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First/ursula.mf
Friar Dave
Ursula
Ursula is the explicit tale of a girl exploring her newly emerging
sexuality as she enters adolescence. If such things offend you, please
read no farther.
Everything you are about to read is probably fiction.
Almost all the other kids on the block were Catholic and went to
the Catholic grade school, so that made Ursula an outsider from the
start. She was Lutheran and went to public school. Nor did it help much
that her family had only moved onto the block the previous September, so
she'd had no chance to get to know the other kids during summer
vacation.
Her parents were rigorous about studying. Ursula was expected to
get As, always As. An A-minus was cause for stern lectures in German
from her father and in English and German from her mother.
And that was another obstacle. Her parents had come to America only
two years before. Ursula had studied English in grade school in Hamburg.
At the New York City public school she attended, she'd quickly
assimilated all the current terms -- "Fuck," "Shit," "Piss," et cetera
-- from her schoolmates. But even the one or two times kids from school
had come over to play with her, they'd been put off by her parents'
German and her mother's heavily accented English.
Of course, there was Roxanne, upstairs on the third floor. Roxanne
was three years older than her, but she had the same background. She was
friendly enough and willing to chat in English with Ursula and in German
with Ursula's parents. Ursula's parents and Roxanne's were always
visiting one another's apartment, or all four of them were going off to
church functions.
The main difference was that Roxanne had already spent four years
on the block and she got along fine with the rowdy Irish and Italian and
Polish kids. It helped that Roxanne had dark eyes, thick dark hair and a
dark complexion, like many of the Italian kids. But the primary reason
she'd become part of their activities was that Roxanne loved sports. She
was only an acceptable hitter, but she was a solid outfielder with great
speed and a superb arm -- a trait considered doubly valuable in the
winter, during the snowball wars on the block. And when the Brooklyn
streets weren't snow-covered, there seemed always to be a few kids
playing roller hockey on the broken asphalt, and Roxanne was right in
there with the rest of them, roughing it up and giving as good as she
got. Roxanne was tall, lean and so much the tomboy that she fit right in
with the boys.
Which was yet another, and possibly the most damning, difference.
There was no way Ursula could fit in with the boys, even if she hadn't
had bright red hair, blue eyes and an almost translucent complexion.
Ursula was small, even for ten, with a very compact, petite
frame...except that her breasts were already developing. They weren't
terribly prominent, but they were so wide that they nearly covered her
entire chest, starting just beneath her collarbones and reaching all the
way down till they were even with her breastbone. And her nipples were
always, it seemed, sticking out. Worse, her parents refused to consider
a bra for her. A bra for a ten-year-old? Absurd!
All of it led to her standing in the doorway atop the short flight
of steps leading to the entry of the tenement, forced to content herself
with watching the other kids laugh and play. Ursula was wearing her play
clothes: sneakers, a tee-shirt and a modest skirt. (No jeans for Ursula,
because that was what the hippies wore, decreed her mother and father.)
And no matter what she did, nothing could hide the swells of her rapidly
developing breasts. She was shy about that, as she was about everything,
and kept her arms folded as she squinted in the early May sunshine and
watched the other kids play in the little four-square-block park across
the street.
As she turned her head to follow the flight of a ball hit by Louis,
the handsome Italian boy from around the corner, the sun glinted
brightly off the thick braid of red hair hanging over her shoulder. She
watched Roxanne track the ball down, glove it and hurl it back in to
Jackie. Then all the kids on the field were yelling at each other to
back up, because it was Daniel's turn at bat. Even the park attendant,
sweeping the pathways, paused to watch when Daniel came to the plate.
Daniel! She hugged her arms tightly to herself, feeling her nipples
harden conspicuously. She'd watched him covertly from her window when he
played hockey or touch football during the long winter. Time and again,
she studied him secretly during the winter months when he took an old
bat into the park and practiced hitting progressively smaller pebbles.
Ursula had begun regularly taking a schoolbook and sitting outside,
on one of the benches sprinkled along the periphery of the park. She'd
finally, after three freezing Saturdays, gotten up the nerve to ask him
and he'd explained that when he could hit even the smallest pebble
exactly where and how he wanted it, he would be a good hitter.
He lived up to his promise. He swung and hit the third pitch like a
rocket through the treetops in dead center field. Roxanne didn't even
bother chasing it; she just loped past the trees and the pathway and
climbed into the "greengrass" -- the fenced-in area reserved for birds
-- and retrieved the ball.
Daniel! She watched him running the basepath and felt the tightness
inside, where she'd lately been able to work one grudging finger inside.
Ursula knew the facts of life. Her mother had made sure of that, whether
or not she would admit the need for a bra. And Ursula had, that same
night, taken time in the bathtub to investigate the deep cleft between
her legs. In here? No -- here!
The opening was tiny and she worked at it and finally got just the
tip of one finger inside to the first knuckle. It felt...interesting,
but was -- as her mother warned -- not particularly pleasant. Sort of
neutral, at least the first time.
But there was a spot at the top of her cleft that felt really nice
when she touched it. So she kept touching it and she felt something
begin to swell there and whenever she touched it, that spot felt better
and better. She kept rubbing it and playing with it and soon her nipples
were so hard she just had to squeeze them and her hips were shaking and
then she thought she was going to die, it felt so good. She became faint
and frightened from the little orgasm. She was afraid she'd pass out and
drown in the tub. Or release the yelp of pleasure she felt and give away
the fact that she was playing with herself.
Better to practice this at night, in her bed, under the cover of
her blankets and with a pillow that could muffle any noise that she
might make. Besides, then she would not have the time limit she had to
deal with whenever she was in the bath.
And that was just what she did. Every night, shy little lonely
redheaded Ursula lay with her face in her pillow, her fingers busy over
that magic spot above her opening, bringing herself to orgasm. Sometimes
she would venture a fingertip inside herself at the same time, and then
she would feel her little vagina clenching fiercely on the digit when
she came. Often, she came more than once that way.
More and more, as the winter waned into spring and then threatened
to become summer, she would find herself imagining it was Daniel who was
touching her there, that it was his finger moving inside her. She would
try to imagine what it would be like to have him kiss her breasts,
especially her nipples, and her lips and eyes. She would dream up
scenarios that usually included Daniel saying he thought her red hair
was beautiful (even though she was sure he thought it was ugly, as she
was sure it really was) and eventually confessing that he'd always been
in love with her, but he couldn't say so because his Papist family
forbade him to have anything to do with a Lutheran, but he couldn't help
himself -- he was going to convert to her church so he could be with her
and -- and --
About that time, the scenario usually collapsed into Daniel kissing
her nipples and rubbing her between her legs and she would come over and
over and over.
