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Authors: Maureen Gibbon
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could get. Or so I told myself.
EVEN THOUGH it upset me in some ways, in other ways I liked it when Del came home drunk. If he didn’t just pass out, he was wildest those nights. Sometimes he took a shower because I told him how his smell reminded me of my dad, but other times he could not, or would not, wait to be with me, and I’d lie down in his stinking embrace. I forgot it soon enough, because when he was drunk he’d eat my pussy forever, or roll my nipples on his tongue and teeth until I couldn’t wait to feel him move inside me. His drunkenness sometimes meant he couldn’t keep an erection, but most of the time it meant he was hard for hours and still couldn’t come. So he turned me out.
It was on a night when he was hard and couldn’t come that we figured out a new position. Well, it wasn’t a new position, but what we did with it was new. Del was fucking me and holding my feet up by his chest. He kept trying to reach down to play with my clitoris, but it was hard for him to stay up inside me when he did that.
I said, “Go on, baby. Just enjoy yourself,” but he knew he was a long time from coming, so he kept trying to pluck my flower. Then the idea hit and he said to me, “Vangie, play with your pussy. Make yourself come.”
So I moved my own hand between my legs. Del kept stroking, holding my ankles, turning to kiss my legs, and watching my face the whole time.
If you thought it was crazy that I didn’t come the whole first four years I fucked, you will surely die when I say that night was the first time I ever masturbated and made myself come. But that was me: young and dumb.
It took a while, and I sort of rubbed myself raw, but I came that night on Del’s cock for the first time. I came so hard and shook so much that Del got pulled out of his alcoholic numbness and came right after me. I was still banging my head back on the pillow when I heard him. When he finally lay his head down near mine, I kissed his cheek over and over through the tangle of his hair and I made cool circles on his back with my hands. I was happy, happy, happy.
After that night, though, I made it my business to learn everything I could about my own climaxes. I learned where to make the small circles, how to start and then stop and then start, and how, for some reason, the orgasm felt better if I hung on to the back of the bed frame with my left hand, squeezing the wood as hard as I could. As glad and as grateful as I was that I had orgasms when Del went down on me, I didn’t want him to be in charge of them anymore. I didn’t want anyone to have to give me my own body.
Del was into it. It turned him on to see me touch myself. I did it every time we screwed, but I’d also do it sometimes when we were sitting on the sofa watching TV, or just sitting there at the dinner table. And Del watched everything Idid and dropped whatever he was doing when I spread my legs. I think I was probably like a skin flick for him, except that I was right there and real.
“Do you think you could suck my cock while you did that?” he asked one night when I was lying on the sofa, watching TV with him, playing with myself.
“I don’t know. Bring it on over here.”
He knelt on the floor beside me, and the sofa was just the right height for me to get him easily inside my mouth. It took a little more coordination on my part to keep everything going, but it was exciting, too. I didn’t use all my terrific cock-sucking techniques, because I was concentrating on the tightness and pitch in my own body, but it didn’t seem to matter to Del.
I met Del’s eyes a couple of times while he was in my mouth. I had to look up over his belly and chest to see his face, and it was intense to see him from that angle. I felt like I was seeing the whole of his body. What I felt for him then had nothing to do with words.
After I made myself come, and after I made Del come, he stayed kneeling on the floor beside me. He played with my hair, moving it back
EVEN THOUGH it upset me in some ways, in other ways I liked it when Del came home drunk. If he didn’t just pass out, he was wildest those nights. Sometimes he took a shower because I told him how his smell reminded me of my dad, but other times he could not, or would not, wait to be with me, and I’d lie down in his stinking embrace. I forgot it soon enough, because when he was drunk he’d eat my pussy forever, or roll my nipples on his tongue and teeth until I couldn’t wait to feel him move inside me. His drunkenness sometimes meant he couldn’t keep an erection, but most of the time it meant he was hard for hours and still couldn’t come. So he turned me out.
It was on a night when he was hard and couldn’t come that we figured out a new position. Well, it wasn’t a new position, but what we did with it was new. Del was fucking me and holding my feet up by his chest. He kept trying to reach down to play with my clitoris, but it was hard for him to stay up inside me when he did that.
I said, “Go on, baby. Just enjoy yourself,” but he knew he was a long time from coming, so he kept trying to pluck my flower. Then the idea hit and he said to me, “Vangie, play with your pussy. Make yourself come.”
So I moved my own hand between my legs. Del kept stroking, holding my ankles, turning to kiss my legs, and watching my face the whole time.
If you thought it was crazy that I didn’t come the whole first four years I fucked, you will surely die when I say that night was the first time I ever masturbated and made myself come. But that was me: young and dumb.
It took a while, and I sort of rubbed myself raw, but I came that night on Del’s cock for the first time. I came so hard and shook so much that Del got pulled out of his alcoholic numbness and came right after me. I was still banging my head back on the pillow when I heard him. When he finally lay his head down near mine, I kissed his cheek over and over through the tangle of his hair and I made cool circles on his back with my hands. I was happy, happy, happy.
After that night, though, I made it my business to learn everything I could about my own climaxes. I learned where to make the small circles, how to start and then stop and then start, and how, for some reason, the orgasm felt better if I hung on to the back of the bed frame with my left hand, squeezing the wood as hard as I could. As glad and as grateful as I was that I had orgasms when Del went down on me, I didn’t want him to be in charge of them anymore. I didn’t want anyone to have to give me my own body.
Del was into it. It turned him on to see me touch myself. I did it every time we screwed, but I’d also do it sometimes when we were sitting on the sofa watching TV, or just sitting there at the dinner table. And Del watched everything Idid and dropped whatever he was doing when I spread my legs. I think I was probably like a skin flick for him, except that I was right there and real.
“Do you think you could suck my cock while you did that?” he asked one night when I was lying on the sofa, watching TV with him, playing with myself.
“I don’t know. Bring it on over here.”
He knelt on the floor beside me, and the sofa was just the right height for me to get him easily inside my mouth. It took a little more coordination on my part to keep everything going, but it was exciting, too. I didn’t use all my terrific cock-sucking techniques, because I was concentrating on the tightness and pitch in my own body, but it didn’t seem to matter to Del.
I met Del’s eyes a couple of times while he was in my mouth. I had to look up over his belly and chest to see his face, and it was intense to see him from that angle. I felt like I was seeing the whole of his body. What I felt for him then had nothing to do with words.
After I made myself come, and after I made Del come, he stayed kneeling on the floor beside me. He played with my hair, moving it back
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