The American Girl
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2018 by harry lime

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The American girl was on the verge of spreading her wings and taking a year traveling around Europe before settling down and starting a 9 to 5 job with limited fun.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Incest   Father   Daughter   Humiliation   Rough   Spanking   Anal Sex   Cream Pie   Exhibitionism   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Safe Sex   Squirting   Voyeurism   Size   Prostitution  

My name is Betty C. and this is my story. It is fairly accurate in a general sense, except I must call it fiction, because I have embellished it a bit to make me feel better about my terrible decisions about almost everything related to sex and the business of spreading my knees for reasons of lust rather than love.

I was one of that early nineties generation progressives that had the ability to look like I was still in my early teens long after I had safely passed nineteen, because of the odd habit of walking everywhere I went. I never used an elevator or an escalator in any store or building and did little sprints on the spur of the moment like some demented person under the influence of some weird drug. It was a bit strange to be a mid-twenties female and look and act like an underage teenager with mush for brains. In retrospect, I suspect it was more a reflection of my personal attitude about hating the entire concept of maturity rather than some fad I adopted on some foolish whim that was here today and gone tomorrow. I expect it was my obsession with running that made me that way and it continues even now, almost a decade later.

My father had committed suicide in his early fifties, when I was only a year out of Wellesley College, and that terrible act followed his long flirtation with a destructive drinking habit. His romance with booze had exploded like a fragmentation grenade after my mother passed away from stage four cancer at a time when her Diva career was blooming like a beautiful rose budding in the garden. Please don’t lecture me about my silly attempts to bring him out of his depression with gifts of secret pussy in the middle of the night pretending to be his lost love with open arms. Of course, he pounded me like a madman in his drunken stupor, but I kept up the pretense of being my mother and took his frenzied passion with stoic silence. I even accepted the depraved perversions he preferred and in which I had absolutely no experience in performing despite my insinuations to friends and relatives that I was a person of hidden sexual skills. I had started lying about such matters shortly after my eighteen birthday party because I hated the assumption that I was a virgin just like my twenty year old older sister Angela with her nose in the air distain for anything male. My attraction to cock was ingrained in my persona like my love of running at the slightest excuse.

In a way, I felt we were fortunate mother had been diagnosed late in the game and her remaining time on Earth was short and lacking long-term drama with traumatic consequences.

My mother had told me quite calmly at a lunch in the College cafeteria about her illness and instructed me to try and ease father’s pain with tears in her beautiful eyes. Strangely, I later interpreted that plea with giving my dear Daddy nocturnal gateways to my pussy and other anal and oral pleasures that he seemed to relish like a man being thrown a life-line in the middle of a raging storm at sea.

My father, an ex-military man with a lifetime of death and destruction in his past didn’t shed a single tear and made no comment at the funeral or the wake that revealed his hidden depth of despair. That was typical of the man I called “Father” because he seldom made an issue of any domestic crisis no matter how complicated. I decided shortly after father’s funeral that I would take a year off traveling in Europe to regain my equilibrium at losing both parents in such a short period of time.

In college, I had been on the cross-country track team and came close to qualifying for the Olympic trials the following summer. I used the hard exercise on the track team as a way to stay out of trouble with boys because it usually left me so exhausted that I had no energy to flirt or actually fall into a physical relationship with one of the boys in the area surrounding the college grounds. I had established a friendship with a boy that worked at the coffee shop downtown that worked as a barista with a knack for concocting tasty drinks. I had allowed him to explore most of my external geography without him pressing for more intimate pleasures. I ultimately decided that he was one of those men-boys that hadn’t really made up their minds which gender was their object of devotion. It didn’t bother me at all because I benefited by not feeling any pressure to come up with the between-the-legs goods like the typical non-virgins around me. My virginity was more of a burden than a valued asset and I decided to give it to young Robbie to help him decide his direction in life after dipping his wick in a real live cunt.

I accomplished my little plot the weekend before my usually uncommunicative mother informed me of her short time left in this life. I decided not to burden her with my unwelcome news just as she was getting ready to check-out permanently from her parenting responsibilities.

