by Friar Dave

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Humor, Size, .

Desc: Sex Story: young sailor with a 15-inch dick loses his cherry on shore leave in NYC. It's a spoof, humor (as in "Ha. Ha."), no attempt at realism. Got it? This is a test of the Emergency Humorcasting System.

(A Bit of Spoofing Fun from Friar Dave)

This is just a bit of fun. This tale involves consensual sexual relations, explicitly described, between an adult male and adult females. There is no violence, drugs, bondage, discipline, sado-masochism, water sports, projectile vomiting, piercing, humiliation, mutilation, bestiality or references to the Long Island Lolita. If the absence of any of these turns you off, read no farther. Please don't show this to those unable or unwilling to consent to reading it. Please do not use "impact" as a transitive verb.

This is an original story. Do not repost, reproduce or place in public archives without the author's explicit permission. Please do not edit or change anything in it, including this tag.

I never seen a girl like her in my whole life, not in my whole damn 19 years. She was wearing a skirt so short that she could've stolen it off some cheerleader - but it would've been a cheerleader about a foot shorter than she was, because on her, it barely covered her crotch, y'know? Any shorter, and it would've been a collar. And then there was these long, strong legs, only they were all curvy, like some centerfold who ran in races, not all muscle-bound and squat like an East German track star.

So, anyhow, I'm standing there gawking at her, and she comes over, wearing this low-cut sweater and no bra, so I can see everything she's got - and she's got plenty, lemme tell you - and a nice smile on this wide mouth. And she's wearing shades, even though it's like midnight, and in this part of the Village, there aren't too many lights.

And she says, "So... looking for a date, honey?"

All of a sudden, I'm no Seaman-Third with 18 months under my belt. All of a sudden, I'm just a dumb kid from Ohio again, a farm boy, and the only thing under my belt is a hard-on, and I can't make myself say anything.

"First time in the Big Apple, sugar?" Up closer now, I can see she's really younger than I thought - maybe 19 or 20. And there's a scar on her cheek, from the corner of her mouth up to her ear. She's got a lot of makeup on, but I can see the scar.

I nodded, and she smiled a little different. "Could you use a friend? I can be real friendly, show you a good time. Where ya from, cutie?"


"That's nice - a country boy." She peers at me in the little blinking light from the crossing sign and frowns. "Say, you're not a Sea Scout, are you?"

I don't get mad. Folks are always thinking I'm 15 or 16, 'cause I'm kind of short and look young. "No, ma'am. I'm with the - "

"That's OK. Listen, honey, time is money. Want to spend some time together... ?"

Well, I tell myself, it's now or never. "S-s-sure. How m-m-much?"

A flash of softness, then business-time again: "For our boys in the service, 40 for a half-and-half, 60 for an hour, a hunnerd for anything... unusual - and that includes the back door." She leans closer. "I hear sailors like the back door."

I feel myself blushing. "An hour?"

"And that includes cleanup time. You never done this before, have you? OK - 60. And we don't need a room. I got a van."

I reach in my pocket for my wallet, but her hand is on my wrist. "Not here, sailor. Get the money in your hand, then shake with the man in the leather coat. He'll tell you where the van is. See you in five minutes, farm boy."

She saunters away, long legs flashing brown and bare and silky, her round, hard ass rolling, reminding me that I was a virgin. Farm boys who look five years younger than their age don't get much chance at pussy where I come from, especially if their parents are determined to bring their boys up righteous, which mine were. They even said they'd pray for me the very night when I came home and finally admitted I'd signed up. Prayed for me like I was fallen already. Never guessed it'd take almost two years of razzing from the other guys before I'd finally give in to my baser urges.

But I had to do something. I hadn't gotten laid in New Zealand, and in Canberra I'd sold my shore leave for eight cartons of Winstons, which I traded to get other guys to stand watch for me while I caught up on my sleep. I hadn't even gotten laid at Subic Bay, which I was told was some kind of record... if I was really straight.

I stood there on the sidewalk on 14th Street near Ninth Avenue, watching those gams, that ass, disappear around the corner, acting like the hick I was. Then the man in the leather coat came up and said, "What's it? Half-and-half? Oh, sheeeeet, you a virgin."