She masturbated at night and every chance she got to be alone in
the house, which was pretty often. Both her parents worked and they were
very active in the church and in a group that helped other Germans
emigrate to America.
Apparently, Daniel's hit had ended the game, because the dozen or
so kids were separating into a few small groups of two or three or four
and going their own way. Daniel and Roxanne and Jackie were walking
toward her side of the park, talking and laughing. Daniel had his bat
and glove and he held the battered baseball. Jackie, who was smaller
than Daniel though only a few months younger, was capering raucously as
always. Occasionally, he darted in close and touched Roxanne -- "copping
a feel," Roxanne had once explained -- and leaped away before she could
get him.
"Jackie, knock it off, willya?"
Daniel's voice carried to Ursula's ears and she felt the now-
familiar moisture gathering between her legs. He was so handsome! Even
her parents said so, as did Roxanne. And her parents thought he was
really a good young man -- for a Catholic. He had refused to join any of
the gangs in the neighborhood and had never been seen engaging in the
petty vandalism or rowdiness that so many of even the better kids played
at. He even had an after-school job, as a bonded messenger, in
Manhattan. If only he weren't five years older than Ursula! She was sure
Roxanne was going to snare him as a boyfriend -- her parents were much
less strict about the different faiths, at least for friends -- and then
he'd be completely out of reach by the time Ursula was old enough to --
"Hi, Ursula!" Roxanne called.
"Hello, Ursula," Daniel said.
She tried to reply, but all she could manage was a shy smile. She
wasn't sure what would come out if she spoke. "I love you!" or "Kiss
me!" or "I want you to touch my spot!" She felt her face turning scarlet
and smiled and waved and then scurried into the tenement. She let
herself into the endless cool darkness of the halls and scampered up to
the second floor. Once inside her deserted home, she hurried to her
room, quickly stripped off her soggy panties, rolled her skirt around
the place where her waist would be when her hips finally flared and
began rubbing furiously. It didn't take long before she was cumming and
cumming -- and then crying in frustration. Oh, she wanted him so much!
She felt as if there were a fist in her belly that twisted whenever she
considered her loneliness and yearning for the forbidden boy down the
block --
She suddenly silenced herself and heard the sound again -- a
knocking at the door to the apartment. Her first thought, of course, was
that it was him...but her practical thinking processes quickly dashed
the hope. No one had rung the doorbell in the lobby to gain admission to
dark hallways of the quiet tenement.
"A moment, please!" she called, properly, as she straightened and
patted her skirt. No time for the panties; besides, even Ursula could
smell the ripe scent of her aroused juices on them. She moved quickly
and quietly toward the door, pausing to splash some cold water from the
bathroom sink onto her face.
When she opened the door, she held a face towel in one hand.
Roxanne.
"Hi, Ursula!" Her voice, as with her heavy-boned, open face, was
bright and enthusiastic -- and strong. Roxanne was smiling, and when she
smiled, all of her face smiled; even her stance seemed to smile. "Are
your folks home?" She stepped right into the apartment.
"No, they're -- "
"Yes! I forgot! So are mine." She turned in the narrow foyer of the
apartment and leaned against the wall, facing the younger girl. "Want to
come upstairs and listen to records? I have some new ones. Or we can
play cards or watch TV -- "
She broke off and stared at Ursula. "You've been crying."
"No, I -- Yes."
"How come?"
Ursula shrugged. "I don't know. I just sometimes feel so sad..."
She shrugged again, hoping to end the discussion. "Who won the game?"
"Oh, they did, of course. Whatever side Daniel is on always wins."
She laughed. "Maybe someday, another team will win."
"He's very good," Ursula ventured. "Doesn't it bother you that his
side always wins?"
Roxanne shrugged, now. "A little. Someday, the other team will win.
But I don't mind that much; I like to watch him run and hit and catch
and throw -- "
"Me, too!" she blurted out.
Roxanne looked at her oddly, then smiled. "I thought so. He is so
handsome and nice...too nice."
"What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't mind him copping a feel on me, the way Danny and Jackie
and the others try to. But he never tries. Of course," she sighed,
"maybe like the other boys he'd rather grab Sharon or one of the other
girls with big knobs. They don't try to touch me unless I'm the only
girl." She looked down at her featureless shirt. "I hope I get mine
soon."
Ursula didn't hope Roxanne got hers soon, but kept quiet about it.
"You think he touches the other girls?" She hoped she was keeping the
jealousy out of her voice.
"Anything in the refrigerator?" Roxanne asked, turning abruptly and
heading for the kitchen. They passed Ursula's room. "What did you -- oh,
yeah. No, I don't think so. He doesn't really hang out with the rest of
the guys and he doesn't seem interested in the other girls. I thought
maybe he was queer for a while -- that's what some of the guys suggested
-- but I heard he was making out really hot and heavy with a girl he
went to grade school with."
Ursula burned with hatred. The slut! "Oh, yeah?"
Roxanne opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents. Ursula's
parents' idea of a soft drink for a growing child was Hi-C. They settled
for that. "Want some?" Roxanne asked, as if she were the hostess.
Ursula shook her head. "A girl from his grade school? The Catholic
school?"
"Yeah." Roxanne poured two glasses of the sweet stuff anyway and
slid into one of the hard chairs placed around the tiny kitchen table.
Ursula took the other. "Does he still?"
"Still what?"
"Make out with her?"
Roxanne shook her head and looked out through the window, studying
the clotheslines full of laundry that stretched between the backs of the
tenements. "Her mother found out and stopped it, I heard. He was really
pissed, but what are you going to do? You know parents. And I think
Jackie said he goes out with a girl from another Catholic high school
sometimes." She took another drink of the Hi-C. "He thinks you're
pretty, y'know."
Ursula almost choked. "Wh-wh-what?"
Roxanne made a face. "Yeah, he said that a couple of weeks ago, and
just now when you got all red and ran inside."
"What did he say?"
Ursula's eyes watched her face. "He said, uh, he thinks you're cute
and wonders why you always run away when he comes near you."
