Chapter 1: Balls Deep in Bobbi Jo
Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, True Story, First, .
Desc: True Sex Story: Chapter 1: Balls Deep in Bobbi Jo - In 1967, I was a shy, inexperienced young man of 21. I moved to New Orleans, and began to get a taste for life on the wild side. From fucking a Burger King cutie on the hood of my car, to my first experience with a hooker, to having wild sex with my roommates girl friend, the most beautiful woman I have ever made love to, it was a year I will never forget
In 1967, I was twenty-one, a wet-behind-the-ears young man who had never been away from home. In a desperate effort to establish a life of my own, away from parental controls and limits, I took a job at a chemical plant outside of New Orleans. When I arrived in the Big Easy, I was a shy, inexperienced kid. When I left a year later, I was well on my way to becoming an adult. This is an account of some of the interesting people I met during that year, and how they helped to mold the man I eventually became.
"Well, check out that little cutie," Walt drawled in my ear as we stood in line at Burger King. The girl he was talking about was working the cash register. She was indeed a "cutie", a petite blue-eyed blonde, with dimples that seemed to be an inch deep. She was a real deep-south Barbie doll. I knew that someone like me would be invisible to her, as I had been to so many other girls and women in my pathetic life up to that time.
Walt and I had started work at the Union Carbide plant just up river from New Orleans on the same day. Even though we came from different backgrounds, we quickly formed a friendship. We made a good team. I was the plain, dull salt to Walt's lively, energetic pepper. Neither one of us could afford a place on our own, but we had found two other new hires in the same boat. The four of us had pooled our resources to rent and furnish a crummy little two-bedroom apartment about halfway between the place we worked, out in the sticks, and the night life of the French Quarter.
Even though I ad only known Walt for a couple of weeks, I was sure he would be able to connect with the girl behind the counter quickly. He was a tall, athletic redhead from Arkansas with a winning smile and an abundance of self-confidence. Walt was one of those men that other guys like to hang out with, and that cute fast-food cashiers flirt with. Sure enough, when we got to the head of the line, it only took him a few minutes to find out that her name was Cassie, and that she was new to the area also, having relocated from a small town in Mississippi about three months ago, after graduating from high school.
Walt's quick but productive conversation with Miss Burger King led to that fine bastion of great American fried food becoming our favorite hang out. It turned out that Cassie's best friend from back home had followed her to Louisiana and to the Burger King. Her name was Bobbi Jo, a classic Mississippi name, and she had the accent and laid-back attitude to go with it. Cassie and Bobbi Jo were just a couple of down-home girls who wanted to see the world and experience life in the big city. New Orleans was a natural magnet for young people in the South with that kind of desire. But by the time we met them, things didn't seem to be going to well for the girls. As Bobbi Jo said one night, they could have stayed home and worked at Burger King. Cassie still seemed to be enjoying the night life available in and around the French Quarter, but it didn't take a detective to tell that Bobbi Jo was homesick and frustrated.
Walt and I got into the habit of showing up there about half an hour before closing time, when business was slow. That gave us time to chat with the girls as they cleaned up. After the restaurant closed, we would hang out in the parking lot, talking for an hour or so, until they decided to go home. We would have liked to invite them over to our apartment, but our two roommates were always there, and it would have been uncomfortable. The girls never invited us to their place either. So for the next week or so we spent our evenings standing around the semi-dark parking lot, trading life stories and flirting.
Well, at least Walt and Cassie were flirting. Bobbi Jo and I were still not too comfortable with each other. I was much too shy to be at ease with someone I didn't know well, and Bobbi Jo was the kind of person who wasn't likely to start a conversation either. That meant we spent a lot of time standing around watching Walt and Cassie verbally make out, feeling like third and fourth wheels on the romantic bicycle that Walt and Cassie were trying to ride.
As long as she hung around Cassie, Bobbi Jo was destined to be overshadowed by her prettier, perkier friend, but she had some good features of her own. Cassie had one of those perfect, perky cheerleader type bodies. Bobbi Jo was more of a full-figured woman. She was a few inches taller than Cassie, with a full ass and impressive set of tits. From what I could see of her in her working clothes, she appeared to have a body that would be fun to play with, but you could tell that unless things changed she would have a weight problem before she turned thirty.
