THIS WEBPAGE CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL. RESTRICTED TO 18 YEARS OF AGE AND OLDER
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When Julie Holbrooke was a child, her mother meticulously braided her long blond hair every morning before sending her off, lunch pail in hand, to wait at the end of their dirt lane for the yellow school bus to pick her up. When in third grade, Freddie Perkins, the freckle-faced boy who sat behind her, became fascinated with those golden pigtails and seemed compelled to pull them whenever the teacherís back was turned. Julieís Aunt Jane, whose gray hair had once also been blond, passed on stories of how back in the early nineteen-forties, elementary school boys dipped the ends of girlís pigtails into the bottles of black ink set in the inkwells on their wooden desks. Julie loved listening to her aunt reminiscing about her past and was fascinated by the stories of how first graders back then, with pen and ink, were taught to draw tightly-wound circles as the first step in learning cursive writing.
Julie could not remember much of her father, a farmer for all of his relatively short life, for he died only two months after she turned eight. Following the death of her dad, Claire, Julieís widowed mother, sold their small vegetable farm. Still grieving her loss, she moved herself, young Julie and her older sister Betsy about twelve miles to the home of her own parents. It was the farm where Claire had grown up. This was an easy move for Julie, for she loved her Grandma Anna and Grandpa Ed Walters and their ten-year-old English springer spaniel named Nick. In addition, she loved to play in the hayloft of the old barn and the move did not require her to change schools. It was a good transition for a young girl who needed to let go of her father.
When Julie was ten her grandmother, then only sixty-four, died of leukemia. It was another loss, but the many stories Anna had told would not be forgotten. Julieís Granddad died just a little over a year after his wife had passed away, and many claimed his passing was the result of his broken heart. Julie accepted this as the cause, for after Grandma Waltersí death she had seen Grandpa Ed rocking quietly in a wooden rocking chair with tears running down his weathered cheeks, the aging spaniel curled up at his feet.
It was shortly after her granddadís death that Aunt Jane, her motherís older divorced sister, moved in with them. There had only been the two girls in the Walters family, living ten miles from town, and from their youth Jane and Claire had been expected to do their share of farm work. Julieís mother and aunt grew up as the best of friends, although her mother remained a country girl and Jane, after high school, went off to the city and fell in with a wild group of hippy friends. There were parallels with Julie, for her only sibling was her older sister Betsy, who, although still living at home, was the more liberal of the two. However, they were emotionally bonded and Julie secretly admired her sisterís adventurous spirit. With the death of old Nick and with Aunt Jane moving in, it became four females living in their country home and managing the old Walters farm, where once over a hundred head of cattle roamed the pasture. Jane referred to the family as the Band of Banty Hens. Even their orange barn cat Lucy was female.
Shortly after Julie turned twelve, Freddie was the first to comment on her budding young breasts, but unfortunately what he teasingly noted was that one bump was slightly larger than the other. It was a rude introduction into adolescence. Despite her mother sheepishly telling of her own initial lopsidedness, and her Aunt Janeís graphic reassurance that such discrepancies were quite normal, Julie padded one side of her training bra with Kleenex. By the middle of her thirteenth year, however, her beautifully formed breasts had grown significantly and had evened out in size. Freddie still seemed to notice them when Julie wore tight sweaters, but he now did so sheepishly and in silence. Aunt Jane, who always seemed to enjoy showing off her own ample cleavage, privately presented Julie with her first pushup bra on the occasion of her fourteenth birthday. Along with the gift, Julie was advised not to tell her mother. When Julie told Betsy of the bra, the two girls giggled as they swapped stories about how boys seem more interested in the size of a girlís boobs than the color of her eyes.
When both were fourteen, Fred, who lived in town, was again the first. He was the first boy to ever kiss Julie. The kiss had seemed impulsive and occurred as she walked backstage after her flute solo during the schoolís annual talent show. Each of the naive teens held their breaths, puckered their closed virginal lips, and then pressed them together. Their bodies formed an A frame and the duration of the superficial lip contact was brief. Although there was nothing at all erotic about this meeting of lips, the word "Wow" had still jumped from Julieís mouth. Even in the dimly-lit backstage, Julie saw the Perkins boy blush. She soon lost her interest in playing the flute, but not in her fascination with Fred.