Because I'm terrified, Ursula thought.
Roxanne was still talking. "And he asked me how old you are and
seemed a little sad when I told him almost-eleven. He said that's what
he thought, but he was hoping he was wrong, because he wishes you were a
little older so you could, I dunno, be friends, I guess. I dunno."
"Me, too!"
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Ursula
put her hands on her face in horror at her self-betrayal and was ready
to bolt, but Roxanne reached across the table with her tomboy-strong
hands and took Ursula's forearms in a preemptive grip. "You have a crush
on him, don't you?"
"No! Yes! I can't, because -- No!"
Roxanne slowly let go of her forearms and smiled. "It's okay. So do
I. So does every other girl I know of, even the ones who won't admit it
to their clubs. Why should you be different?"
"Because -- because he's so much older and he's Catholic and he
always hangs out with you and -- " She ran out of gas.
Roxanne looked at her with eyes that were suddenly somehow more
knowing and intelligent than Ursula had expected or ever seen before in
her best friend. "You think he's interested in me?"
"More than some skinny ten-year-old!" Ursula blurted.
"Almost eleven, next month, and you're not going to be skinny much
longer." She stared pointedly at Ursula's tee-shirt. "That's why he
thought you might be older. You're already getting yours, and yours are
probably going to be real big." She looked back into Ursula's eyes. She
caught her lower lip between her teeth and seemed about to say
something. A long moment passed, then the indecision was resolved and
Ursula knew that whatever it was Roxanne had been considering telling
her was going to remain a secret for the moment. "But it won't matter
how old you are or how pretty you are or how big your knobs are if you
run away every time a guy says something to you."
"I guess. I just get all scared I'm going to say something or do
something or -- I don't know! It's like I'm supposed to do something and
I don't know what it is!"
Roxanne stood, draining her Hi-C and rinsing the glass in the sink.
"You'll find out; don't worry."
"What does that mean?"
Roxanne ignored it. Suddenly, bouncy, enthusiastic Roxanne was
back, displacing the thoughtful, wise Roxanne. "Hey, want to go to the
movies?"
"I don't have much money..."
"We can go to the cheap-charly matinee at the Meserole."
"What're they showing?"
"'Sink the Bismarck!'"
Ursula giggled. "But we can't tell my par -- my folks."
Roxanne laughed, too, and it was agreed.
That night, Ursula would again ponder Roxanne's words, especially
the promise: You'll find out.
What did it mean? She couldn't spend too much time on the subject,
because all-too-soon, she was remembering that other, critical
information: Daniel thought she was pretty and wished she was older. She
held that thought and all the possibilities it unlocked as she rolled
over and pushed her face into her pillow and her hands between her legs
and furiously masturbated.
CHAPTER TWO
Her eleventh birthday came and went with appropriate celebration.
The summer fled and then it was school time. As she'd known, she was
totally separate from the world of the other kids on her block. Only
Roxanne's bulletins gave her any sense of what was happening. She
sometimes saw Daniel from her window and a few times passed him on the
sidewalk. He always said hello and she always managed to return the
greeting -- blushing furiously all the while.
Christmas came and fled and the depth of the New York winter was
upon her. She watched enviously from her window as the snowball wars
raged during one of the heavy blizzards. One afternoon when classes were
canceled because of the snow, she watched Roxanne, Jackie and Daniel
alone stand off most of the rest of the block for more than hour. She
wished she could have been out there with them, She couldn't throw worth
a damn, of course, but she could make the snowballs for them -- for him.
The winter broke and spring erupted in the park across the street.
She had little time to observe it; her parents were adamant about
maintaining her straight-A average.
Near the end of June, with the beginning of summer vacation, her
parents announced she was going to spend two weeks in Pennsylvania at a
Church-sponsored camp. Ursula was not thrilled. She had tried to be more
relaxed with the kids on the block and was succeeding. With most of
them, she felt no pressure, since she had no interest in any of them --
except Daniel, of course -- and they were as stand-offish as her
intuition had told her at the start. Which, even at twelve, she didn't
hold against them. Most were two years or so older than she was, and
those are very big years to 14-year-olds. Also, she had always been
pretty separate from them; no surprise that her warming now should be
largely unnoticed.
Still, she found she could risk their laughter or derision --
"rank-outs," Roxanne explained -- and not die or melt from
embarrassment. She'd yet to try her evolving social skills on Him, and a
two-week absence in Pennsylvania with a bunch of "nice children your own
age and with the same background, ja?" wasn't going to help much.
Especially since she knew that when she got back, Daniel would be off to
his family's beach home for the rest of the summer.
In the end, of course, she was packed off to the camp in
Pennsylvania. Her mother and father took her and her luggage at eight
o'clock in the morning to the Port Authority Bus Terminal, where they
eventually found the chartered bus, already two-thirds filled with other
10-, 11- and 12-year-olds bound for an idyllic two weeks at the church-
sponsored camp. All were girls, of course, since the boys' sessions were
held separately, lest some 10-year-old go on a rape rampage.
The bus ride was endless and Ursula spent most of it suffering the
childish prattling of the 11-year-old seated next to her and wondering
if she would go crazy after two weeks of being unable to relieve the
nightly ache in her little cunny. After all, they would sleep six to a
cabin and there was no way that even the pillow would sufficiently
muffle her pleasured cries with five others in the same room!
Not to mention her other ache -- the one from being away from Him!
The camp was efficient. It took less than an hour to unload the
cargo from the bus, instruct it, assign it and have it all ready and
reported for the first activity of the day -- exercise.
Her parents had purchased all of the recommended clothing and gear,
so Ursula was ready. She was shy about changing in front of the other
girls; she'd never really been undressed in the presence of anyone but
her mother and her doctor, not since she was four or five years old. She
changed almost furtively into the gym shorts and tank-top tee-shirt and
quickly lined up with her roommates in front of the little cabin.
Their cabin Chief was a large, heavyset woman with a no-nonsense
expression on her face. Mrs. Wollman looked them over and sent all but
Ursula down the path to the exercise field. She kept Ursula back, and
sat on the top step leading up to the little cabin, which was raised on
blocks about three feet off the ground. She patted the step beside her
and motioned to Ursula.
"Come here and sit with me. I need to ask you some things, Ursula."
The fortyish woman's tone was going to brook no resistance; neither was
it unfriendly. Ursula complied.
