Ex-Girl Next Door
a Short Story
Copyright © 2003, Kellis
Motion attracted Joe’s attention even through half-lidded eyes. Across the road a figure emerged from the woods on the school path: a girl in tube top, ragged shorts and sneakers. He snapped awake and recognized her: Sally Moore, who lived two houses beyond his own. Against the dark tree trunks, sunlight limned several locks of tan hair that had straggled from her ponytail clip. That was unusual. She must have bumped a low-hanging limb.
As she proceeded along the road shoulder, he noticed a peculiarity in her gait — short steps with knees brushing. He studied her familiar face for signs of distress. She was chewing her lower lip as if worrying a problem.
Curiosity impelled him to call, “Hey, Sal! Hurt your legs?”
She stopped suddenly as if startled. Her head swung and spotted him lounging in the shade on the edge of his porch. She neither waved nor smiled. Her response was to alter course directly toward him and stroll, normally now, across the road, driveway and side yard.
She spun around and plopped her round bottom onto the porch floor close beside him. To his surprise a strong odor arrived with her. It was curiously attractive, reminding him of bacon frying, though overlaid with a repellent component that was almost familiar.
“You been playing tennis?” he asked.
“What’s the matter — I stink?”
“You … I don’t think I ever smelled anything like it.”
“Yes, you have.” Leaning against him, she tilted her face up and ordered, “Kiss me.”
He had kissed her several times before, although not by invitation. She’d been the girl next door for all their 15 years. They had begun to grapple as soon as they were left to play alone, but because girls no longer wear skirts casually, they became aware of the profound differences in their bodies almost by chance — while urinating together in the edge of the woods at age seven. Since that time each had permitted the other to satisfy anatomical curiosity. On the church hayride last winter their hands had ventured far enough beneath heavy clothing to accomplish mutual relief, but their friendship, though based on fondness and tolerance closer than usual between teenagers, was not romantic.
If she wanted kissing, however … His arm encircled her shoulders and lips pressed to hers without hesitation. Her tongue darted into his mouth and withdrew. When his followed, she sucked it into her own mouth.
He broke from her, smacking his lips. “What the hell! You taste like …”
She giggled. “I thought you’d know it! Feel inside my shorts.”
“In your shorts?”
“In front.” She pulled open the elastic waistband invitingly.
His hand slipped into the opening, palm against her soft warm belly. His fingers had last been here on that same hayride.
They had penetrated a different set of genitals two months later on a spring hillside — those of Betty Sawyer, where virgin manhood had immediately followed fingers. Plump Betty had announced that she would teach him a thing or two and he had studied her lessons diligently for the next several weeks, until she found a new pupil. Now his eyes widened. Sally’s trimmed bush and everything below was greasy and far wetter than Betty’s had ever been!
“Don’t girls wear panties even under shorts?”
She answered dryly, “Until somebody steals them.”
“Somebody … stole your panties?”
“Must have. I looked around for them and they were gone.”
Further questions arose in his mind, but the flesh yielding to his fingers was more imperative. Two slipped into her to the knuckles.
“Two more,” suggested the girl.
The flesh yielded further.
He repeatedly compressed a lumpy clitoris between the palm outside and the fingers within, which seemed to be stirring warm soup. She shivered.
Automobile tires hissed along the road. She closed her legs tightly over his hand and turned her knees toward him, body rotating to conceal his arm. When the car had passed, she looked over her shoulder at the silent house. “Who’s here?”
Realizing that he had been holding his breath, he had to gasp. “Nobody. Mom’s playing cards at her club.”
Her hands closed on his forearm. “Sort of roll your palm back and forth,” she directed, guiding his arm, “and squeeze harder.” She began to breath faster.
Curiosity overcame native caution. “Sally, what’s happened to you?”
Gasps became whimpers. Her head went down against his chest, hair in his face. “Oh god damn,” she muttered, shuddering powerfully. Heaving a long sigh, she jerked his hand from her shorts and raised a brightly flushed face. At sight of his disbelief her brown eyes danced.
He asked in awe, “Did you just come?”
She only giggled at him, then rose to her feet, threw open the screen door and darted into the house. She paused to look back through the screen, grinning at his open mouth, and confided, “I’m thirsty.”