Bobbi Jo was just on the good side of plain, certainly not unattractive, but not the type of girl who would get attention walking down the street. She had a nice smile, but seemed reluctant to let it show. Her best feature was her wicked sense of humor. She seemed to know every dirty joke there was. When she was in the mood to tell some of her filthy stories, her smile and personality would finally emerge, and she was fun to be with. I gradually began to enjoy being around her, even though we never did talk much to each other.
I was a little surprised that Walt was showing so much interest in pursuing Cassie. Sure, she was a very attractive young lady, but Walt was engaged to a girl he had met in college. And we're not talking about just another hometown girl; she was the current Miss Arkansas. I never quite worked up the nerve to ask him if he didn't feel bad about chasing after women with his wedding to a beauty queen just a few months away. I knew that if I had landed a Miss Anything, I wouldn't have still been looking around. But, like I said, Walt and I marched to different drummers.
We were sitting around our apartment one evening trying to decide what to do. Walt was always ready to go party, and I was eager to follow his lead. I had led a sheltered, dull life for twenty-one years, and I was more than ready to spread my wings. We were also desperate to get away from our nerdy roommates, but our options were limited because we didn't have much money. The French Quarter can get expensive. Burger King was out, because it was the girls' night off.
Almost as if in answer to our wishes, the doorbell rang. I answered it, and was surprised to see Cassie and Bobbi Jo standing there. I invited them in, and noticed that Walt didn't seem to be as surprised by their visit as I was. I wondered if he and Cassie had arranged something and he just hadn't bothered to tell me about it. The six of us were sitting around our sparsely furnished living room, trying to make small talk, but it was awkward. Our slow-witted roommates didn't seem to take the hint and disappear, so it looked like any possibility of the evening developing into a spontaneous party were slim. But I should have known that my pussy-chasing buddy would have a plan.
After fifteen minutes or so of boring small talk, Walt excused himself and headed for the bedroom that we shared. He signaled me to follow him. "Cassie is really hot for me tonight," he whispered after closing the door. "And I think Bobbi Jo wants to fool around with you too." For a moment I thought he was going to suggest that we bring them into the bedroom with us, and I panicked at that idea. Having a four-way in that small room, with our roommates just outside wasn't something I was anxious to try. But Walt and Cassie had already worked out another arrangement. "We're gonna go for a ride," he told me. "And I want you to drive, so I can fool around with Cas in the back seat. How about it buddy, are you ready for some fun?"
Ready? Hell, I had been ready for years. I had only attempted intercourse once, and I'm not even sure if that time counted, because I came almost before I got my dick in her. My date was so pissed at me that she never went out with me again, and all of the other girls I had dated since that debacle (three in all) turned out to be good girls who were "saving themselves" for Mr. Right. That apparently wasn't me. Other than that one premature launch, my sexual experience had been limited to a couple of hand jobs and a little stinky finger.
But there were a few problems with Walt's idea. For one thing, my car was a 63 Corvair convertible. If you don't remember Corvairs, it was a compact car that Chevy came up with as an answer to small, cheap imports that were invading the US market in the sixties. The Corvair was a fun car to drive and fine for hauling around one person, or even two, but four? It had a very small back seat, and the idea of making out back there seemed impossible. I had tried, unsuccessfully, a couple of times, and Walt was about six inches taller than I was. Then there was the question of where to go. All of us were new to the area, and finding a good place to go make out isn't something you can call AAA and get a map for. But nothing was going to stop Walt that night.
We went back out to the living room, grabbed the girls, and headed out the door on the way to our impromptu adventure. As we walked toward my car, Bobbi Jo, who earlier had almost seemed to ignore me, started clinging to me like a long-lost lover. She put her arm over my shoulder, and cuddled up to me. I felt one impressive breast pressing against my ribs, and started to get a woodie before we even got to the car. Things were looking good already. I wasn't even worried about where to go anymore. Hell, that night I was so horny I could have ravished her on the grass in front of the apartment if that's the only place we could find.
