Chapter 5

My deliciously shaped Aunt Maggie and I saw things eye to eye in matters of carnal priorities. Of course she took the female point of view and I took the male point of view but we agreed completely about which position was best, how long one should lick and fondle breasts and nipples before actually inserting a long hard shaft in a ladies willing pussy and a complete lack of squeamishness when it came to oral pleasing of another’s offered buttocks My Maggie often bragged to her sister, my mother that she could always manage to harden my cock into stiffness just by blowing on it with her lovely lips. I have to admit that is true because my brain would send a signal to my cock that she might follow up by surround my hardness with her fantastic lips and actually lick it with her wet and wonderful tongue.

I know my mum was not overjoyed by the fact her younger sister was draining her only son of his fresh young man spunk but she was mollified by the fact that I was humping at least a half-dozen of the new debutantes from this season and I could have my pick of any of the remainder just by suggesting they bend over and discover what married life would be with me in their bedroom.

Speaking of Debutantes, I came dreadfully close to marrying one of those creatures that season because I made the mistake of falling into her spider’s web of feminine honey when she demanded I profess my love in the privacy of her summer place pool cabana. I can laugh now that the danger is over, but at the time I was terribly concerned about the outcome because she was a bit of a witch and I feared for my freedom and liberty to roam amongst the budding nymphs for several future years of down and dirty partying.

Rosalind was not the most beautiful girl in the bumper crop of juicy cunts, but she had this mystery around her stunning body that sucked one in with a finality that was more like prison bars and handcuffs than a bed of roses with a handy jar of lubricant to make things go smoothly.

In all honesty, with Rosalind, lubrication was never a problem because that girl could whip up a firestorm of natural female juices just by rubbing her legs together. I gave her the nickname of “Cricket” because once she started her demanding rubbing; I chased her all over the estate just to spear her in any available opening, holding her down until I spent my load with grunting delight. I have to admit, I am suitably ashamed of my actions with the nubile Rosalind and I confessed my sins to an incredulous priest outside Boston, almost in a whisper, because it was unforgivingly depraved and outrageous.

The good chap gave me absolution for my sins and told me repeatedly to come to him to relate all of my future adventures in the garden of debutantes blooming that season with a frenzy of scented flowers and pussy juice easing the bang-bang reality of multiple coupling.

I know I said that Rosalind was a bit of a witch and I was not exaggerating the case because her mother was definitely of that persuasion. That is a certainty of which I can attest with absolute unanimity in any court of law. My aunt Maggie had tried unsuccessfully several times to dissuade me from studying for the bar exam and turn my full attention to ringing her chimes. I generally mollified her in the short term but did not surrender my desire to gain the title of Lawyer because my mother insisted I must be a “Professional” man.

Allow me to present the “evidence” of her bad-tempered black cat with pointed teeth and sharp claws. The thing must have been rejected by hell for its trouble-making attitude that affected all except sweet Rosalind sprawled totally naked in the center of her blood red bed. Then, she insisted on a sort of ceremonial “taking it up the ass” interlude before any legally binding sexual intercourse transpired with breathless frenzy. Naturally, I didn’t object to any of that because I confess to a fetish for such things. However, I am firm in stating that my attraction was completely from a pussy-hunter’s point of view and I considered Rosalind’s pussy the goal of my attraction at all times.

I saw the mean side of Rosalind the time that she convinced a pretty young thing from the library to help us carry a load of books home to her mother for her research on poisonous plants and dangerous concoctions of a mysterious nature.

The girl was not one of the debutantes, probably coming from a deprived family and working at the library to help feed her mother’s large family that included an invalid father, a demented parent with no concept of time or reason, and no less than six children including the pretty daughter that was the only employed family member on a librarian’s meagre wage.

Her name was Grace and she was true to her name with her long neck and her pert breasts fitted snugly on her sturdy slender body all fit from endless dancing in every free moment of her eighteen years of existence. I had the honor of walking behind her all the way home to Rosalind’s townhouse and the musical jiggling of her posterior set my male equipment to a fully extended position honed in on her beautiful buttocks like a magnet to the North Pole. I didn’t notice it at the time but the gorgeous Rosalind watched my slavish attention with a jealous eye and later she made the defenseless Grace pay for her ability to garner the devotion of my ogling eyes.

There was no doubt that Grace was one of those shy, innocent things that one runs across now and then with no ulterior motive or pretense of truly demure personality.