He jumped up to follow her. They had visited each other’s homes many times, though not so often in recent years. She proceeded directly down the hall to the kitchen. When he caught up with her, she had opened the refrigerator and removed a cola can. She popped the tab and stared at him while taking a deep draft.
“Ah-h-h!” she breathed, extending the can to him.
“Thanks,” he said ironically. Aware that his throat was dry, he took an equal swig.
Her lip curled. “I’m thirstier than you.” Snatching the can away, she drained it, set it on the sink and raised her chin. “Let’s go to your room.” She darted past him down the hall and up the stairs, taking two at the time.
“Coming makes you thirsty?” he asked, right behind her.
“Yeah: coming and coming and coming!”
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t explain. Pausing beside the typically unmade bed, she kicked off her sneakers, stepped out of her shorts and tore the tube top over her head to flutter to the floor. She stood before him, clothed only in a gold bracelet and her ponytail clip. He took in the conical, thrusting breasts, not so round as plump Betty’s, and the untrimmed pubic bush, matted with too-abundant moisture, but his enthrallment was incomplete.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“You mean you can’t tell?”
“I, uh …”
“Didn’t you learn anything from Betty Sawyer?”
“Huh? Who told you about Betty?”
“Who do you think? Take off your clothes, Joe. At least drop your shorts.”
Light from the window behind her glittered in her inner thighs. “Your legs are wet,” he noted.
“So take a shower.”
Her hands rested on forward-thrusting hips. “If I do that, I’ll be out of the mood.”
“I don’t have any rubbers.”
“You don’t need any.” Her expression became incredulous. “Joe, are you afraid to fuck me?”
In fact he was. The color slides of chancroid-encrusted and gonorrhea-dripping penises in hygiene class had impressed him deeply. But the naked female before him was more compelling — even if that was jism running down her leg! His hesitation ended. In seconds his shirt, shorts, underpants and sneakers had joined hers on the floor.
To his amazement she dropped to her knees, caught his rising manhood in one hand and popped it into her mouth, sucking vigorously. Betty had done this a few times, though never all the way. Somehow the sight of this face, almost familiar as a sister’s might have been, with his organ half-buried in the mouth and brown eyes turned up under raised brows, was especially arousing. Feeling rose quickly.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned hoarsely.
Her response was to redouble her efforts, which became unbearable to him after his first powerful squirt. He jerked away from her, so that the second squirt painted her cheek. He stood foolishly, taking deep breaths, semen dripping to the floor from a twitching organ.
She sat back on her haunches, spat a gob onto the hardwood floor and leered at him, a white string dangling from her chin. “That get you started, Joey-boy?”
“God, Sally!” He shivered involuntarily but released his last breath in a sigh. “I thought you wanted to fuck.”
“I want you to last till I make it too. Come on.” She rose to her feet but fell backward immediately onto his bed, drawing up her knees to expose glistening wet vulva visibly reddened even through thick surrounding hair.
Contact between penis and mouth had ended after his first squirt, leaving him curiously unsatisfied despite the copious subsequent discharge. He stumbled forward. Betty had demanded his tongue on every encounter, but now his gorge rose at the thought of thrusting it into this sodden gash. He was relieved that Sally raised no objection to the penile substitute, which slid into her so effortlessly that he could not resist a gasp of surprise.
Her eyes twinkled, suggesting that she understood his reaction. Suddenly the vaginal walls gripped him fiercely. He gasped again.
She barked a laugh. “Tight enough? Now fuck me!”
He began with strong, deep thrusts. Rolling hips quickly matched his rhythm. But almost immediately his body surprised him: sexual pleasure peaked again.
“Hey, I’m coming!” he declared, dribbling additional fluid into the squishy receptacle.
“God, you are!” she exclaimed, eyes enlarged.
“You can feel it?” He had wanted to ask Betty that question but never had.
In all that mess? he did not add.
She snarled, “I just hope you’re not finished!”