By fifteen, the maturing young womanís ample breasts had gained exquisite sensitivity and Julie felt her panties dampen when Fred kissed her again. This kiss had occurred on the steps of the high school following a Friday-night dance. Their lips were still closed, but Fred held Julie close, her breasts pressed to his chest. The kiss lasted a full twenty seconds. As she felt the warmth of his body against hers, Julieís heart raced, her young body tingled and she again said Wow, but this time silently to herself.
Before Julie was old enough to acquire her license, her sister would drive her to and from the dances. It was during the drives home along country roads that Betsy tried to explain the mysterious wetness Julie sheepishly reported. Even at fifteen Julie giggled when her sister used the word pussy. Most girls Julieís age were still referring to the area as down there, when talking of their genitals, and it was usually about an itch rather than a tingle.
Julie was growing up on the family Indiana farm that demanded the time and energy of the four women, despite the fact that the cattle had all been sold. With only one car and with chickens and rabbits to feed, Julie had limited opportunity to mix with the more sophisticated group of girls in town. Early in her childhood, Julie, as a farm girl, had learned how animalís reproduce, but her schoolís sex education classes had skimmed over human coital mechanics and instead focused on venereal diseases and unwanted pregnancies. The curriculum emphasized only the doníts and excluded any positive comments on the joyful aspects of consensual sexual activities. Nothing in her classes explained how pussies got wet and nothing was said about how penises grew and hardened. Other than the mechanical depositing of sperm, there was no mention of what an orgasm felt like for a guy. The details of human intercourse remained quite vague and the idea of actually doing it was still pretty frightening for this naive young woman, even when she reached the ripe old age of seventeen.
While the act of intercourse remained a mystery, during her early adolescence Julie received many positive messages about her maturing body from her Aunt Jane. It was Jane who had prepared her for her first menstruation and when Julie had complained of an itch down there, Jane had asked if there was any redness. Julie registered surprise at the question and her response had been, "I have no idea, ícause Iíd never ever look at that part of my body."
Jane had laughed and without asking why, stated "Just because you canít look down and see it doesnít mean you canít use a mirror, and just because whatís down there is called your privates, doesnít mean you have to keep yourself hidden from everyone. Thatís a very unique and beautiful part of a womanís body, so never be afraid to show it to those who are special to you, and never ever be afraid to look and admire it yourself. Think of that female area as a gift you have to share when you decide the person and time are right. You are a woman and youíll know when itís time to roar."
By eighteen, with Janeís convincing presentation on a positive-pussy perspective, Julie would frequently lie with a hand mirror between her spread legs and admire her privates, often while she masturbated. Pretty pussy, she could now think without embarrassment. The combination of fingers and fantasies never failed to send her spiraling over the brink into a powerful orgasm.
By eighteen and a half and now proud of her coochie, whenever wearing a skirt or dress, it was a turn on to go without panties. Her sister strongly endorsed the idea. Betsy, who still enjoyed watching her alma materís sporting events, even suggested the two of them go to a football game wearing skirts but no underwear. "We can flash the players of the opposing team," Betsy said. "Our guys need all the help they can get." A devilish grin spread across her pretty face. "I think the sight of two exceptionally cute cunts would effectively distract the other teamís players."
With only one car, even after Julie had her license, she was still dependent on Betsy to drive her to the high school dances and drop her off if the family vehicle was needed by one of the others. Julie looked forward to the Friday-night dances in the school auditorium and particularly loved the slow dancing. It was a safe way to feel physical contact with a boy, and on several occasions when dancing close to Fred she felt his cock harden. She would respond with her own pleasurable arousal, beginning to understand that concept of sexual chemistry she had heard others talk about. Something powerful was drawing her mind and body to this sexy guy. However, the eighteen-year-old boy she desired seemed extremely embarrassed by his hard-ons and would back off if he became excited when Julie rubbed against the bulge in the front of his trousers. The idea of intercourse was still quite scary, but she had a growing fascination with Fredís cock and its ability to harden.
