Chapter 5

After Suzy my relationship with the posse changed. I had now been intimate with, from their perspective, two of them. Those two had a much different relationship with me than they had in the past. Suzy and I had our little secret in her new name and she reveled in it. Sometimes she'd come crashing into the house with all the rest of them and then stop in front of me, whether I was standing or sitting, watching TV or making a peanut butter sandwich and she'd say, "What's my name?"

When she asked, I played hard to get. Usually I'd say something like "What are you talking about? You know your name." or "Gee, I can't remember. Doesn't it have something to do with being skinny?" Her attitude toward that was to patiently ask the same question again until I at least used "H.M." in a sentence. I'd finally say something like "I give up H.M. What is your name anyway?"

And she invariably grinned that big beautiful smile. If there was no one else around I might even get a kiss. With Marge it was more subtle. If she passed me in the hall she "bumped" into me, almost always with her chest. She'd goose me too, front or rear; it didn't make any difference to her. But she was careful about it.

Claire had made some rule that nobody could do it with me again until everybody had done it once. I heard about that rule from one of the girls later, but I didn't know it then. But I did now something was up because both girls who'd let me into them showed plenty of evidence that they wanted to do it again ... except they wouldn't.

I'll give you an example. Marge was in the house one night. She and Claire were doing homework together. Marge was good at Spanish, and Claire didn't even know how to say "No" in Spanish, if you get my drift. Marge went to the bathroom, and on her way back darted into my room, where I was lying on my bed doing Geometry. She grabbed my cock through my jeans and said, "I miss that little sucker." Then she skipped away from me as I reached for her.

"Hey, I'm here for you," I said. That was one of the new and popular phrases in the psycho babble wars about who was okay and who wasn't okay and why it mattered that everybody had to be okay.

She lit up. "You want to do it again?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, suavely, of course. "Every time you touch me I get all hard and ready to play."

That's what girls want to hear ... right?

"Ohhhh, poor baby," she said in baby talk. "I feel so sorry for you. Enjoy your math." Then she just walked out. No kiss, no cuddle, no stinky finger ... no nothing!

And another afternoon, when they had all come to our house after school and were getting ready to go out somewhere I snuck up behind Suzy when she was alone and reached around her to put my hands over her breasts. She still wore oversized shirts, and she still went braless. I pinched those lovely big nipples of hers and she slapped my hands away. She turned around and said, "What's my name Bobby?" in this soft voice that made my dick spring to attention.

I didn't mess with her that time. I said, "It's H.M., which stands for Hot Mamma and I'm hungry right now."

She said, "I love it when you do that." and then followed that up with, "Gotta go. Go make yourself a snack or something." And she turned around and flounced off.

I mean I was getting serious mixed signals, and I didn't have the faintest idea what they meant.

It was another three weeks before the posse came back to our house for another sleepover. I knew our parents were going to be at a movie that night, and I had strong suspicions that Claire would tell me I was going to get to pick another cherry.

But she didn't. At supper I casually mentioned, "So I suppose I won't be able to get any peace and quiet tonight because your posse is going to tear up the house again."

My mother said, "Bobby, don't tease your sister. She's lucky to have all those friends. Besides, aren't you going out with your friends?"

That was a problem. I liked my friends just fine, and spending time with them too. But if you weighed getting a piece of ass against hanging out with Phil and Dennis ... guess what won?

But there were certain parental expectations about their children's behavior, and the last thing I wanted to do was arouse any suspicions.

"Well, sure," I said. "But I may actually want to sleep too."

Mom just turned to Claire and said, "Try to keep things to a dull roar tonight honey, okay?"

Claire, not to be outdone, responded, "He couldn't possibly hear us over that dinosaur snore of his anyway." She smiled sweetly at me.

After supper I tried again when Claire and I were alone. "Don't you ... uh ... need me tonight?" I asked.

She faced me and got right up next to me until her breasts touched my chest. "I'll tell you when I need you. Go play with your friends."

