.

Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister

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