We piled into my little car, looking like a troop of clowns getting ready for their grand entrance at the circus. I pulled out of the complex, and asked, "Does anybody know where we can go?"
The silence in the car would have made meditating monks proud. We all suddenly realized that none of us had a clue. So there we were, four horny young adults, driving around in the dark, looking for a local park-and-spark location. It proved to be a difficult and frustrating search. As the driver, everyone seemed to be counting on me to find a secluded spot, and quickly. From what I could hear, Walt and Cassie were already getting into each others clothes
In desperation, I finally turned down a dirt road that we had already passed by a couple of times. The headlights showed it to be a narrow, infrequently used trail, not much more than a path. I could hear brush scraping along the sides of my car as I slowly drove further away from the main road, and worried about what my car would look like after we got out. And at that point I wasn't at all sure we could get out. The surrounding woods looked so dark and mysterious that I was convinced that the trail would surely lead to a trailer deep in the woods, wherein dwelled a coonass with a shotgun, and at least two rabid dogs. If turning around had been an option, I would have taken it.
I drove for what seemed like ten miles, but what was actually maybe a couple hundred yards, when the road widened a little. "Pull over there," Walt said. In the tight confines of the car, his head was inches away from mine. Everyone had been very quiet since I had pulled off the highway, and the sudden sound of his voice right in my ear made me jump. But I saw what he meant; off to the right was a cleared off area big enough to park in and be well off the road. Not that there was a lot of traffic anyway, but it did seem like a good idea to not make ourselves too obvious.
After I stopped, we all sat there for a moment, quietly listening. I don't know what everyone else was trying to hear, but I was waiting for the sound of large, padded feet to come out of the surrounding woods, as some native Louisiana beasts came out to dine on a car full of stupid interlopers. OK, so I watched a lot of horror movies when I was a kid, and they left scars.
It didn't take long for Walt and Cassie to get back to business. I looked over at Bobbie Jo, but she didn't even look at me, she just stared straight ahead into the surrounding darkness. Come on, dumb ass, I told myself, here's where you're supposed to make your move. Nothing fancy, these girls want to get laid or they wouldn't be here, so just do something.
I leaned across the gearshift (one of the disadvantages of sitting in the front seat), and puckered up, expecting Bobbi Jo to meet my lips in our first kiss. It seemed like an appropriate way to get things started. But apparently she was from the 'lets skip the bullshit;' school of making out. Instead of a kiss, she pushed my head down to her chest, and I suddenly found my mouth full of breast. I hadn't even seen her open her blouse and unhook her bra. In addition to learning how to flip burgers, she must have learned some magic along the way. I was learning that Mississippi girls might talk funny, but they seemed to be very talented.
I wasn't real sure what to do with the soft mound of flesh that she seemed to want to force down my throat. My experience with breasts, other than the ones in Playboy, was limited to a few furtive caresses under sweaters or shirts, usually while the targets of my investigations were still firmly secured inside some device from Maidenform which had been designed to be impenetrable by male hands. In other words, I hadn't had a tit in my mouth since my mom had stopped breast feeding me. Instinct kicked in and I tried to suck on her nipple. But Bobbi Jo was holding my head so tightly against her chest that there wasn't much I could do. Her grip was so tight that I was actually having a little trouble breathing. I reached my one free arm around her, not to give her a hug, but to tap her shoulder like a wrestler admitting defeat. She got the message, and released me.
Now I went in for the kiss I had been aiming for earlier, and this time she didn't deflect my attack. It turned out she was just as aggressive about kissing as she was breast handling. Her tongue invaded my mouth and seemed to be on a quest to locate my tonsils. I wanted to let her know that they had been removed about ten years before, but instead I just pushed her intruding wet lingual muscle back toward her lips with my tongue. We tongue wrestled for a few seconds, then settled down to a more normal, gentle kind of kissing. Since she had already been kind enough to bare her chest for me, I started rubbing her tits with my hand, delighted to find that her nipples were just as hard as my prick was.