Julie really liked this boy as a friend. This was in addition to the strong physical attraction she felt. Fred, who lived in town with his mother, played guitar and was into the music of the eighties. He had formed a small rock band, along with Lilly, a large-breasted guitar player, a bearded base guitarist named Henry, and a long-haired drummer named Kyle. The drummer was a few years older than Fred, and he and his nineteen year old girlfriend, Evelyn, were both enrolled in the community college. If Julie could not get the car, Evelyn, who liked to be called Evie, would often pick her up and drive her to the location where the group was playing.
"Weíll never be as good as Miles Davis," Fred would often say, but Julie loved to listen to the band and her body tingled as she watched this young man, who had lost his boyhood freckles and had become increasingly attractive. The chemistry she felt was strong and seemed to be growing.
Despite Evelynís advice to Julie on how she could seduce Fred, he had seemed to prefer to remain just a good friend. Now, both juniors in high school, they would still kiss on rare occasions and Julie still felt herself getting quite wet when their bodies were close. However, Fred appeared more interested in his music than the pursuit of anything romantic or erotic with her. She had no choice but to accept this as the way it would be, although he had become a frequent character in the sexual fantasies that accompanied her twice weekly masturbation and she would often whisper his name as she hovered on the brink of an orgasm. She wondered what a climax felt like to Fred when he came . Does he feel these same kinds of contractions? If stuff squirts out, does he feel it making its way through his cock and out the end?
She had put her question about a guy coming to Evelyn, who said they probably do feel contractions that are similar to a galís. She had a reminder, however. "Remember, Julie, guys have prostates that contract when they come and that probably adds something different to their experience.". This led Evie to ask a question. "Have you ever given a guy a prostate massage?"
"Hell, No! How would I do that and why would I?"
"You stick your finger up his ass as far as it will go, and some guys love it."
The answer embarrassed Julie and she changed the subject. "I was going to email you but wasnít sure how to spell Evie. I did it ending with ie and then tried it with just a e y on the end. So, how do you spell it?"
"Evey with the ey is a Hebrew name for a girl and it means life. Evie with the ie is a nickname for Evelyn."
"Well, I now know who to ask about male anatomy and the origin of names."
Julie really did appreciate Evieís willingness to share her sexual knowledge. Most of Julieís girlfriends at school were relatively naive, even though some had become sexually active. The girls, however, talked a lot about boys and who was hot. Many of Julieís friends were attracted to Bruce, a country boy, who was a year older, had graduated from school and was enrolled in the community college. He was a muscular young man who had played on the high-school football team, although he had not been either the captain or the star quarterback. He never threw a long pass or scored a touchdown. Bruce had also served on the student council, but although nominated, had not been elected president. The junior and senior girls still remembered him, but it was his stunning good looks that gained him his popularity. Julie was at first shocked and then fascinated by a discussion in the girlsí locker room, not about Bruceís brown eyes, but about the size of his cock. Two claimed to have seen it, another claimed to have felt it and another proudly announced she had sucked on it, or at least as much as she could get into her mouth. Sally, a petite redheaded senior, admitted to allowing him to attempt to enter her, but she claimed she was too uptight and since he was so big he could not it get it in. Sally then confessed, "I think he was probably poking around in all the wrong places and I was afraid to give him directions. His size scared me, but still, his cockís gorgeous." Those who knew first hand agreed and the other girls swooned. Julie wondered about Fredís size, but then wondered if she would know how to direct him to the target if he needed directions. Fucking does not sound like such an easy thing to do.
Julie was totally surprised when Bruce invited her to a formal dance at the college. She was a beautiful eighteen year old who was finishing her senior year, but she considered herself a plain country girl. Thus, she was thrilled to have been asked by Bruce, knowing most of the girls in her school would have jumped at the chance to go to the dance with this well-hung hunk. She couldnít wait to tell Betsy.
Her sister offered her the dress she had worn to her senior prom. "Wear your pushup bra," Betsy advised.
Julie was excited and nervous, and her hand shook as she applied a gloss to her full lips. One final look in her full-length mirror and she was ready. The formal dress was low cut and, with the pushup bra, soft pillows were visible above the lace bodice as Julie stood for family inspection on the night of the dance.
"Very nice." Aunt Jane smiled in approval as she dabbed a fragrant drop of her perfume onto one of the exposed mounds.