"Ursula, I need to ask you some personal questions and maybe to
give you some advice, okay?"
The grave tone was a bit disturbing. Ursula nodded, her bright red
braid flashing fire in the clear afternoon's sun.
"Ursula, has your mother explained to you about the birds and the
bees?"
Ursula nodded. "She explained about men and women and -- " She
blushed.
"You can say it; this is between us."
"Sex." It was a whisper.
"Good. So you know what men have?"
"She told me."
"And you know what women and men do. Good. Now, do you know what a
period is -- the menstruation?"
"Yes. I know it's going to happen someday."
"Good. But not yet for you?"
"No."
The woman nodded gravely. She was so big, Ursula thought, almost
like the bear she'd seen in the Central Park Zoo, but she seemed gentle,
too.
"Ursula, your breasts are already very developed. You should wear a
brassiere. Do you have one?"
She shook her head. "My mother said no girl so young needs one --
but I think I do, I really do!"
"So do I." She sighed. "This happens too much these days. At least
your mother explained the facts of sex to you, but she should recognize
that you are already developing and need a bra. You are still young and
very firm, but the bouncing and all -- " She stared at Ursula. "You
would have boys all over you."
"But there aren't any boys here!"
"No matter. There are some men and even if there weren't, you are
going back in two weeks to...Brooklyn, yes, and there are boys there."
"Oh, yes!" she said a bit too exuberantly.
Mrs. Wollman laughed. "I see you've noticed! Good! That's healthy
and normal -- but difficult for someone who's only a month past twelve
years old. You have a boyfriend?"
Ursula felt the hot blood in her face again. "Well, not really, I
mean, I really like him and stuff but, well, I'm just a kid..."
"I think I understand." The woman's arm went around her shoulders,
urging her to stand. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"You are going to change into the clothes you wore when you got
here and you and I are going to drive into town -- " Harrisburg was
about fifteen miles away. " -- and I'm going to buy you a bra or two."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Thank you!" Ursula hugged the woman impulsively and noted,
curiously, that Mrs. Wollman's face was red when Ursula released her.
When the woman returned to collect Ursula, she had three other
girls with her. All had the same "problem" -- and one of them had it in
spades. Ursula asked and Mrs. Wollman explained that with every busload,
there were three or four girls whose parents weren't prepared to admit
what they could see. The camp routinely laid out the money for the
undergarments and then tacked it onto the parents' bill. There'd never
been a problem, yet.
They parked behind Troutman's in downtown Harrisburg and entered
through a back door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. In the Lingerie Department,
the impossibly old and wrinkled saleslady greeted Mrs. WOllman warmly
and ruefully. The old woman expertly surveyed the girls, disappeared and
returned moments later with four boxes, then ushered the girls into
dressing rooms.
The simple, white cotton bra fit perfectly, with maybe a little
room to spare. "For growth," the old woman explained. "You are going to
develop a large bust very quickly. And as soon as the cups or straps
start to leave welts in your skin, you complain and make sure your
parents buy you more, and make sure they fit. It's okay to be a little
loose, but not too tight." Ursula thanked her. The quintet left the same
way they'd entered, but with less bouncing, and returned to the camp.
Mrs. Wollman promptly became Chief WOllman and they spent the rest
of the day catching up with their roommates in exercises, volleyball,
prayer, badminton, dinner, singing and canoeing, more prayer and
finally...
...sleep.
When Ursula woke, she realized that playing with herself wasn't
going to be a problem in this environment. By the time she got to bed
each day, she was too tired for anything but sleep.
The two weeks came and went with amazing rapidity. Suddenly, it was
departure day and she found herself unaccountably crying as she said
good-byes to her roommates and the various activity leaders and --
especially -- to Mrs. Wollman. The first part of the bus trip back was
obscured by tears and the second part was lost in wondering what she
would do when she saw Daniel again -- and if he'd still bother to give
her the time of day.
She needn't have worried, though. A week after getting home -- and
three days after her mother's curt questioning on the brassieres --
Ursula was drafted into service at a Church cake sale. It was a major
fund-raising event and everyone was impressed into duty. Including
Jerry, whose parents had a lot of money -- his father was a doctor --
and who was really handsome and 18 and had a bright red Mustang. A
Mustang convertible. She couldn't help but think how jealous the others
on the block would be if this cute hunk picked her up in -- not only a
car, but -- a Mustang convertible that was fire-engine red!
So when he got around to asking how she was, she lied.
"Sixteen."
"Hmmmm -- don't think I've seen you around here before." He kept
glancing surreptitiously at her little white blouse, which was so well-
filled with her bra-clad breasts. "New?"
"No, but I don't work at these things much." She glanced around at
the crowd of (generally paunchy) middle-aged people knowingly and looked
to him for agreement.
He nodded in conspiratorial understanding.
"Besides, my parents -- " She pronounced it as if it were a cross
she had to bear. " -- think I'm too young to mix with other people...I
mean, to be out where boys would see me."
"Too young?" He laughed a stage-laugh.
Ursula was glancing quickly around. She was the only one at the
table where the layer cakes were sold, for the moment. Layer cakes were
slow movers in midsummer. Lucky for her. But she didn't need someone
coming up and patting her on the head right at the moment.
They exchanged idle chitchat. Having brazenly lied once -- for the
first time in her life -- about her age, Ursula carefully played a
little game of evasion to avoid being pinned down on anything else that
had to do with the issue. And, to her astonishment, she found herself
enjoying the way she got away with it and Jerry's ready willingness to
buy increasingly outrageous equivocations for the chance to stay near
her and keep stealing peeks at her well-filled blouse.
And then she spotted Roxanne's father approaching.
He was a small, swarthy, wiry man who was not -- Thank Heavens! --
terribly bright. But he was warm and friendly and dedicated and he was
Just Checking to see that everything was okay. Ursula reported that
business was slow -- as Jerry had faded quickly into the crowd -- and
Roxanne's father finally moved along, after a promise to provide relief
for her at the big, still-laden, folding table.
As soon as he left, Jerry returned and offered her a ride in his
Red Mustang Convertible.
Maybe, she thought, if Daniel saw her pulling up to the kerb in a
Red Mustang Convertible driven by this cute hunk of an older -- even
older than Him -- man, he would get jealous. At least Daniel would stop
thinking of her as a kid.
