Chapter 7: Fantasy Fucking and Racist Rugby

I had a couple of hours with Bronwyn a few days after they got home. I hadn’t planned to try to talk to her about my fantasies until after I had discussed my guilt and discomfort with Frank, but Bronwyn hurried me into her bed and then came straight to the point. She clearly had some stuff of her own to get off her very attractive chest.

“We both ducked the fantasy bit last time. You made a joke and I went along.” I didn’t know what to say, so just ‘Hmmed’, and she went on. “I have lots of stuff I need to tell you about our trip, and lots of stuff about my fantasies and how I’ve been getting off, but I also feel very guilty.”

“Me too! I tossed myself off after I went home last time. First time for quite a while, and I’ve been doing it pretty regularly while you were away.”

“I’ve usually been keeping your balls empty!” Bronwyn fondled my junk and I started to stiffen. “But even when your balls are empty, your head is full of fantasies!” She jacked me slowly. “I want to hear about them!”

“You first!” She slowed her stroking, and I waited, as she eventually let me go and pulled away, looking slightly embarrassed. I kept waiting.

“Shit! This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be!” Bronwyn blushed, and as I waited, her slight embarrassment became discomfort with a touch of guilt. I kept waiting.

“Brian and I had to share a room!”

“And?”

“We were both randy.” Her discomfort was now very clear, and the guilt was more than just a touch.

“And?” I wasn’t about to let Bronwyn off whatever hook she was on. While she was telling me about what she had been up to, I didn’t have to wrestle with or share my own guilty fantasies.

“We watched each other!” I risked a joke.

“What – brushing your teeth?” Bronwyn was not amused.

“No ya dickhead! Doing it. Masturbating. Robyn and some of the girls at school call it ‘Jilling off’. Boys ‘Jack off’, girls ‘Jill off’.”

“Wow! That must have been a buzz!” Bronwyn didn’t respond to my excitement. She seemed to withdraw slightly, and her half grin gave way to an expression I took to indicate guilt and shame. Are you guilty about doing it, or guilty about getting really excited?”

“Both. Are all boys obsessed with cunts?” I was puzzled. Bronwyn had previously found that word quite distasteful, and we had always referred to her vulva as her ‘pussy’. It seemed there was more to this story. I made a guess.

“Did Brian talk about cunts?”

“Yes – and he wanted me to use the word too!” I reached out to cup her mound, and she gave a sigh which turned into a very little moan as I squeezed gently.

“I think all boys are excited by the wickedness. Pussy’s can be sexual as well as other things, but cunts are just about SEX! There is something about the raw sexuality of the word that males seem to find exciting. I sure do!”

“It’s crude and dirty, and I found it exciting too, but I don’t know why it means SEX!, more than coochie or fanny or box or some other word.” I began to stroke Bronwyn’s labia gently, and soon they were very wet and I transferred my slippery fingers to the area round her clitoral hood.

“From my point of view, it’s about readiness for sex. I reach out and touch your pussy, and depending on what has come before that, you may already be wet and starting to smell delicious. As you get more excited, you get wetter, and your inner lips pooch out, all pouty and slippery, and your button swells up and gets hard and starts to poke out, like now.” I kept teasing her clit, and Bronwyn started to pant, so I went on.

Your pretty little pussy has become a cunt – hot and wet and tight and slippery. All ready for my big hard cock to slip into!” Bronwyn moaned, reached over, and began to jack me. As I started to build towards a climax, she brought her mouth close to my ear.

“My cunt is so hot and wet and slippery. I have such a tight little cunt, but you’ve got me so juicy you could slip your big hard cock right inside me!”

That was enough! I spurted all over her hand and arm and belly. Bronwyn giggled.

“You too! I didn’t ever touch Brian, but whenever I talked like that, he came all over his bed. We took our own linen down and I washed it all when we got home. His sheets were really crusty!”

We forgot about Brian for a few minutes. Bronwyn used her tongue to clean her hand and arm, I used mine to clean her belly, and since she was now very wet and smelling wonderful, that soon progressed to licking and sucking and fingering her to a couple of orgasms.