I wanted to say, "I'd rather play with your friends," but I knew that would give her too much power over me. I might have been horny, but I wasn't stupid. Instead, I said, "Okay," and tweaked one of her nipples. She jumped back, yelling at me, but I was ahead on points so I didn't care.

In fact I had a good time with Phil and Dennis, who were glad to have me back. Since I'd been spending time with the girls, that took away from time with the guys. Of course I didn't tell them that. First off they'd have never believed me, and second they'd try to horn in and get some of the action themselves. I just told them I'd gotten in trouble for doing something to Claire and had gotten grounded.

In fact, I had actually given up on the idea that I'd get to play with another girl that night. When I got back home Mom and Dad were getting ready to go to bed. I got the impression from their comments that it had apparently been a romantic comedy of some sort that adults were attracted to, and Mom was all giddy, kissing my father a lot. When she said good night and dragged him off I had a pretty good idea what they were doing in their bedroom. And even though it was weird to think about my parents making the two-backed beast, I was a little grumpy that they were probably having fun while I lay in my own bed, alone and horny.

But the girls stayed in Claire's room. I even listened in at the holes in the wall, but didn't hear anything suggesting they were even thinking about me, much less drawing straws or anything like that to see who got to expand her sexual horizons. I did hear squeals and something about a killer cute outfit and makeup, but then they always talked about cute outfits and makeup.

So I just happened to be lying on my bed, naked, stiff cock in hand, getting ready to solve the problem, when Unique Monique slipped into my room. Apparently, her argument that she had missed her turn had won the day.

I suddenly had a pretty good idea what that cute outfit was they had been talking about. I didn't know where Monique got it. Back in those days there weren't stores that sold slinky lingerie to teenaged girls. All us guys knew it existed, because we saw it in Playboy, but you never saw it in a store some place waiting to be sold.

But she had found it somewhere, and I was extremely appreciative that she had. It was cream colored, like coffee with a lot of cream in it, and it set off her dark skin and darker hair beautifully. She had makeup on too, and somehow it made her cheekbones stand out. The outfit consisted of a pair of panties and bra that looked like it had been knitted by some lonely old Grandmother somewhere. It was purely for looks. The yarn, or whatever it was made of, formed a net, with holes big enough to stick your finger through. The whole effect was like a bikini, but it didn't hide anything at all. The contrast was really amazing. She was in the dark part of the room - I only had my reading light on - but the material was light colored and everything else about her was dark.

She stepped closer and I saw that her nipples were poking out through two of the holes in that net. They were dark too. I had seen pictures of dark nipples before, but all the real ones I'd seen were pink or brown. Monique's were almost black. I found out about ten minutes later that she had some dark lipstick on them, but they were still the darkest nipples I'd ever seen.

My eyes strayed down her flat belly to the bottoms of the outfit. Monique's pussy hair was dark too. It was thick, and it was poking out between those strands of cream colored yarn. All in all she looked ... fabulous. I had a sudden thought that she looked more like a Playboy Bunny than Miss September did.

She hadn't said a word yet, but really, she didn't have to. Just appearing in my room dressed like that was a silent shout that I was going to get incredibly lucky. Her gaze went from my face to the cock in my hand and back again.

Monique wasn't as easy to read as some of the other girls. Her face didn't show as much about what she was thinking. But those nipples were hard, and she stepped closer and closer toward me.

What could I say to her to communicate how beautiful and sexy I thought she was? She deserved poetry, which I hated with the same passion that all teenaged boys hated it. But I knew that women who looked like this deserved poetry.

"You look like a poem," I blurted.

"You look like a naughty boy," she said right back, looking back at my hand, which was now just holding my rock hard prick. I had been moving it up and down, but when she came into the room I froze. Now, for some unaccountable reason, I jerked my hand away from my bone. It wobbled a little bit and then settled into its anti-aircraft position. When I was about thirteen I used to lie there just looking at my stiff prick, pointing up like the guns I saw in old war movies. I was impressed back then.