"I'd like that," she said, and then bent from the waste over the
table, enjoying the way Jerry's big blue eyes went to the exposed
expanse of her (bra-clad) cleavage. "A lot!"
"At three? In back -- on Meserole?"
She smiled -- seductively, she hoped -- and nodded.
"See ya' then, honey."
It was only at ten to three that she began worrying about what he
was expecting from her.
But when the time approached, Ursula knew she couldn't duck. He'd
easily discover her true identity and then she would really be scorned
as a little kid and worse -- what Roxanne had called "a tease."
Well, she told herself, she'd wanted to learn the ways of the older
and, presumably, wiser...and she scurried out the back door at the
appointed hour.
He was there in the Fire-Engine Red Mustang Convertible.
Ursula took a deep breath, meaning to calm herself, instead only
reminding Jerry of the attributes that had first attracted him -- those
and the legend that redheads were really hot to trot -- and hurried to
the waiting car. And Jerry, true to form, popped the clutch, laid a
patch and zoomed her off toward the place where all the guys went to Do
It: on Gardner Avenue, where the City of New York parked the street-
sweeping machines.
CHAPTER THREE
She was doing pretty good, she thought. She'd let him soul-kiss her
and grope her tits through her shirt and bra, then through her bra
only,when he'd finally undone enough of the shirt buttons. But she
wasn't sure she wanted him to keep running his hand up her quivering
thigh and she really doubted she wanted him to get the cup completely
off one ripe little tit and she was sure that she didn't want her hand
put on the rather sizable Thing that was straining beneath the crotch
material of his bell-bottoms. This was not what she had in mind.
But he kept telling her how pretty and sexy she was and he kept
licking the side of her neck and then she found herself moaning and
pushing herself at him and then he had his lips on her nipple.
Ursula felt the shuddering contractions within and hoped he
wouldn't be able to smell her scent (above the lovely aromas of the soap
factory on the other side of the Newtown Creek or the nearby fragrance
of the detrius drying on the brushes of the street-sweeping machines'
brushes) and know how excited she was.
It didn't matter, of course. The give-away was the lack of resolve
when she tried to close her thighs to block his fingers' path to her
Tricot-adorned cunny. Once he managed to wedge one finger against the
crevice so tightly contained in her ever-wetter panties, he began to rub
furiously and kept it up. Simple warmth -- from the friction of his
moving knuckles -- would have been her undoing, but he also applied
pressure and soon, she found herself sighing and arching up to help him
remove her panties.
When he got the tip of one finger on her Special Spot, she was a
goner.
"Are you sure you're sixteen?" he asked, working the finger around
and around, his roughness lost in her sensations of having someone
else's finger touching her There. "There's no hair!"
"Unnnggghhh!" she replied. Apparently, it satisfied him because
then she found herself laying back on the bench seat with one foot
caught in the steering wheel and the other draped over the back of the
seat and a healthy 18-year-old positioning himself between her
twitching, governing thighs. She groaned pleasurably when he rubbed his
cock up and down against her hairless 12-year-old cunt and again when he
fit the head into the tight opening.
Then he drove down and in, ripping away her prepubescent cherry
with a single, untutored lunge that buried his cock balls-deep in her
tight little quim.
She screamed with the pain.
"AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!"
"What the fuck's the matter with you?" demanded the son of the
influential parishioner as he rocked frantically. "Damn! Fuck! You're so
tight! Hey, were you a virgin?"
"AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!"
He thrust ever more urgently in and out of her. It took maybe, oh,
30 seconds for him to cum in her.
She was grateful, because his hot teenaged load was almost soothing
-- despite the burning saltiness of it -- in her newly ruptured cunt.
Then he collapsed on her and Ursula decided she was being punished
for her unholy behavior. Not only were her innards burning with pain,
but she was being suffocated by the weight of him. She was terrified
that he'd died on top of her and began desperately pushing and prodding
at his inert bulk. She could distantly feel his cock still spasming
inside her 12-year-old no-longer-virgin cunt, straining and paining her
as he continued leaking his burning load into the pain-induced
clutchings of her little pussy.
By the time she got him moving off her, Ursula had already vowed
she would never do this again, if only she got home without her
bleeding, semen-leaking pussy being noticed. She rearranged her clothing
as he drove -- wordlessly -- through the dusky Brooklyn streets.
When they pulled up in front of her building -- one of four
identical structures -- she saw all the kids on the block were outside.
Most were playing Boxball, and they paused to watch. Especially Roxanne. Sh
e
bit her lip hard enough to taste blood in the effort to compose herself
and let herself out of the car. She meant to turn to Jerry and put on a
show of saying something -- anything -- that would make it seem she had
simply added yet another conquest, but as soon as the door was closed,
Jerry was laying a patch to get out of there and Ursula had to make the
best of it...despite the unmistakable feel of the admixture of his semen
and her blood leaking from between the (formerly) tight lips of her cunt
(Would they ever regain that tightness, she wondered).
She was glad, when she reached the top step of the stoep, that
Roxanne had exited her game of Boxball to half-trot to her side, because
as soon as she opened the door to the vestibule of the tenement, Ursula
felt very faint...but not too faint to think she could do it again, if
it would get Him.
Once they were inside the tenement hallway, Ursula leaned against
the wall and caught her breath.
"You okay?" Roxanne asked. Ursula nodded. "What happened?"
"Upstairs," Ursula said. "Your folks home?"
"Naw. Neither are yours. They're all at the volunteers' party."
"Good." She managed to make it up the stairs pretty well, but once
inside her apartment, she sat quickly on her bed and panted out her
tale.
"And you promised on your soul you'd never tell -- remember,"
Ursula concluded. Roxanne nodded gravely, and then began peppering her
with questions: How did it feel? Was there a lot of blood? Did he leave
his stuff in her? What was his penis like? How big was it? Did he kiss
her and tell her he loved her?
Dozens of questions, and they made Ursula realize how uneducational
her experience had been.
After Roxanne left -- eyes brighter than usual and her face
slightly flushed, making Ursula suspect her tale had excited her friend
-- Ursula drew a hot bath and examined the damage. To her astonishment,
her little labia were clamped together as tightly as ever and only the
slightest discoloration, like a bruising, gave visual hints of her
ordeal. Sticking a finger inside, though, confirmed what she'd suspected
-- though still tight, she was still sore. When she withdrew the finger,
some blood and dried white stuff came out with it.