He resumed thrusting confidently, having heard from Betty that boys, unlike men, tended to stay erect after orgasm. Apparently it was true, at least when milked by a fist-like grip. But he was cooler after two discharges. Despite the girl’s energy and enthusiasm, his mind wandered, as it had before, to the source of Betty’s knowledge. How many men had she fucked — or was she just guessing from the jokes about old guys who couldn’t keep it up? Maybe Sally had heard Betty say. And Sally herself — she liked to play softball. Who’d she been with this afternoon, an entire team? He was determined to ask.
The girl’s hips rolled vigorously enough to lift him on each upstroke. Her gasps had become whimpers. He felt her nails on his back and heels kicking his buttocks as if to drive him deeper on the downstrokes. Amazement grew on him. This was Sally, his pal, who could outrun and outclimb him, who had refused to wrestle with him for two years — explaining only “You know why” — and who fought like a man, knocking down a larger boy only last fall when he groped her breasts in tag football! This was a no-nonsense girl who had now brought that same attitude to fucking. He had to chuckle. She was direct as always in pursuing what she wanted. But what had made her want this?
He pounded her on and on, breathing faster, sweat gathering on his back and between their tightly clasped chests. Her eyes were clenched shut, head thrown back, mouth open wide to gasp for breath. Periodically her arms and legs tightened about him and her whimpers became moans. Betty had done as much on a few occasions, declaring that she was coming. Sally said nothing coherent, but the increase in vaginal moisture at such moments suggested the same conclusion. Eventually his marveling rose to a crescendo. Body rigid upon her, groaning involuntarily, he ejaculated weakly for the third time.
He flopped on his back beside her. Both lay gasping limply. Her hand crept over his hip and held his manhood in a loose, motionless grip.
When breathing permitted, he asked, “Don’t you have enough yet?”
She countered with a question of her own. “What was so funny?”
“You giggled when I started to come.”
“I did? I did not!”
“Yes, you did. Did you think I was funny?”
Slowly he smiled. “You remember whacking Tom because he grabbed your tit in football?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“And outrunning me when I wanted to wrastle?”
She lay silent. He continued, “You’re the girl who wouldn’t even talk about fucking!”
“I will now,” she averred.
“That’s what’s funny, Sal. What happened to you?”
For a moment she was again silent, asking at last, “So what’s funny about it?”
“Don’t you see? After all that … backing away, you sucked me off and then dared me to fuck you.”
“I let you feel me up on the hayride.”
“Yeah. And you jacked me off. That surprised me too!”
When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Didn’t you come too?”
“I thought so then.”
“That was nothing, Joe, just nothing.”
He turned his head to stare at her. She was looking up at the ceiling. He sniffed. “So you’ve learned a few things this spring.” Suddenly the connection clicked. “It was that cousin who stayed with your folks, wasn’t it? Is she still here?”
“No. She went back home.”
“I saw her at your Halloween party. She was a fox. Why didn’t she come to the Christmas party with you?”
“She was too big by then.”
“Huh? Nobody gets fat that fast.”
Sally giggled. “Oh yes, they do!”
Another connection formed. “You mean … she was pregnant?”
“I’ll say! She dropped an eight-pound boy in May.”
“That’s how her dad put it.”
“But she was about your age.”
“A year older.”
“How’d she get pregnant?”
“How do you think?”
“I mean, do they know who’s the father?”
“No, they don’t, and neither does Marcie.”
“But, but — Why not?”
The girl returned his stare, lip curling in amusement at his expression. “Because she likes to gangbang.”
“To … to … You don’t mean lots of guys at once!”
She giggled. “Wish I had a mirror. You look like a frog catching a fly.”
He snapped his mouth shut, then opened it to ask incredulously, “She really likes it?”
His eyes widened further. She giggled again but suddenly sobered. “She was right too.”
“Right? You mean …”
“Gangbanging is fun.”
“The most fun of all.”
He took a breath and nodded slowly. “And that’s what you’ve been doing this afternoon. Who with?”
She only smiled.
“My god, Sal, they’ll run you down all over the school.”
She sniffed. “I wasn’t with schoolboys.”
“What?” He took a deep breath. “Sally, you’re only 15!”
“They didn’t know that.”
“What’d you tell them? Who were they?”
“Men. Grown men.”
