Chapter 5: Megan And Ernie

His eyes snapped open, like a character in a cartoon.

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'Your father tells me that you've got a really fat cock.'"

"What brought that up?"

"None of your business. What's the idea of telling him that I had a bad reputation in my old school?"

He didn't answer.

"Well, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a fat one?"

I had just parked my car in the driveway of my house. Ernie had been walking in the mall and had accepted my offer of a ride home. The dumb little kid had thought that my offer was casual; in truth, I had seen him by accident but then followed him for a half hour before he had headed for the exit door. I had thought about giving up the chase for the day, but I wasn't going to let a remark by his father go uninvestigated. As Ernie sat in the car next to me, I swore that I could see his eyes drop from my face to my tits and then return to their polite position. Good! I hadn't had a cock inside me for two days and my fingers were no substitute for a really good fucking. Especially if he really was that fat.

The tone of the discussion made Ernie realize that politeness was no longer necessary; his gaze went to my chest, lingered for a moment and then continued to my crotch, chastely hidden behind the zipper of my jeans. He hesitated, licking his lips a little too lewdly for a fifteen-year old and then smiled impishly.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"You stupid bastard; I don't want to see it, I want to feel it." I was smiling when I said that. He followed me into the house.

"I'm confused, Megan."

'What's there to be confused about? You like me, don't you?"

"Sure."

"You have a hardon, don't you?"

He was a little embarrassed. "Yes."

"Would you like to use it on me, Ernie?"

"Yes, but..."

"You're not a virgin, are you?"

"Hell no, but I've never had it handed to me on a plate like this before. Girls always want to be chased."

We were already in my bedroom. "Not all of us. And don't call us girls, we're women." I reached down to play with his package. Even through his clothing, I could tell that he had more than most guys. Maybe his father was telling the truth. I stepped back and my shoes and jeans were off in two seconds.

I don't wear panties - unless its one of the heavy days of the monthly visit from my 'friend', of course; I'll be damned if I know why they call it my friend, since its nothing but a real nuisance to me, serving no purpose except to remind me that I'm not pregnant. And I guess also as an excuse when I don't like a guy, because most of them don't realize that many women, especially this one, don't mind fucking during their periods. I haven't worn panties since the night that Mommy sent me upstairs to Daddy while she went over to Kieran's place to fuck the night away. I don't remember if I was a birthday present for Daddy or if Daddy was a birthday present for me. Or maybe Daddy just went along with it because he knew that Mommy had a date. Whichever way, it was wonderful. Just walking around with tight jeans or shorts rubbing against my clit can sometimes get me off, unfortunately not too often. But the feeling is so wicked that it makes me think about fucking 24/7 and it makes me more aggressive. It does make for more laundry that Mommy has to do, but I make sure that there's never any evidence visible from outside, no stains or anything. On the other hand, there are fewer panties to be washed. Mommy used to give me a lecture about it every once in a while, but I would just kiss her and rub her pussy and she would stop complaining. After a while, she gave up. She'd be waiting for me when I got home from school and we would sixty-nine almost every day. Then if Daddy was home - he's a long distance trucker, away too damn much - we'd do a threesome before Mommy had to go tend bar. Or to go fuck Kieran.

I still get tons of cock in that bar. A lot of the guys give me money for the sex and Mommy just laughs about it; they don't know that they could have it for free if they wanted it. None of the guys realize that I'm her daughter, but those stories are for a different time. Still, none of them are hung like Daddy; none of them fill me up like his fat monster does. I don't understand it; rather than just liking sex, enjoying it, it has become an addiction for me, like a narcotic but without the needles. Whatever; I know that I'm not the only woman who can't get enough sex. In my condition, it does have some of the social stigma of drugs, but none of my co-participants seem to think that there's anything wrong with it. I certainly can't talk to my priest about it; it would just give him a heart attack and anyway, he wouldn't know who I was; he rarely ever sees me. Who knows what I would say; remember the old expression, 'as nervous as a whore in church on Sunday'. I once spoke to Ginny next door - Artie's daughter, Ernie's sister - and she suggested that I talk to their minister about my cravings, but I think she has her eye on him. A girl can tell these things. What the fuck; if he can't help me, maybe I can help him. Or we can help each other in a different way, if you catch my drift. You never know.

Ernie was staring at my cunt hair, shiny with pussy dew.

"What's the matter, Ernie? Haven't you ever seen a woman's bush before? Has all of your fucking been in the dark?"

I don't know why I have such a nasty mouth. I knew that nothing I could say would make Ernie want to leave without getting his rocks off; I also knew that we were there to fuck, not to make love. But there was no need for me to try to humiliate him, and that's another reason I need mental help of some kind.

"I'm sorry, Ernie, I didn't mean to sound impatient, but I can't wait to see what it is behind that zipper. Here. Let me help you."

I knelt before him as I've done so many times before with other men - not too many boys - and opened his belt, a necessary first step to getting his cock out and into my ass. Then the top button, followed by a quick zip of the zipper and a tug of his jeans down to the floor, where they held his legs in place like handcuffs. The bulge behind his jockey shorts reminded me that he was glad to see me; I wanted to see him too but first I wanted to feel that weapon that his father had been voicing such paternal pride about. As I groped him, I felt the pressure as his cock tried to escape from its fabric prison.

Enough! I had to see it. Freeing his legs from the jeans that held them together, I slid a hand between them to spread his feet. Then I put my two hands on his waist band and slowly, teasingly, began to pull down his shorts. First I saw the curly pubic hair, soon followed by the root of his cock, a pale Caucasian against his dark hair. Still unable to see its length, my eyes widened at his girth. My heart pounded in anticipation as inch after inch of male sexual equipment became visible, the entire length finally popping into my face as the waist band cleared his crown.

"Holy shit, Ernie, you're a fucking fire hose. Your father was telling the truth."

"Am I bigger than him?"

"How would I know?" Ernie had no doubt that I was lying, that I knew full well the size of his father's love muscle, but we had to keep up the pretenses. He wasn't about to talk to me about my fucking his old man. Well, the length of the cock was about the same, but Ernie's was so much thicker. Even so, I knew that I'd be able to get it in my ass without too much discomfort. But first things first; I needed to get that thing in my mouth, to feel it, to taste it. I was going to say also to warm it up, but once I see a guy looking at my tits, I knew that he wasn't going to need any help getting hard.

I pushed him onto his back and chomped down on his meat, gnawing at it with my lips; I only bite when I'm pissed off, and then the guy never again does whatever it was that got me mad. That is, if he ever gets near me again. I had no idea if Ernie had ever been blown before, but it's one of those things that a guy doesn't have to learn. What they do have to learn is to hold back.