She wanted to wash herself out. What could she use? Her gaze lit
upon the hair-sprayer. It was only two-foot length of pink hose was a
rubber showerhead at one end and a flexible, cup-like gasket for
attachment to the faucet on the other. She removed the showerhead -- it
was always popping off if the water pressure was too high, anyhow -- and
attached the gasket. When she had the water at the temperature she
liked, she carefully fit just the tip of the hose into her little pussy.
The water felt good inside, soothing and she held it there for fully
thirty seconds, until the back-pressure forced it out. Then she squeezed
down as best she could and expelled it from her cunt. There was little
to see, but she felt cleaner. She was going to repeat it, but the water
brushed her clitoris and sent a surge of sheer pleasure through her.
Ursula held the end of the hose close to her clitoris and let the
water strike her clitty again. "Oooooooooh!" she gasped. This was
amazing, she thought, and she was determined to make the most of it. She
lay back in the tub, which was of the old-fashioned enameled cast-iron
four-footer flavor. She draped her long red braid carefully over the
back of the tub to keep it dry and splayed her legs. She hooked her
ankles over the lip on either side of the tub and began playing the
stream of water over her cuntal area.
Each time it hit her clitoris, she hunched her hips up slightly and
moaned. She brought the hose closer to her clit and moved it back and
forth and she felt the orgasm building with a speed and intensity that
almost scared her.
Finally, she brought it down to almost point-blank range and she
fired off the most powerful orgasm she'd ever known -- and almost
immediately came again and then again. Her knees straightened and she
quivered and shook, cumming over and over again until she lacked the
strength to hold the hose. It slipped from her fingers and whipped back
and forth in the almost overflowing tub. Ursula barely managed to move
one leg enough to grip the faucet with her toes and turn off the hot
water, then the cold.
She lay there quivering and shuddering. She'd never known pleasure
like that, never dreamed it was possible. Could it be possible to have
that with a man?
If so, she was sure who the male was.
On trembling legs, she stood. She bent to remove the drain plug,
her firm, precocious young tits swaying just a bit. She got out of the
tub and dried herself, planning. If she was get His attention, she was
going to have to be more educated about social intercourse.
The thought made her giggle like a child.
About a month or so later, in the middle of a steamy August day,
Ursula and Roxanne were walking through the park on their way to
Freerick's, an ice-cream parlor that also had home-made candies. They
were chattering about a planned trip to Rye Beach -- an amusement park
reached by excursion boat from Manhattan -- and were totally unprepared
for the ambush.
"Get 'em!" shrieked Danny in his cracking, pierce voice and a half
dozen other boys whooped and suddenly, Roxanne and Ursula were being hit
with a ferociously accurate barrage of water balloons. Roxanne screamed
like a banshee and lit out after the boys, who were already scattering.
None of them wanted the dark-haired Valkyrie to get her hands on them.
Ursula just stood there and tried not to cry. Her clothing would
dry and so would she -- but her hair was soaked! The braid reached
almost to her waist and took hours and hours to dry -- hours during
which she could nothing but sit around in the stifling apartment.
Roxanne returned, muttering dark imprecations, and the two of them
started back toward their tenement. Ursula noticed a bunch of older guys
-- in their late teens -- watching them and exchanging quiet words. They
were known as the Stompers and they were a justifiably notorious gang.
None had any visible means of income, yet they always seemed to have a
few six-packs. When the bottles were empty, they tossed them with
varying degrees of accuracy at the litter baskets. The gray, hexagonal
stones of the park pathways around the baskets tended to twinkle and
gleam. By unspoken law, the Stompers stayed in one corner of the park
and were never bother, as long as they kept the noise down. If they
ventured into another area of the park, cops suddenly appeared.
And Ursula believed they were staring at her. Why?
When she and Roxanne ascended the short, slate steps to the
vestibule of the tenement and she caught sight of her reflection in the
big glass panes of the old wooden doors, she understood. She'd gone
braless in the heat and the water had plastered her loose tee-shirt to
her breasts -- and turned the white cotton nearly transparent.
Her breasts had grown rapidly in the last month. She'd already
outgrown the bras obtained at the camp. Both mounds were clearly defined
through the short and her nipples had hardened prodigiously from the
cold water.
By the time they reached her door, they were laughing again.
Roxanne suggested they change and go to Freerick's anyhow, but Ursula
reminded her about her hair. Roxanne said she was going to change and
come back down and keep her company while she started drying her hair.
And she had something to show Ursula.
She wouldn't even give a hint.
Ursula went into her apartment, stripped off her shirt and shorts
and panties and sat in the tub. She might as well shampoo her hair,
since she'd have to waste the rest of the day drying it, anyhow. She'd
just finished rinsing it when she heard Roxanne's knock on the door. She
wrapped a big towel around herself and let her friend in.
They chattered about nothing at all while Roxanne helped her press
the lustrous red tresses between successive towels. Then she wrapped her
hair in a towel and they went to sit in her room. Ursula's towel slipped
and Roxanne stared at her breasts. "They're really getting big," she
said admiringly.
For some reason, Roxanne's stare was making Ursula feel odd.
Especially since her nipples were again hardening. She didn't understand
this at all, but it made her uncomfortable.
"You were going to show me something?" she said as she readjusted
her towel.
"Yeah, well, promise you won't tell a soul?"
LIsa nodded rapidly. "What is it?"
"Well, it's...dirty."
Ursula's blue eyes widened. "Really? What is it?"
"A book. It's called 'The Autobiography of a Flea.'" She stood,
reached into the back of her jeans and withdrew a paperback. The cover
was green, with the title in white.
"No pictures?"
"Yeah, it has pictures -- in the words! They make you see
pictures!"
Ursula was dubious. A dirty book! She knew there were such things,
but had never seen one. "Let me look."
Roxanne handed it over. Ursula started to read it, but didn't find
it very interesting -- and she said so.
"Wait." Roxanne took it back, flipped expertly further into the
book and began to read aloud. It was about a young French girl who had
just confessed to a priest that she'd played with herself.
Ursula blushed at that and Roxanne saw it. She laughed: "You, too,
huh?"