Claire, her mother frowned, but said nothing other than to comment on the shoes Julie was wearing. "I canít imagine why you decided to wear those. I think your feet will be hurting within the first half hour of dancing."
It was seven oíclock and Julie, wearing a more comfortable pair of shoes, was ready and waiting. She looked and smelled great, and she felt sexy. During one final check in the mirror, she was happy the dress was full but of a thin fabric. Julie had danced with other boys who had held her close and would slide a leg between her thighs as they danced, and she wanted to feel Bruce pressing against her pussy, a label she now embraced. She wondered if he would somehow sense she was not wearing panties and if she would feel him harden. By seven-fifteen Julie was beginning to worry and by seven-thirty she was thinking she had been stood up. Despite the optimism of her aunt, her mother and her sister, Julie began to cry.
"Heís probably having car trouble," Aunt Jane suggested.
"Maybe he got lost," her mother offered.
Betsy grinned. "I think he had to stop in town to buy condoms. Probably a pack of six," she teased.
Mother frowned and Aunt Jane covered her smile with a hand.
Julie scowled at Betsy. "Youíre nasty. I know heís not much smarter than one of our turnips, but he seemed to know how to get here. He mightíve been in an accident and could at this very moment be lying injured somewhere along the road."
"Perhaps we should call the sheriff." The expression on motherís face said she too had become concerned.
Just then, as though on cue, fingers of red light flashed through the front windows. "Oh, shit," Julie exclaimed, not thinking she need apologize for her expression. The four women, with hearts pounding, ran out onto the front porch as two deputies exited the black and white patrol car.
"Whatís happened?" Julieís mother called out as the two uniformed men approached.
The older of the two responded. "Thatís what weíre trying to figure out. We found an abandoned car off the road, but with the driverís side door open, the motor running and the lights still on. Do you know a young man named Bruce Haskell?"
"Yes," Julie said, raising her hand. "I have a date with him."
"Then you must be Julie," the younger deputy stated. "There was a note in his car with your name and directions here to your house."
"Plus a very pretty corsage," the older man said. "His parents reported he was excited about the dance and had left home around six-thirty. He was sober when he left his house and the six-pack of beer on the back seat was unopened. His carís about ten minutes from here, in a field and with no sign of any kind of violence. He just seems to have suddenly fled."
"From what?" Betsy asked.
"We have no idea" was the response.
"Itíll be totally dark soon, but weíve got a search team with dogs on the way." The tall younger deputy did not add an optimistic prediction to his statement.
Julie walked back into the house sobbing with her sister following right behind her. "This wouldíve just been your first date with Bruce. I didnít realize you cared so much for him." Betsy took one of Julieís hands in hers.
"Oh, heís a gorgeous hunk, though I think heís an egotistical snob. But, heís easily the most popular guy in last yearís graduating class and all the girls wouldíve been so envious of me. Theyíd probably even ask me if I felt his cock."
"His cock?" There was a twinkle in Betsyís blue eyes. "What were you planning to do, little sister?"
"Only press up against him during a slow dance. I had no intention of being added to his long list of conquests."
"I know a girl whoís on that list, but she said he gave lousy head. A couple of quick licks and then he was up wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve."
"Who was that?"
"Iíll just tell you her first name was Carolyn."
"Is she now going to Notre Dame?"
"Yes, she is. Have you heard about her?"
"What I heard was that she got off on exposing her boobs to truck drivers out on the state highway."
"And sheís got big ones," Betsy said. "If guys compare the size of their dicks in the locker room, we girls compared our breast sizes and Carolynís melons always came out the winner."
"Maybe when you were in high school girls talked of breasts, but in the locker room now the girls talk about dicks, not boobs." Julieís tears had stopped and as she compared locker talk with her sister, she giggled. "Iíve heard of some that point straight out when they get hard, but also some that curve up and a few that curve down."
"And according to his girlfriend," Betsy said, "a guy in my high-school class had a hard-on that twisted to the left."
Aunt Jane came into the house shaking her head. "Amazing. Utterly amazing."
Betsy looked bewildered. "What?" Her eyes reflected her need for more information.