I was getting a little uncomfortable from leaning over the center console, and straightened up for a second when we came up for air. The noises coming from the back seat indicated that Walt and Cassie had somehow managed to figure out how to have sex in the back seat of a Corvair convertible, a not inconsequential feat. I didn't want to be nosy, but when Bobbi Jo turned to take a look, I couldn't help taking a peek myself. Walt was lying on the seat, with one of his feet sticking out the side window, and the other one putting a dangerous strain on the plastic back window of my the convertible top. Cassie was bouncing on him with a great deal of enthusiasm. They both seemed to be happy so I left them alone.
"I guess you want some too," Bobbi Jo said, looking at me.
Some what, I started to ask. Always the wise guy, I am. But this time I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. I was a little mystified how Bobbi Jo was going to manage to give me 'some' of anything in those cramped front seats, but like everybody else in the car, she was way ahead of me.
She opened her door and stepped out. I followed her example and a few seconds later we met in front of the car. There was an almost full moon that night, so it wasn't totally dark. I took a quick look around, still expecting to be attacked by some beast, or crazed Cajun, but my attention quickly turned back to my companion. That's because she was working very hard on getting my pants off. She had the top button unclasped and the zipper open before I even knew it.
One of the problems I had with sex at that point in my life was that I thought about it too much. I don't mean I was obsessed by it, even though I was, but that I always got hung up on planning and details. I hadn't learned that sometimes spontaneity was the right approach. That's what was hindering me at that moment. The practical, and inexperienced, side of me was still hung up on logistics. Were we supposed to just lie down in the dirt and go at it like animals? I really did seem to be hung up on wild creatures that night.
She got my Jockeys down far enough to release my wild beast (see?), and without hesitation she dropped to her knees and started giving me a blow job. Yeah, my first oral sex, and it had to be in the woods with a girl that I hardly knew. It wasn't exactly like any of the romantic moments I had been fantasizing about for years. But it only took a few seconds of her wet, warm mouth working on my prick to make me forget about my fantasies. Somewhere deep in the center of my brain, where the cool, rational me was hiding, I was still trying to analyze how such a simple act of her wrapping her lips around my penis could produce such wonderful feelings, but I finally managed to find my lizard brain, and just revel in the delightful feelings.
I knew that because of my lack of recent sex, and the way my fire had been stoked by listening to the x-rated show that had been going on in the back seat, I was probably going to pop quickly. I assumed that might be Bobbi Jo's plan. She was probably a blow job only on the first date kind of girl. But it turned out that she had other, more ambitious plans.
"I don't suppose y'all have a rubber," she asked.
A rubber? Hell, I had been carrying a prophylactic around in my wallet since I was eighteen. It had been there so long that it had left a circular indentation in the leather. But that was OK, it was like a badge of honor; signifying that the bearer was a true stud, likely to get laid at any moment, and always ready. The fact that mine had been unused for three years was beside the point.
But... my parents had given me a new wallet just before I moved to New Orleans, as some kind of acknowledgement that I was finally going out into the world I guess. When I had moved everything into the new wallet, I had tossed the old condom, planning on replacing it with a new one later. "Uh, no, I don't have one on me," I had to admit. Damn, no pussy for me tonight. I felt the air going out of my balloon, and the blood going out of my now wilting penis.
"Well," she considered, "I guess that's OK. Y'all just better pull out, ya hear?"
Pull out? Hell, I hadn't even got it in, and she was already talking about pulling out. But I had to agree to her logic. The ugly specter of Bobbi Jo and I raising a little rascal in a trailer park somewhere in the depths of Dixie was not appealing.
She stood up, and with an ease and quickness that a Bourbon Street stripper would have admired, slid out of her shorts and panties. There she was, standing in front of me nude from the waist down. Well, except for her shoes. She was wise enough to know one doesn't go running around in your bare feet in the dark. Instead of just dropping her clothes on the ground, which as an inexperienced woodsman would have been my choice, she draped them over the hood of my car. OK, the Corvair is a rear-engine car, so technically it wasn't the hood, but you get my drift.