She took a long breath. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I made sure they didn’t follow me. I’ll never see the same ones again.”
“How many were they?”
She studied him contemplatively, still holding his penis. “Five.”
He chuckled disbelievingly. “And I make six.”
Her hand moved gently. “And you were the best. Marcie was right about that too. The last is best.”
“Marcie got you started at this?”
“Yeah. It’s not as easy as you might think. Finding the men is the tough part, unless you know just where to look.” She smiled. “Marcie told me where to look.”
“What’s hard about that?” he demanded. “Any boy will fuck you!”
“Boys!” she repeated with a sneer. “The trouble with boys is how they brag.”
“Brag? I don’t brag.”
“Why do you think I’m lying here beside you?”
“You mean because I don’t brag?”
She grinned. “That’s one reason.”
“But not the only one. Your five men weren’t enough, you said.”
“Last week it was seven. That was better.”
“But still not enough, huh? How many do you want, Sal?”
“Marcie did two dozen guys the time she thinks she got pregnant.”
“Two … Holy shit!”
“She said that was like going to heaven.”
“She was shitting you!”
The girl slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. She knew too much about fucking. She showed me how to do three or four at once, not just one after the other.”
He raised up on an elbow, staring in stupefaction. “Showed you? You went out with her?”
“No. She said men were scared of big bellies. We played with bananas.” The girl grinned at him. “I lost my cherry to a banana.”
“How long before the hayride?”
She chuckled fondly. “I felt you stop when your fingers went in. We’re you disappointed, Joe?”
“So you lost it playing queer games with Marcie!”
“To an unpeeled banana. I wished it was you and your dick, but Marcie and a banana was what I had.”
“You could’ve had my dick anytime in the last two years!”
“I know it. I was afraid of it until Marcie came along.”
“And now look at you!”
She released him and cupped her conical breasts in both hands. “Don’t you like what you see, Joe?”
“I wonder!” Suddenly he rolled forward, up onto his knees, and spun around, forcing first her legs apart then, bending close, her vaginal lips. “What does it look like after seven men stick in it?
She tensed and rose slightly on her elbows. “Well?”
“So how does it look?”
Skin of groin and mound appeared inflamed. The crimson interior glistened with moisture. But in fact her opening seemed smaller than that of Betty, who had also permitted a close inspection. The odor of semen was strong.
“Red,” was all he said.
Her hands raised her hips off the bed. “Look lower.”
“They did my asshole too.”
His thumbs pried buttocks apart. Again the skin was inflamed, puckering as it receded. Without pausing to consider its advisability, he put a thumb into the wet vagina, then into the rectum. It passed easily.
“What are you doing?”
“They fucked you here?”
“The longest one.”
Her hand had nearly re-erected him. His thumb work in her finished the task. He waddled forward, sliding his thighs under her buttocks and forcefully presented his organ to the tiny hole. It failed to penetrate.
“You’ve dried off,” she told him. “Put it in my pussy first.”
Her prescription proved effective. Two prior strokes in the sodden vagina popped him immediately through the ring-like entrance below.
“God!” he exclaimed, pulling her hips strongly toward him for maximum penetration.
“You like being in my guts?” she asked solemnly.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s okay. What I really like is another one in my pussy.”
“At the same time?”
“Or even two more. That’s what I did this afternoon: a fat old bear in my ass on the edge of the sleeper and two loaders standing in front.”
“Come on, Sally! They’d get in each other’s way.”
“The middle one leaned back on the windscreen. Of course only the bottom one got all the way in. That was a huge one!”
“Bigger than mine?”
“Lots longer. But all three of them jizzed. The young guy did it twice.” She grinned at him. “You’re the only one who’s made it three times. Want to try for four?”
He began to move gently. Her hips responded and a hand came up to finger the clitoris. She asked curiously, “How’d you do that second one so fast?”
“I think it was because I pulled out of your mouth before the second squirt. It sort of left me hanging.”
“You came all over my face anyway.”
“No, you aren’t. But I’d rather have it in me.”
“In your mouth?”
“Why not? Wherever you get it, as Marcie said, it’s the purest part of a man.”
