'It is for me, angel,' he said, helping her step over the barbed-wire fence at the edge of a little triangle of woods.

'I'll nurse you back to health,' she told him saucily, taking his hand.

'Yeah,' he said, husky-voiced, looking at the way the soft cords gathered around that beautiful, high, perfect ass of hers. He crushed her against him. 'Let's get you out of those pants.'





'Oooooooooohhhhh.' Suddenly it all burst loose like a damn being dynamited. All the weeks of wanting and waiting. And he was trying to get her clothes off, pull the damn pants down, she was tearing at his shirt, and the traffic was whizzing by in the distance, and they fell down on the old blanket in the woods behind where the motel-and-greasy-spoon dumped its garbage, which was at this moment in the scheme of events just about the sexiest, hottest, most wonderful and lovely spot in the wide world of sports.

'You know how . . . long —'


'How long . . . I've been —'

'Oh. Oh, God.' She'd waited so long for this. She'd always known that they were going to be together someday; she just hadn't dreamed it might be so soon.

'Oh, baby.' His mouth was a hot fire and she let him burn her tongue with it and tried to match the inferno with her wetness.

'Jesus, God, oh.' She was smooth and golden tan. He loved the feel of those long, sleek, perfectly smooth legs and he eased into her for the first time. Was there anything like a cherry, sexy-legged, tight little fourteen- year-old pony who was in love with your ass. Oh, she was so tight.

'I'll be gentle baby.' Oh, yeah. I'll bust that cherry for serious. Oh, yes. Ram this big mother home. Man, a cat could scratch on that hard-on. 'Oh.'

'You're so beautiful,' he told her, kissing her gently now as he banged into her, 'you're — so — beau-tee- fullllll.'

'I've wanted you for so long.'

'Kiss.' Her tanned skin was flawless, velvety, baby-soft, and so incredibly smooth.

Their lips touched, he kept brushing up against her mouth lightly with each stroke, pile-driving her back into the mashed bed of weeds the blanket was covering, driving into her, over and over, putting it to the foxy little lady.

'... wanted you so long I've ...'


'... I've ... I ... '

'Oh, yeah.'

'Yes.' He was running his soft hands over those little childlike breasts with their small nipples. Little hot circles on the flesh.


'You like this.'


'Oh, yeah, baby.'

'Unnnh. Greg.'

'Kiss. Give me that hot, wet tongue.' He speared down into her mouth, tonguing her, frenching her as he slid in and out.

'God. Oh, I love you.'

'Come on. Oh. Come ON, DO IT OHHHHHHHH-HHH.'

'AAAAAHHHHHH.' He was almost laughing into her mouth. Into her hot, wet fourteen-year-old mouth. Burning his cock in that fiery, mellifluous tightness.


He didn't have to hold on for long. She came like a damn runaway train. God, he loved it all. Everything was coming together, in more ways than one. And they cuddled and snuggled and nuzzled, and before long, he was getting turned on by the situation, by the girl and the legs and the tight pussy and the bloody smear on the old blanket, and he was hardening again, and as he kissed her, he reached for the long, tanned legs and she opened herself to him, wetly.

'I need you,' he whispered, gently, running his hot fingers down the fourteen-year-old chest. She could feel the burning heat all the way to her heart.

'I need you too.'

'Are you mine?' He kissed her and then she answered.

'You know I am,' she vowed.

'Tiff, I need to know you love me as much as I love you,' he whispered in his soft but urgent way, his fingers moving down to her long, bare legs.

'I do love you,' telling him between the kisses.

'Show me how much,' he said to her. 'Do you want me, Tiff?' He was playing Hal Hunk again now and guiding himself back into the cherry bowl.

'Yesssss. Oh, be easy, ohhhhhh. Oh, God, I'm so hot.' Her cat's eyes closed in ecstasy.

'Tell me. Show me. How much.'


'Say it. SAY IT.'

'NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.' He'd settle for that.

After the second time. Lying there spent. Soaked. Bodies cooling in the open air. Listening to the muted traffic noise and thinking. Was there anything as good as that nice, fresh fourteen-year-old snatch. Hot damn, Sam. I am jam — and Chocolate Thunder, he said to himself, smiling.

'What's so funny?' she said, trying to cuddle.

'I was just remembering something else we could share.' And with the big Hollywood grin on his good- looking puss, he brought out his blow. 'Ever do any of this?'

'What is it?' Her cat's eyes open wide again.

'It's the Real Thing,' he sang off-key. He wore a little gold thing on a chain and he used it to take just a little bit out and he said, 'Do it like this,' and snorted it.

'I can't do that.'

'You can eat it, too.'


'Try it. It's wild. Come on. We're going to share goodies, right?'

'Right. Okay.' He put a little on the spoon and she cautiously inhaled. 'Oooooofffff. Oh! GOD, Greg. GROSS! She sneezed.

'You'll see,' he said, one of the only true things he'd said that day.

And she looked over at her hunk and laughed happily.

* * *

Frank Spain, who was then still just a kid named Frank Spanhower, had never been much of a cocksman. His childhood had been typical but sexually neuter. He also had a minor speech impediment that had not been any great asset with the young ladies. And when you're a kid, a speech problem can put you pretty far down in the pecking order. Even the severe acne cases, the freckle factories, the fat kids, the out-of-synch nerds, can look down on somebody with that sort of a defect.

As he matured, his initial sexual experiences had been embarrassing fiascos. Drawn to girls, he knew he was

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