My experiment with Robbie was finalized in the back of his delivery truck and I used my backpack with the schoolbooks under my rump to push my nicely curved hips up high for him to open me up with his immature but inquisitive tool. I had anticipated it completely from the beginning to the end and was not in the least bit disappointed, but I could tell straight off that he was not truly as comfortable as me. In fact, he seemed a bit pensive afterward like he had done something he now regretted like a little boy stealing a cookie from the jar. His cock was sated with my juices all over it but he knew deep inside it was really not what he wanted out of life.

That was all I needed to confirm my suspicion that he was headed in the direction of a male only future that would exclude women as competitors for masculine attentions.

From my biased point of view, it was definitely a successful experiment because I was rid of the virgin label and I knew Robbie would not be broadcasting his inferior bedding skills because he was heading down a different path entirely.

He would not be pestering me for follow-up sessions and that was a big relief because I was only interested in a one-off and was ready to move on to greener pastures with men that knew what they wanted.

Then, my mother interrupted my devious plans with her news and shortly after my father added to my grief with his unfortunate demise.

Now that I was finally graduated and free from all responsibilities, I decided a full year of travel in Europe was my first priority to give me the polish I needed to meet all contingencies without lacking confidence in my feminine abilities.

The airline was not in the least bit pleased that I only wanted to book a one-way seat and insisted on paying in cash because my father told me in confidence at some undetermined point that it was the only way to travel when one is uncertain about the future.

Of course, I had an innocent look about me and there were no blemishes on my personal record to restrain me from travel to any country in the European Union. The embarrassment of constantly being carded for minimum age requirements was a pain in the ass but it reminded me that I must be repeatedly viewed as “jail bait” by the average pussy-hunting male ogling ripe female bums wherever they walked or ran.

The fare to London was ridiculously cheap at that time of year and I was quick to take advantage of the cut-rate by riding coach. I only had my fully stuffed backpack and a zipper bag around my hour-glass waist that carried a lot of small items I needed on a daily basis.

Everything else I regretfully put into a temperature-controlled storage facility a short distance from the rented townhouse that was in now in my name and fully paid for with no mortgage. After the taxes and insurance, I had a healthy income from the rental to be sent each month to the American Express office in my current country of travel as per my detailed instructions. That way, I was able to keep my principal trust fund untouched and actually increasing due to wise investments by my departed father. My account at the American Express was protected by a series of code words that changed according to a time-related system devised by my secretive parent.

Before I departed on my long anticipated flight to London, I went to a local bar in our neighborhood and pretended to be drunk enough to let a nice-looking Irish boy take me up to his apartment in the basement of his parent’s home for a night-cap promised to be the best I ever had.

Just as I expected, the boy was quick to get me in the horizontal position on the white leather sofa and he used a rough-rider rubber that he opened and put on with a flair that made me smile in panting anticipation.

This boy called Patrick was quite a bit different from Robbie with his gentlemanly ways and his constant checking to make certain I was fully onboard with every move he made in removing my virginity.

Patrick actually spanked my backside hard right after he got my panties down to my ankles and he inserted two work-hardened fingers right up my astonished rear door like it was my birthday and I needed to be given a rude awakening with his hardness from behind. It was all new to me and I was glad I decided to expand my knowledge of carnal action before I embarked on my truly maiden voyage.

My daddy and Robbie had both been circumspectly respectful each time they came knocking on my front or back doors of carnal pleasure and such treatment was totally beyond my ken in terms of physical contact.

The stressful stretching I received from Patrick back there where I knew it was a filthy sin was a shock to my system but after a few moments, I relaxed and discovered it was so hot and dirty that I reveled in the sheer nastiness of it and let him have his way in that manner just slapping and tickling me in a way that led to my disgraceful spraying of female juices all over that basement carpet. He taught me about taking it rough and some other new tricks that I never suspected men and women indulged in when they were behind a locked door with lots of privacy.

I gave Patrick my cell phone number and told him,

“Just text and I will call back when I have a chance but don’t be angry if it takes some time because I will be traveling and sometimes the reception is not all that good.”

He was nice enough to send me a long letter shortly after describing his home near Belfast in Northern Ireland and told me in the letter that he would be in Ireland during the month of March for a wedding of his younger sister. He invited me as his date for the wedding providing I could spare time from my travels on the Continent.