“Marcie.” He shook his head. “It’s because of her that I’m kneeling here with my dick up your ass, isn’t it?”
“Are you complaining?”
“No. Except I wish she hadn’t made such a good job of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Teaching you to love a lot of guys instead of just one.”
She giggled. “Did you want to keep me to yourself, Joe? That’s sweet. I didn’t think guys still believed in that.”
“No. Everything you see on TV has girls swapping all around. I’m sure that’s fun, at least till you get in a gangbang.”
“I don’t think a gangbang would be more fun!”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, and that explains it.”
“Why it’s hard to find guys that play good together.”
He sneered. “You mean you found a bunch of faggots?”
She grunted. “They didn’t fuck each other, if that’s what you mean.”
His thrusting ceased. “You know, you’ve got a point. Where did you find five — or seven — guys who’d do you all together? Hmm. ‘On the edge of the sleeper and leaning on the windscreen.’ Were you fucking in a ten-wheeler?”
She smiled slowly. “One of them had more wheels than ten.”
Another connection fell into place. “You were at the truck stop!”
Her response was to roll her hips. “Fuck me.”
On the reverse of her path through the woods one fork led to the high school and another through the dilapidated chain-link fence behind Long Miles Truckstop on the interstate ramp. “That’s it!” he declared. “That’s where you found your playful guys. They don’t know you and they don’t know each other. But they must’ve asked your age. What did you tell them?”
“I’m like, ‘Old enough.’” Abruptly she backed away, breaking their contact, and stood up off the bed. “I suppose you’re going to tell everybody all about it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t tell things.”
“Betty would be tickled to hear it.”
“Betty has other boyfriends. Maybe you ought to tell her.”
The girl shook her head. “There’s only one truck stop around here.” She caught his arm and tugged him off the bed. “Take a shower with me.” She grinned. “I’ll wash your dick for you.”
“You really can’t get enough, can you!”
“Quit complaining.” She passed him with a sniff and went down the hall to the main upstairs bath.
He followed slowly. Finding her rubbing herself only with soapy hands, he took a washcloth from the linen closet and joined her under the water. When he began to scrub her, she laughed and said into his ear. “You can’t wash off their hands, Joe.”
“Or their tongues or their dicks,” he agreed. “But I can their greasy jizz.”
“Too late for that.”
He hesitated but went on to do a thorough job, including soapy fingers in both lower openings. As offered, she washed his genitals and stooping, took the flaccid manhood briefly into her mouth.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked as they dried off.
“Suck you? You have a nice dick, Joe.” She grinned. “I always thought it would be mine.”
“I guess I did too. Now you think it’s not enough.”
“Yeah. Marcie talked about that. It’s too bad we couldn’t be together and still do gangbangs.”
“She’s got a kid to look after, hasn’t she?”
“I don’t mean me and Marcie. I mean me and you!”
He rejected that idea immediately. “Sorry.”
“I said it: too bad.”
As they strolled up the hall to his room, he asked, “What did you mean about it being too late to wash off the jizz?”
She looked away. “I’ve missed two periods.”
“My god, Sally!”
She shrugged, turning into his room and bending for her scattered clothing.
“What are you going to do?”
She grinned at him as the tube top settled over her head. “I’m going to live with Marcie.”
He shook his head and grinned in return. “Br’er Rabbit, huh?”
“She has two truck stops. I’ll be back in a year. Betty Sawyer will take good care of you.”
He sighed deeply. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I can’t stay in this town, Joe.”
“Can’t you get an abortion?”
Arms encircled her belly. “No!” she declared defiantly. “I’m like Marcie in that too. This baby is going to be mine.”
He sighed again. “So that’s the end for us.”
She sniffed. “It never started, Joe.”
“It did too start! Remember when we discovered the difference?”
She smiled reminiscently. “Peeing in the woods. Your dick impressed me a lot. It still does, Joe.”
“Well, can’t we … figure out how …”
She shook her head. “I like all the dicks now.”
“And you’re about to have another guy’s kid — one you don’t even know!”
She turned and descended the stairs, pausing on the porch. “At least we did finally get laid.”
At least that. He sat numbly on the porch and watched her skip away along the roadside.