She turned around, bent over, and rested her elbows on the clothes she had laid out seemingly for that purpose. As I mentioned, she was a little overweight, but in the forgiving moonlight, and with me hopelessly aroused, her bulbous round butt looked like the most beautiful thing in the world.
I was just standing there watching, like her retarded cousin, with my pants halfway down to my knees and my ass hanging out. I considered taking the time to strip them off over my shoes, but I had visions of tripping myself and landing in the dirt. I knew that would probably kill the best opportunity I had ever had to get laid, so I decided to just let them slide down to my ankles.
I waddled over to get in position behind Bobbi Jo, grateful that she had buried her head in her arms and wasn't watching me. Then, with no further hesitation, I slipped it to her. Nothing fancy, I just pushed it into the darkness below her full ass, and got lucky. I found her opening on the first try. I don't want to be too unkind to the young lady, but she apparently was not exactly as inexperienced as I was. Let's just say that I found myself sliding all the way in easily, until my belly was right against her ass.
So there I was, balls deep in Bobbi Jo, with frogs and crickets for an audience. Surely, it was a moment to be treasured for eternity, and shared with my grandkids someday. Or not. I had never even imagined that my first actual intercourse would be in such an unusual position, but it turned out to be very natural. Fortunately, I was just the right height for my dick to slide right under those wonderful, round ass cheeks and into her surprisingly wet pussy. For the first time in my life, I was grateful that I was shorter than average. A taller guy, like Walt, might have had a more difficult time, but I was able to stand straight and proud, plowing into my Dixie darling.
At last, my prick was in a real, warm, pussy. All the way in, this time, thank you Lord. I won't bother with a trite description of how good it felt. Hell, we've all been there, hopefully. But, as enjoyable as it may have been, that annoyingly practical guy deep inside me knew that for the rest of my life, when guys were sitting around talking about their 'first time', I would be stuck with this slightly silly story of bending over Burger King Bobbi Jo, somewhere in the middle of a Louisiana swamp.
I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the moment, and trying to ignore the mosquitoes nibbling on my ass. Regardless of my discomfort and the unusual circumstances, I soon felt myself nearing a climax. 'Pull out', was running through my head, but I wasn't sure just when to do it. I didn't want to withdraw too soon, and end up having to finish myself with my hand, or worse yet maybe not even spilling my seed at all; but I knew the alternative could be even worse. I waited until what I thought was the last possible moment, which turned out to be about two seconds too long. I tried desperately to pull myself out of her wonderful, warm, inviting vagina, but before I could clear her inner lips I felt myself beginning to spurt. I finished by coating her ass with my semen, but I'm sure I did leave a little deposit in her sperm bank. Hope that turned out OK, Bobbi Jo, wherever you are today.
I had my eyes closed, and for a moment I thought perhaps I had imagined the whole thing, just another wet dream dredged from my subconscious, but then I heard someone clapping. I opened my eyes, and realized that while I had been caught up in the intensity of the experience, Walt and Cassie had finished their business and gotten out of the car to see what we were doing.
"Very nice," Walt sniggered. "Spread that stuff around, and I bet that butt will shine like a bowling ball."
"Shut your pie hole," Cassie said, punching him in the ribs. "They were nice enough to leave us alone, so I don't think you should be makin' fun."
By now the very organized and efficient Bobbi Jo was already getting dressed. I never did figure out what she did with the semen on her ass, but she didn't seem to be too upset. I didn't realize until much later that I had never once had a thought about what pleasure she might have derived from our act. I was pretty sure that she hadn't had an orgasm, but I have to admit that I didn't care. That night in the woods had been all about my needs.
After that night, I still wasn't sure if Bobbi Jo and I had any kind of future. The same must have been true with Walt and Cassie. We saw the girls in the BK a couple more times, and neither one of them seemed to act like that night had been anything more than a fling. Then as suddenly as they entered our lives, they were gone. We didn't see them for a few days, and Walt asked their manager what had happened. He told us that they had quit and gone back home. Apparently, whatever dream they had been looking for in New Orleans just wasn't there.