That was fine by me. I wasn’t yet clear what I wanted to share about my fantasies, and I was having a bit of what Uncle Frank called ‘la pity mortar’ – a feeling of sadness after spurting. He told me all guys have it. He didn’t know about girls. But Bronwyn wasn’t going to let it go.

“Your turn!”

“What?”

“Your guilty fantasies. I want to hear about them. All about them!” I took a big breath.

I’m afraid you’ll be put off me. When you asked me if I wanted to be your girlfriend, you got really shitty. You were talking to me about ‘just wanting to get into your cunt!’ Bronwyn wasn’t having it.

“That was then.” She reached for my dick again with a wicked leer, and went on in a seductive whisper. “I’ve discovered how exciting and wicked dirty talk can be. And I’ve just made you spurt all over my belly by talking about my tight hot slippery little cunt!” I bit the bullet.

“Alright. After last time we were together, I got myself off fantasising about you pleasuring me while talking about getting hot thinking about fucking Growcott and his shithead mate.” Bronwyn didn’t recoil or seem bothered, but just kept jacking me slowly.

“What was I doing?” Her look was frankly sexual.

“You were jacking me wet, licking and sucking to make it sloppy, and telling me how hot you got and how you fantasised they would fuck you!” I was expecting Bronwyn to ask about what she was saying in my fantasy, but she had picked up the ball and was running with it!

“As soon as I saw them and realised they wanted me, I got wet. My nipples got hard and my pussy started to tingle. In my fantasy, we were here in this room and they wanted to see my cunt. I lay back across the bed and spread my legs and used my fingers to pull my lips apart. They were naked, standing beside the bed, with their cocks pointing straight at me. Growcott was circumcised like you, the other guy had a foreskin like Brian.”

She kept jacking me slowly. By now we had shared thirty or so of my orgasms, and at least a hundred of hers, and we knew each other’s responses pretty well. Bronwyn was keeping me hard and happy, but always short of what I then called spurting. Many years later I could still remember this first experience of ‘edging’. And she was also playing with my head.

“My cunt was soo wet and soo slippery!” She dropped a gob of saliva on my knob as it emerged from her fist. “And I’m so juicy!” She transferred a few fingerfuls of that juice to my cock. “I just bent over, and Growcott came behind me. He started rubbing his cock against me, against the lips of my cunt. They were so wet and hot and slippery. He pushed inside me. He pushed his big cock right inside me. He stretched my tight little cunt, but I was so hot and wet, he slipped right inside.” Bronwyn jacked faster.

“When Growcott was right in me, filling my tight little cunt, his dickhead mate stuck his cock in my face and I started to suck him!” She bent to take me in her mouth, and I groaned and came again.

We lay together in the afterglow. My ‘pity mortar’ was overwhelmed by my relief that Bronwyn’s fantasies were as wicked as mine.

“We’re a pair of tarts - aren’t we?”

“Yup. Grubby little boys and girls!”

“I’m pleased you’re my boyfriend. It keeps me safe!”

“It seems to work for us so far. You still want to fuck half the guys you see, and I want lots of the girls.” Bronwyn elbowed me in the ribs. It was friendly.

“Betcha want more than half” I channelled Connie Francis and sang.

“I say I’ll let them go – but then my cock says no – guess my dick has a mind of its own!” This time the elbow was less friendly.

“The deal is we fantasise, but nothing more, and we share our grubby fantasies so we can both enjoy them! Do you want to fuck Robyn?”

“I already toldya. Course I do, but we can get into that next time. Let’s wash up and cook dinner.” We did.

Mr and Mrs Reed didn’t often talk about their work, but this evening was an exception. Mr Reed was defending a man who had been arrested for Disorderly Behavior. He had been protesting the upcoming All Black tour to South Africa outside the HQ of the Auckland Rugby Union. There had been what Mr Reed called a ‘fracar’ when someone tried to take his ‘NO MAORIS - NO TOUR’ sign away from him. This was new territory for me.