"While we were talking out there, I realized I had dated the older deputy in high school. Heís put on a lot of weight, grown a mustache and his hairís turning gray, not to mention the wrinkles. I wouldnít have recognized him if we hadnít started talking about where kids go these days to make out after the high school dances. He and I had found our own secret place, so he got my attention when he started talking of his school days and mentioned parking out near the Fletcherís farm in the garage of an abandoned farmhouse thatís gone now. Then, when he recalled how a raccoon dropped from the rafters onto the hood of his old Chevy, I looked at his name tag and it all came together."
"And did you come together in the garage?" Betsy teasingly asked.
"No way. He was a minute man."
Julie, who had been sitting back listening, leaned forward. "Iím lost," she confessed. "Heís a what? Iíve never heard that description of a man."
"A minute man. He reached orgasm within a minute," Aunt Jane clarified.
Betsy added, "A premature ejaculator."
"Phew, I guess Iíve never thought of that before. Iíve got a lot to learn." She sat, leaned back in her chair and frowned. "I feel pretty dumb about all of this."
"Sex is a very natural thing, but we do need to learn how to do it well. Donít worry though. You have lots of time, so thereís no need to rush." Aunt Jane bent down, hugged Julie, and then stepped back. "Youíre a beautiful young woman and a lot of guys will want to get into your pants."
"Sheís not wearing any panties," Betsy revealed.
"Well, with or without panties, theyíll want to spread your legs, but you decide who and when."
"Who and when what?" Julieís mother asked, coming in on the tail end of the conversation.
"Ah, who to go to and when to start getting her hair cut, Mom. She canít go through life with hair down to her butt." Betsy winked at Aunt Jane.
"Thereís more serious stuff than hair cuts to worry about. After you all left, the deputies got a call on their radio. A couple other officers had found the boyís tux and everything, but the tie was around the collar, the buttoned shirt was inside the tux jacket and still tucked into the trousers. The belt was still buckled, the trousers still zipped and his wristwatch still inside the cuff of his shirt. His socks were in his shoes, which were still tied. It was just as though he had evaporated right out of his clothes. His body, though, still hasnít been found."
"Thatís really weird," Betsy said. "And they have no explanation?"
"None at all," Claire replied. "They seem as baffled as we are."
"Just think of everyone at the dance right now with no idea of whatís happened to Bruce," Julie said. "I wonder when theyíll notice weíre not there. I wonder when theyíll learn of his disappearance." I wonder if heíd have discovered by now that Iím not wearing panties, she added in thought. Then the reality hit. "Oh, God, I hope heís okay."
"Iím wondering if Bruceís disappearance has been picked up by the local radio station," Betsy said. "With all the searchers involved, surely someone has called in the story." She turned on the radio and they caught the tail end of a sentence.
"... now combing the area."
"Here it is," Betsy called out.
The newscaster continued. "Sheriff Wilson has called in search teams from surrounding counties. Wait, hereís a news flash thatís just in. A woman in Ohio was on her way to a community playersí production and her car was found abandoned off the street and in a school playground. The motor was still running, the lights still on, and the radio playing. Four blocks away her clothes were found still buttoned and layered just as if she had evaporated right out of them. The description of the abandoned vehicle and the empty garments sounds identical to the local report of Bruce Haskellís mysterious disappearance." The announcer paused. "In both cases they even found the personís underwear inside their outer clothing."
If that had been me, theyíd have found my push-up bra but no panties, Julie thought. She was just about to comment on the news report when the phone rang. Her mother answered and then handed the phone to Julie, saying "Itís Fred."
Julie took the phone. "Hello, Fred."
"Hi, Julie. I was listening to the news on the radio and heard of how Bruce seems to have just vanished into thin air, right out of his clothing. I wonder if heís out there somewhere wandering around stark naked. But, I didnít really call about him, I called about you. I was worried. Are you alright?"
"Well, if having spent two hours getting ready and now sitting here in an evening gown while others are dancing to live music is alright, then I guess Iím alright, but thanks for asking." Julie paused. "To tell you the truth, Fred, Iím worried about whatís happening."
"Yeah, thereís a similar case here in our state and another one in Illinois."
"And did you hear about the woman in Ohio?"
"Thereís something weird going on and it seems no one has been able to explain whatís happening."
"Yes, itís all very strange."
"So, youíre all dressed up with no place to go," Fred commented.
"Got that right."