They both giggled and Roxanne resumed reading: The priest in the
small 17th century village, tells the girl she must report to the
rectory for her penance and there --
As Ursula heard the description of the girl's seduction and
willing, orgasmic submission -- sucking the priest, then fucking him,
then letting others fuck her, even in the ass -- she felt herself
getting incredibly aroused. By the time Roxanne was done with the
chapter, Ursula wanted nothing more than to climb into the tub with her
magic hose and cum and cum and cum!
"Wow!" she said breathlessly. "Can I borrow it?"
"I don't know," rita said. "I promised to return it..."
"Return it? Who gave it to you?"
"Daniel."
Ursula was absolutely stunned. "He gave you a book like that?
Daniel? Where did he get it?"
Roxanne explained that he'd bought it in a Manhattan drug store,
thinking it was something else -- a series of diaries by a flea that
he'd been told about in an English class. When he realized what it was,
though, he was less than heartbroken.
"How did you find out about it? How'd he give it to you?"
He frequently sat in the park and read. Roxanne had chided him one
Saturday for not wanting to play ball, for preferring to sit and read,
and demanded to know what he was reading that was so riveting. He told
her it was none of her business -- which was unlike him; he was always
trying to get the other kids to borrow his books, so they could talk
about them. She insisted and he'd told her it wasn't a book for a girl.
She'd realized then it was a dirty book and dared him to loan it to her.
That had been in June, before he'd gone away fro the summer. When
he'd asked for it back, she'd pleaded to let her have a little longer
and he agreed, showing obvious interest in a girl who liked ripe
pornography.
"Please? Let me borrow it from you?"
"Well, for a while, I guess. He won't be back from the beach house
till Labor Day, anyhow. But on one condition."
"Anything!"
"You have to tell me if the book is right."
"Huh?"
"If what that guy, the writer, says the girl feels is what you
really feel when you do it. If it is, I'm going to get fucked fast!"
"It's a deal." Roxanne handed over the book and, with a gleam in
her eye, said, "Well, I better get going. I'm going to Freerick's
anyhow. Want me to bring something back for you?"
"Pistachio ice-cream cup?"
Roxanne nodded. "Okay. See ya' in an hour."
For most of the next hour, little Ursula lay naked on her bed, with
the book in one hand and her pussy in the other.
A week later -- and with 'The Autobiography of a Flea' already read
through twice -- Ursula was walking down the block past the grammar
school. She was on her way to the candy store for some magazines. The
weather was hot, but not unbearable. She was wearing shorts and a loose
white blouse and her new bra.
On the school steps lounged three of the Stompers. "Hi!" one of
them called to her. She automatically turned to reply. He was a big guy,
at least six feet tall, and kind of cute in his sleeveless tee-shirt and
tight jeans.
"Do I know you?" she asked, slowing a little.
"Nahh. I'm Johnny. What's your name?"
"Ursula."
"Where ya goin'?"
"Uh, candy store to get -- the candy store."
"Can I walk ya'?"
She couldn't really think of a pretext to refuse and before she
could say anything, he was up and walking beside her. He smelled
slightly of August sweat and a little bit of beer, but not bad. And he
really wasn't bad-looking at all. Still, she knew he was with a rough
gang and much older than she was.
"You're kinda cute, y'know. How old are ya'?"
From behind, she heard one of the guys call out -- softly,
teasingly -- "Cradle robber!"
John spun on his heel. "Yo, Dumbo, you wanna make somethin' of it?"
The others laughed and John resumed their stroll.
"How old?"
"Uh, 13," she lied.
"Yeah, you are kind of young. Hey, I saw those little pr-- punks
hit you and your friend with the water balloons. You want me to go rough
'em up a little, no problem."
"No, that's okay. You know how little kids can be." So that's where
he'd seen her -- with her boobs clearly exposed. His interest was
suddenly comprehensible. So was the now-conspicuous -- and sizable --
bulge in his tight jeans.
She remembered how much Jerome's had hurt, and John's looked larger
-- but she'd also learned that the first time always hurt and after that
it shouldn't.
And she remembered what she'd been reading in that book...
She became aware that he'd asked her a question.
"I'm sorry," she said. "What was that?"
He blushed and rammed his hands into his pocket and sort of shifted
his weight back and forth. "Like, y'know, we could maybe take a ride
down to Coney Island or somethin' and go on the rides and all, y'know.
WOuldja?"
They were at the corner, waiting for the traffic to clear. "That's
a long way."
"It's not so far in the car, maybe an hour, maybe less. Ya wanna?"
"Can my friend come along?"
He looked uncomfortable. "Well, I was thinking like a date, y'know?
Just like, uh, you and me and no one else, y'know?"
She considered for a moment. A date. Her first, real date. She'd
have to invent some tale for her parents, but -- "Sure, why not?"
"Pick ya up tomorrow at six, at your house?"
She shook her head. That was out of the question. "I'll meet you at
-- on the other side of the park at one. And I have to be back by four,
in case someone gets home early. I'm not supposed to be out of the house
when my parents come home."
"Won't someone squeal, like your brother or sister?"
"I'm an only child," she said.
"Cool. Uh, see ya!"
"Tomorrow."
He turned and went back to his friends and Ursula went on to the
candy store. She'd only been to Coney Island once and she'd liked it.
She had the distinct feeling, though, that she was going to be on
other rides than the ones at Coney.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was a midnight-blue Cadillac convertible and the hood was down.
"It's my brother's," he explained. "He said I could use it when
he's not on leave. He got drafted."
John had cleaned up considerably. He was wearing clean jeans and a
regular shirt, with buttons. He was still wearing his black leather
shoes with the raised heels and the pointed toes -- "guinea stompers"
was what they were called in the neighborhood. Ursula wore a dark brown
year-old skirt that was fashionably too short for her and a matching
blouse with short sleeves that was more recent. The color set off her
hair and eyes beautifully, Roxanne had told her. She was wearing one of
her new bras beneath the blouse.
They didn't talk much once he got on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway
because at the speeds he drove, they couldn't hear each other. They
reached Coney Island in a half-hour and were in the midway by two.
John really didn't seem like a bad person. In fact, he seemed nice.
He said "Please," "Thank you" and "Excuse me" when appropriate, didn't
interrupt when she was speaking and seemed to genuinely listen to what
she said. He worked when he could as a truck mechanic and sometimes got
some day work as a furniture mover or painter. He'd dropped out of high
school -- "Cause they didn't teach anything I could really, y'know, use"
-- but thought maybe he'd go a trade school and learn welding or
something where could make good money.