Now, as I looked at it, it just looked like a penis. I hoped she was impressed.

"Only naughty boys masturbate," said Monique. She had an deep alto voice that, even in normal conversation, caught the ear. It was mellow and smooth. It was the kind of voice you hear on the radio and it makes you have fantasies about what the woman who owns that voice looks like. Let me tell you boys, she looks like Monique. Don't get me wrong. She could scream and squeal with the best of them, but she seemed more cultured than the others, like her parents were better educated or whatever. She was a good student and got all A's.

I was so struck by her appearance that I didn't think about what I was saying. My mind just supplied words and I said them.

"All boys masturbate," I said.

"Really?" she commented. "That's not good."

"Why?" I asked.

"Cause ... if it gets all soft it won't be any good to me."

Man, she was good. She was a virgin, or claimed to be, but her actions were those of a woman with lots of experience.

"It's beautiful" she said, stepping right next to the bed.

Well, it had been called "pretty" and now "beautiful". I would have hoped for "Studly" or maybe "Bullish", or even "Wow, it's big". But, coming from her lips, "beautiful" was just fine.

"Thank you," I said inanely.

"Can I touch it?" she asked. Somehow her body had gotten from the door to my bed. My eyes were jittering around in my head because I couldn't decide where to look. I could have spent a week just examining her in that outfit.

"Oh please," I begged.

She reached out and grasped it, bending over a little bit. My eyes settled on her breasts, which didn't move an inch, or hang down more or anything like that. They had to be rock hard. They weren't as big as Large Marge's, but they were bigger than I had thought they'd be. Her hair, on the other hand, flowed all over the place. It was heavy black hair, straight as an arrow and it shone in the light from my reading lamp with that bluish glint that only truly black hair gives off.

Then my eyes went to her hand as it closed around my cock. For some reason she stood it up straight. Her grip was light ... tentative. It was the first sign that she wasn't completely sure of herself. Very slowly she skinned the foreskin down over the head, her eyes glued to the exposed tip.

"I missed my turn," she said, as if someone else was in the room and she was informing them of critical information.

"I'm sorry," I babbled.

"No you're not," she said, again conversationally. "You fucked Suzy in my bed and you loved it."

Hearing her use the word "fuck" was so bizarre that I was actually shocked.

"She loved it too," added Monique. "I've been jealous ever since."

Her hand skinned back up my cock and then down again.

"I'm sorry," I tried again.

She looked at my eyes and hers were dark, like the rest of her. There was emotion there, but I couldn't identify what kind of emotion it was. She was acting so calm ... measured almost ... like she was acting out a scene she had practiced for a long time.

"Do you like my PJs?" she asked.

Never in a thousand years would I have called what she was wearing "PJs". It was another odd little thing that suggested she wasn't quite as sure of herself as she appeared to be. Then again, what the hell did you call something like that?

"Uh huh." I said, arching my hips up off the bed as her hand caressed me again.

"I made it," she said. "I crocheted it myself ... just for this. I had to make a hat too, so my Mom wouldn't know what the yarn was really for." She licked her lips. "I didn't wear the hat, though."

Now I knew she was nervous. For some reason I felt a lot better all of a sudden. There for a minute I had been feeling like a mouse, sitting out in the open, with a big eagle staring at me or something.

"You should have," I said. "It would have gone really good with your hair."

Okay, I was still nervous too. But hey, no compliment is wasted ... right?

"There's something I've wanted to do for a long time," said Monique.

I couldn't think of a single thing that I didn't want her to do to me right then.

"Go for it," I said.

She licked her lips again and, before I could react, bent further, skinned my foreskin back, and sucked the head of my cock into her mouth.