His words did a lot to raise my spirits and I knew down deep that doing normal things like going to a wedding would bring me back to a level keel for the long game of life and lust and love. I sent Patrick a letter promising to be there in Ireland during that entire month and hoped he would find time to act as a tour guide.

In the back of my mind, I knew the young Irish boy wanted to use my nubile body for his carnal purposes and we put up a front of stable relationships in America for his family’s consumption to explain my presence at a family affair.

It was obvious to me that he was a typical hard-drinking, womanizing stud making the most of his college years abroad and I didn’t have any problem with his transparent attempt at devious misdirection inside the politics of his own family.


I landed at the huge airport near London and the congestion was so overwhelming that I just plugged in my tunes and put on a pair of dark glasses to shield my eyes from the hustle and bustle around me.

It was easy for me to latch onto a group of American college students being transported into town on a tour-provided bus and escape the scrutiny of the tour director during the boarding process. I blended right into the background of the young fun-seekers and nobody questioned me presence because they were all too involved in their own stories and their own boring lives.

I detached from them without incident in the city striking out from the hotel parking lot with intent to find cheaper accommodations far away from the tourist area. I found a small hotel without any available parking and obviously being used by local residents to give them a roof over their heads when their monthly residences were being renovated or even torn down to make room for modern facilities. There seemed to be a fair share of females in residence that worked at night in dubious employment that had been in existence since time immemorial. There was also a fair sprinkling of older retired men with nowhere else to go except a subsidized home for their waning years.

It was easy to blend in as long as I kept my mouth shut and didn’t startle them with my foreign accent which certainly didn’t seem very foreign to me.

My room was tiny and there was only enough space for a bed and bureau with a small television on the top.

The bathroom was at the end of the hall and it was not gender oriented like the standard in the good old USA and it had to take care of all six small rooms on the floor. Fortunately, the rooms were so tiny that almost all of them were “singles” and the bathroom was not overrun with partners and young ones. The building had nine floors total and that meant fifty-four paying customers based on single occupancy. I had no doubt some of the units had dual occupancy since that was not well monitored, but the price was for the unit and had to be paid by noon of the following day or face immediate eviction by a burly black man with arms as thick as piano legs. The poor man was so ugly that it was difficult to look him straight in the eye without flinching.

The cost of this bargain in the middle of the large city was a fraction of the tourist hotels and I decided it was a good base of operations for my stay despite the drawbacks related to the bathroom and the size of the room.

My next door neighbor between me and the elevator was a dark-skinned girl with a silly blue wig of an impossible shade that kept sliding off to one side of her pretty face making her look a little simple-minded. Her name turned out to be Charity and I joined her in a cup of tea sitting on the edge of her bed. She had a convenient little water heating device in her drawer that was forbidden according to the rules of the house. I suspected that a lot of the residents had the same or similar type of unit because they were a race that couldn’t possibly survive without their cup of tea at the same time every single day.

The tiny television was blaring with some insipid game show that tried to find humor in insulting the contestants with almost every word that was spoken by the sarcastic host wearing a handlebar moustache in a ginger tone just like the curly toupee on the top of his head. His oversized glasses made him look a comical figure and I figured it was intentional because it was the sort of show that required humor. That sort of show was always unscripted and one never knew what would be said next and if it was of a nature that would cause laughter or disgust. I thought it was rather like real life and perhaps that was what had led to the spate of “reality shows” that seemed to dominate daytime television back home in my hometown.

In all honesty, I was not much of a television watcher and I hated the dreaded commercials more than anything else because they often annoyed me with their blatant hard sell and shrill voices designed to draw the viewer’s attention to the tiny screen. My reaction was exactly the opposite and I totally ignored each and every commercial refusing to take the captive audience treatment dished out by the station a couple of hundred times a day.

Charity told me that she worked at a club not very far from the hotel and that she was required to sit with the customers and encourage them to buy drinks for the both of them. She confided that her drink was usually just plain old tea with a touch of sugar but the gentleman would pay the price of a drink with booze and she would get a commission on the difference. I laughed with her at the stupidity of most males when they were “out on the town” and looking for some silly filly to get into bed on a cold winter night. She admitted that she sometimes brought a guy back to the hotel but that it was frowned on by management and it had to be on the sly with the desk clerk looking the other way providing she gave him a good tip before his shift was up.