"It shows?"

"Damn, that girl a softy. What's it gonna be, virgin?"

"An hour."

"Kinky, too? And don't bullshit me."

"Just an hour." For effect, I added: "So I won't be rushed." I looked him right in the eyes, which were about eight inches higher than mine. He didn't flinch.

I held out my hand to shake, transferred the bills and he said, "My man! Round the corner, the bakery truck. Ask for some hot buns!" He laughed at his own cleverness.

Around the corner was a panel truck with FRESH BAKERY in big letters on its side and back. I had my doubts about this whole thing, now. What if this was a setup? I'd really lost any vestige of horniness; this experience was already proving more effective than a cold shower.

I told myself I had to go through with it. I walked up to the driver's door and tried to see inside. Blackness. I knocked lightly and heard something click. The door slid back.

"Well, come on, sailor - the meter's running."

I stepped up and slid the door closed behind me as I scuttled across the seat. Her hand reached from behind me, through a black curtain, and found my wrist. "Back here."

I turned and stepped through the curtain. I heard a door slide shut and then a dim light went on.

The inside of the bakery truck had been turned into a very small room, complete with a mattress on the floor. The sheet on the mattress had seen better days. The walls were covered with cheap, industrial carpeting. There was also an assortment of well-worn throw pillows, and in the corner a tool box was bolted to the wall.

"You want me to play romantic, like a date, honey?"

I shook my head.

"Well, what do you want?" She stood in front of me, hands on those tight hips, waiting. Without her sunglasses, I could see she wasn't as old as I'd thought - maybe 17 or 18. Nineteen, tops.

"I dunno."

She studied my face carefully. "I think I was right. You never had a girl before, did you?"


"Well, let's see - first..." She took my hand and placed it on her breast. I squeezed carefully, afraid of hurting her. I'm small, but I've got strong hands. I watched her face. She nodded. I used both hands then, fondling her tits. She was braless and her boobs were really firm. "That's nice, honey." She winked at me and began peeling the tight sweater off. "Help me with this, will ya?"

I helped until I got distracted by having two big, round firm tits bobbling right at eye level. As she finishing stripping her sweater, I couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing her nipples. They began to swell in the relatively cool air inside the truck.

"That's really nice, baby. Suck 'em."

While I suckled her tits, she skinned out of her little skirt and peeled down the panties. She had hair down there, but not much. She led my hand to her cunt and placed my fingers so I could feel it. It seemed kind of small, but I had no basis for comparison. She was dry, too.

"How do I look, sugar?"

I straightened and grinned, nervous. "You look sexy as hell."

It was true. She did look sexy. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, after all. I felt the tightening in my nuts as she went to the tool chest, opened it and took some things out. When she came back to me and stood under the little 25-watt bulb, I could see what they were: a plant sprayer, some towelettes and paper towels. She had a little condom package clasped in her teeth. She handed me the towelettes and condom, then knelt before me and began fumbling with the buttons on my pants.

"No, let's see what this sailor has for my port..."

Looking down at her curly head at my crotch level, seeing her firm tits bobble slightly as she moved, made me harden faster.

She pulled down my pants and briefs with one motion, and her eyes got real big.


"Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "It's just that for such a little guy, you've got some piece of meat there. And it isn't even hard all the way yet." She gripped my swelling cock and jerked my foreskin up and down carefully. I groaned. "Nice and clean, too. How big does this thing get?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Never measured it."

"Most guys this big know to the quarter inch." She slid her hand lightly down the shaft and tried to hold the base; her fingers didn't touch. I was pretty nearly all the way hard. She cupped my balls in her hand and pushed my cock against the underside of her arm, so my emerging glans was pressed into the crease of her elbow. "Big balls, too," she murmured. "And firm." She bent her head and blew softly over my cock. I was instantly fully hard and throbbing.

She looked up at me. "I'm really the first, huh?"

I nodded.

"And you never, y'know, went with any guys?" My expression must have answered her because she said, "No, not you. Farm boy. Bible Belt. Righteous parents. I bet you don't even jerk off."

I felt my face redden. "Well, sometimes I just can't stand it, and I gotta do something, or I feel like I'm going to explode..."

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Humor / Size /