"We have a gig tonight in town at the Main Street Coffee House thatíll start in about half an hour. If you want to come listen for a while, change into jeans and Evie will come and pick you up."
Julie thought for a minute and then replied. "Iíll be ready." She did not mention the other disappearance cases to her family when she told them of Fredís invitation.
"I worry about you going out tonight," Julieís mother said even without knowing the full story. "I canít allow you to go."
Aunt Jane agreed.
"Youíd really like to see Fred tonight, wouldnít you?" Betsy sensed her sisterís disappointment with their motherís disapproval.
"Heís a very old and very dear friend, so yes, Iíd really like to see him."
Just then the phone rang again. Jane was the closest to it so she answered. "Sheís right here, Evelyn. Iíll hand her the phone."
"Julie, Fred just called me on my cell," Evelyn said. "No one has come to the coffee house and the police are advising everyone to go home and stay there."
"Whatís going on?" Julie asked, suspecting she knew what the answer would be.
"Word of that boyís disappearance and other similar disappearances has spread and there are a lot of people who are afraid to be out tonight. Iím heading back to Kyle, and he and I will go shack up at his place. A good way to forget all of this is to fuck, and thatís what weíll be doing."
"If you see Fred, ask him to call me tomorrow," Julie said. She wondered about fucking Fred and wondered how that would smooth over the disappointments of the evening. I do have a lot to learn, she thought after saying goodbye to Evelyn.
After their mother and aunt had gone to bed, Julie and her sister stayed up listening to the news. They got to talking about Bruceís apparent discomfort with licking pussy, and that got them onto the general topic of oral sex. "Does a girl have to swallow the guyís stuff?" Julie asked.
"His cum? No, a girl doesnít have to swallow unless she wants to, and itís just not right for a guy to demand it. The decision should always be the womanís. She can take the cum in her mouth and either spit or swallow. Or, another option is to take over with a hand when heís close, jack him off and let him shoot in the air. Most of the time, though, youíll just want to use cock sucking as foreplay, ícause if the guy comes that way, heíll probably lose his hard-on and not be able to fuck."
"What about the guys doing the girls? Do they really like to lick a woman down there or are they all like Bruce?"
"Eat pussy? Some love it and others donít. Blessed are the guys who are avid muff divers. For a lot of girls, having their clit licked is the easiest and most reliable way for them to come."
"I thought you were supposed to come together during intercourse."
"For some women fucking is the most ineffective way to reach orgasm. I guess thatís why a lot of women rely on BOB."
"Oh, I thought you knew. BOB is what a lot of women call their battery-operated boyfriend."
Julieís look was one of confusion.
"Her vibrator, Sis. If theyíre real life boyfriend canít get the job done," Betsy said, "thereís always the toy. Youíll have to learn what works best for you."
"So if the woman doesnít come during intercourse, but the man does, can she expect him to eat her once heís finished?"
"Someone once said that women have orgasms and guys have snorgasms. Many are too tired after they come to go down on their gal and get her off orally. Some who are not too tired donít want to taste their own semen, so if they came in a pussy, theyíll not eat it. If the guy doesnít cooperate and help figure out how she can come during a fuck, the woman had better get hers first and then let him in to get his."
"This is all sounding very complicated. If the woman has already had her orgasm, can she still screw?"
"Most gals Iíve talked with say they stay wet and do like having it end with a nice fuck even after theyíve had their orgasm orally. I think if a guy says I want to make love to you, the woman needs to say only if you make love with me. Communication should not stop once you have your clothes off."
Julieís mental processing of what her sister had said was interrupted by a TV news update. "Four hours now after the mysterious disappearance of nineteen year old Bruce Haskell, searchers have called off their search until daybreak tomorrow. Sheriff Wilson announced there are no new clues to understanding this unusual situation and stated he wonít be issuing another update until noon tomorrow, unless the boy is found earlier. Scattered reports of other strange disappearances here in Indiana and neighboring states have been sketchy and of no help in explaining whatís happened locally."
"I wonder if Bruce wouldíve wanted to eat my pussy."
"Well, Julie, I donít think he wouldíve been the one to teach you the joys of sixty-nine, but I do hope heís okay, wherever he is."
"Maybe weíll hear something tomorrow."
"I sure hope so."