I admit that I found the story interesting because I had often wondered what it would feel like to have a perfect stranger engage in horizontal relations with me with money as my reward for granting the favor of using my body for carnal purposes.

I knew instinctively that it would reduce me to the ranks of a common whore but I had an urge to discover the motivation for the act and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to find out for myself without relying on some magazine or book for the sordid details.

I allowed Charity to lead me by the arm to the club and I was allowed to sit with her at the long wooden bar as the evening’s share of gentlemen filed in to watch the females disrobe to a strident beat that stirred the juices of horny men and motivated us nubile females eager to arrange a coupling date for the going rate. I had plenty of cash in my hidden money belt but the excitement of actually being forced to take a man’s cock without any say in the matter made me smile at the middle-aged men and pull my skirt up a little higher so my long legs could be seen in the dim light from the table candles. I occurred to me that most of the men might think that I was some sort of teenaged runaway looking to get laid for the first time and I decided it might be better to play that sort of role as a way to get a good tip besides the standard rate that Charity told me was fair market.

Just before midnight, Charity and I led a pair of visiting bankers to our nearby hotel and we each took one of them to our respective rooms not caring who got whom because they looked like two peas in a pod and both had beer bellies that promised a considerably heavy weight pressing me into the lumpy mattress. At least the sheets and room were clean and they had room service every day to keep it in that order without fail. The man following closely behind me was squeezing my ass cheeks with his fingers and I found it to be both nasty and nice. It was a complete mystery to me why I liked that sort of treatment and I had decided it was just something I was born with and it was unlikely I would ever change my personality no matter who or what tried to change me for whatever reason yet unknown.

My assignee for the evening was called Randy.

I was certain it was not his real name and the initials on his cuffs links were H.L. and I suspected those were the real initials of the man now standing over me with the biggest dick I had ever seen in my entire life. In point of fact, I rather liked the name Randy and I found it sweet on my tongue and sharp in my mind as his horny status for being with me in the tiny hotel room.

It was truly an appropriate name for the circumstances.

He took me the old-fashioned missionary way and I was pleasantly surprised by his oversized hidden asset. For an overweight middle-aged married man, he was unusually skilled in delivering what I needed to make me sleep like a top for the rest of the night. It was a little hard going in at first because I was slow to get wet and his thing was so big that I felt like it was a battering ram trying to break down my feminine folds of entry with little success. Soon that was all a matter of the past because he had his business buried to the hilt inside me like an Italian salami hanging long and thick on the butcher’s hook. He bounced off my interior wall with a “bottoming out” tingle that made my ass shake like a drummer’s sticks. I was doing the missionary position rhumba like a slut of the worst sort and loving every minute of giving it up to this geriatric oldster using me like some trash girl selling my pussy on a street corner to anyone with a condom.

It was difficult for me to understand exactly what my date for the evening was saying because he had a set of false teeth that didn’t help his mumbling and slurring of words in a dialect of English unfamiliar to my unfamiliar ears. His method of communication was primarily below the belt and I was not in the least bit unsatisfied with the progress of our initial meeting between the sheets. My fully satisfied date followed Charity’s date to the elevator and hopefully they were whisked out of the premises with no one the wiser about their mutual lack of moral character on our parts in the nocturnal hours.

The new stack of crisp notes under my pillow made me pleased that I was adapting to life in a foreign country and prospering much better than I had ever thought possible.

I promised Charity that I would be her partner in finding guys at the club because we both agreed it was a lot safer to do this sort of thing in a “double date” sort of way than to try doing it completely on a solitary basis because sometimes the guys got an itch that they could trick a girl and get what they wanted and then cheat her out of her fee like a thief in the night. Even worse some of the guys might think they could actually use the girl for a punching bag and not pay her as well.

When they knew that there were two other witnesses, they were much more cooperative in the paying process and they knew enough not to do anything of a criminal nature when there were others to testify about their shortcomings.

I was looking forward to meeting up with Patrick and greeting his family hoping that they wouldn’t be too unhappy with me because I was one of those “American Girls” with all their terrible ways and no appreciation for the finer things in life.

In a way, I felt a bit unworthy of Patrick because of my many secrets and I wished I would be accepted and not make him ashamed of me for my most grievous faults.

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