I don't know what the actual medical name is for what happened to me, but I'm sure it was some kind of seizure. I've heard people try to describe what an epileptic seizure looks like, and I'm pretty sure I did a fair imitation of that. I know I made tortured sounds and flopped around enough that she had to suddenly grip my cock so hard it was almost painful. But there wasn't anything about those few seconds I'd catalogue as painful, really. The dictionary is chock full of superlatives that could be applied to it ... pick any one of them, or a dozen and you get the idea. What I am most glad of now is that I had no idea she would do that. If I'd have known I'd have blown in her mouth immediately.

And that would have made my cock soft.

And Unique Monique would have been unhappy.

I didn't want Monique to ever be unhappy about anything ... ever again.

Her mouth did a little suck ... tongue twirl ... slide around a little bit kind of thing and then she pulled her mouth off and looked at the tip, like she expected something to happen.

"I knew I'd like that," she said. She looked up at my face again. "I want to do more of that ... later. Okay?"

I was gasping and trying to remember who I was and what all those shiny lights I had seen with my eyes closed were, and what planet I was from ... that kind of thing ... but I nodded frantically.

"You're so funny," said Monique, smiling. "You make me feel good."

At that particular point in time I wanted to be hilarious, and make Monique feel all those superlatives in the dictionary I just mentioned. The tables had been turned. Now, if this particular member of the posse had asked me to marry her right then and there, I'd have babbled "Yes, oh thank you, thank you!" I was her slave, and all she'd done was suck the tip of my cock a little.

And make an outfit to lose her virginity in with me.

"But I want to do something else first," she said, letting go of my prick. Mr. Happy never felt so alone and sad in his whole life as he did right then.

"Okay," said my befuddled brain to my mouth, which repeated it out loud. Then, because neither suave nor debonair were within light years of my room, I said, "I don't have a rubber though."

After I had time to think about that statement, I realized that Monique was the first girl to appear to me primarily as a loving human being who deserved only the best in life. What happened to her mattered to me on a level I hadn't experienced before in my life. I mean I loved Claire, and wanted her to be happy in life, and if something bad happened to her I'd do anything to help her. And both Marge and Suzy were special to me too in a way that only real friendship has ever been special to me since then.

But with Monique I didn't ever want to hurt her in any way of any sort. Her nickname might have suggested that, if I'd have thought about it. Of them all, her nickname was the only one that wasn't a way of poking fun at her. I hadn't realized it before, and really I didn't, even at that moment, but since then I've thought about it a lot. I really liked Monique, and she's still one of my best friends today.

Anyway, the thought of me ... causing her the grief that an unwed mother suffered in those days ... it just wasn't something I wanted to think about.

"It's okay" she said in that soft deep voice. "It's safe for me right now. That's why we waited this long."

'We' That word caused me to imagine five other girls, huddling on the other side of the wall, trying to listen to what was going on. And they had helped get her ready. That's what their talk about the 'cute outfit' and makeup was about. Suddenly it was like they were all right there in the room, in the shadows, with score pads, waiting to write down their scores on cards, like they do in those ice skating competitions my folks like to watch so much.

Now that I'm older, I know that what I had was what's called a 'performance complex'. It causes older men's cocks to fall limp, which just adds to the problem. But that outfit, and those perky nipples and her obvious pleasure at being with me overrode that back then.

That, and of course, the fact that Unique Monique had just assured me I could spurt in her pussy.

And I suddenly wanted... bad ... to spurt in her pussy.

Please have a little more patience with me here folks. I know this is supposed to be a fast paced rollicking story about fucking and spurting and the joy of sex, but I also have to explain some things like this, because it made a real difference in my later life.

Monique made me ... care ... about women. At least about the women I liked.

Finally my mind started functioning.

"Your PJ's are gorgeous," I said, moving over to give her room to climb up on the bed. "You're gorgeous."

Her smile was genuine, but didn't match the words that came out of her mouth.

"I'm really nervous about this."

I patted the bed beside me.

"I wouldn't hurt you for a chance to meet Elvis," I said.

She lay down on the bed, leaving several inches of space between us.