He bought her a genuine Nathan's hotdog on the boardwalk and cotton
candy and licorice, and he took her on all the rides. She regretted the
junk food when they rode the Tilt-a-Whirl, but didn't lose it. There was
a small petting zoo that she simply adored, though Johnny seemed annoyed
and embarrassed at the way the goat kept sniffing his crotch.
On the big roller coaster, he insisted they sit in the first car.
She screamed and shrieked and clutched him in terror and she loved it.
And she noticed when she got off that her nipples ached and she was a
little wet. She was having no part of the parachute jump, though.
On the big Ferris wheel, he had his arm around her, and when they
paused at the top, he kissed her.
It was a good, hungry, expert kiss and it was the whole nine yards,
tongue and all. Her breath became shallow and fast and when his hand
found its way to her bra-and-blouse-clad breast, she welcomed it,
thrusting herself into his grip. He found her nipple quickly and pinched
it, a little roughly, but still knowledgeably. She sighed into his
mouth.
His hand slid down and he pulled her shirtwaist out of her skirt.
He slid the hand back up, this time under her blouse, and cupped her
tit. He squeezed slightly and she groaned and he groaned, too.
His other hand went around her back and through her blouse he
managed to unsnap her bra.
Ursula was shocked. She couldn't undo it that easily, herself.
His other hand went beneath the bra and she felt his fingers on her
bare flesh and she knew that if he didn't stop, she was going soak her
panties and skirt.
The wheel jerked and they broke off for a moment. She put her hand
over his and pressed it against her tit. "I like that," she said.
"I want to make it with you, baby."
"Here?"
"I don't care -- anywhere!"
She shivered at the naked lust in his voice. He took her hand and
led it to the crotch of her jeans. His cock felt awfully hard and
awfully big.
She squeezed it. She felt the juices running out of her.
"Oh, yeah!" he moaned. "Keep doing that and I'll cum for you!"
And something in the way he said that -- as if she was totally in
control of him -- really turned her on more than she'd imagined
possible.
"I'll do better than that," she murmured, still gripping his rigid
19-year-old cock. "But not here."
"Where?" His voice was agonized.
"What time is it?"
"Tine? Tine? What the -- " He looked around. On top of the penny
arcade was a clock. "Quarter past three."
"My folks come home at six. Can you get us back to my nice empty
apartment by four?"
He stared at her numbly, then shook himself. He leaned over the
side of the car and yelled, "Yo! Get us down! She's gettin' sick up
here! Yo!"
"Awright, awright, awright..." someone muttered below as the wheel
began its ponderous turning. Ursula quickly patted the base of her
blouse down, knowing that only if it was loose would it conceal the
disarray of the bra beneath. By the time their car reached the
debarkation, she was groaning pitifully and holding her hand to her
mouth as if fearful she was going to toss her cookies.
"Not here, take the barf someplace else," ordered the swarthy,
surly attendant. Johnny held her around the waist as they hurried out of
the midway and back to the car.
Unfortunately, they hit a traffic jam on the Expressway. At four
o'clock they hadn't even reached Brooklyn Heights and Ursula knew it was
hopeless. Johnny was muttering fiercely.
"You can come over tomorrow, you know," she said. "Around one
o'clock? We'd have the whole afternoon." She said it as seductively as
she could.
The lump in his crotch hadn't abated. "Baby, that sounds great --
but I want you so bad right now I feel like it's gonna explode!"
She scooted across the seat next to him and he put his arm around
her. He let hand dangle and cupped her breast. Her nipple hardened
instantly.
"I want you, too," she cooed. "Bad. But maybe I can help -- "
She put her hand on the iron bar of his cock and squeezed. He
groaned and she pulled a little bit. He groaned louder. She unzipped his
tight jeans and reached inside his jeans and his boxer shorts and
grabbed his naked cock. He groaned still louder.
And she began jerking him off.
"Oh, shit, yeah," he hissed as they rolled along at a steady five
miles-per-hour.
She remembered what she'd read and jerked faster and then she felt
his dick swell even more and start spasming. She could feel his cock
jerk as he came. She got some on her hand and it was hotter than she'd
expected -- and more copious.
"Oh, yeah, baby, do that for me!"
When he finally finished, she sniffed the stuff on her hand. Odd
smell, she thought. Some of the girls in the book had sucked and
swallowed this stuff, so she licked a little of it. It didn't taste
great, but it wasn't too bad, either -- and he kept watching her lick at
it, so she fastidiously licked it all off and then smiled at him.
"You're giving me another hard-on doing that," he said.
"Save it for tomorrow?"
"You can count on that, baby!"
And just like that, there was a break in the traffic. He gunned the
accelerator and shot into the opening and they speeded past the wreck
that had caused the tie-up and made it back to the park by a quarter to
five. Ursula gave him a quick, but urgent, kiss before climbing out of
the car and walked home through the park.
Her pussy was wet.
Roxanne wanted to know all about her date and Ursula told her a lot
of it. But Roxanne knew there was more and kept pestering her. Ursula's
resolve began to crumble and finally: "Well, yeah, we made out on the
Ferris wheel."
"Yeah? Did you soul kiss?"
Ursula looked at the closed door of her room. It was almost eight
o'clock and both her parents were home. Her father would never question
her activities, but she didn't put eavesdropping past her mother, not
for a moment. Ursula got up from her seat on the bed and motioned for
Roxanne to sit with her near the corner farthest from the door.
"Well?"
"Yes! It was lovely! I got so excited!"
"Did he feel you up, too? Like, did he grab your knobs?"
Ursula tilted her head slowly from side to side. "Sort of. He
touched my breasts, but he didn't really grab them. It was nice."
"Wow, and right up there on the Ferris wheel..."
"And he got his hand inside me bra."
Ursula's eyes widened. "Really? Was there room?"
"After he unhooked the back -- right through my blouse!"
Ursula shook her hand rapidly in admiration. "He really knew what
he was doing!"
"Then he played with my nipple -- he even pinched it a little --
and I thought I was just going to have an orgasm from that! He's so
hot!" She closed her eyes and shivered with the pleasure of the memory
-- and anticipation of the next day.
"You sure are lucky! I can't believe it can feel that good to have
someone pinch your nipple. Whenever the boys grab my knobs, they leave
black and blue marks."
"Sure, it can feel nice. Didn't you ever play with your own?"
Ursula asked softly.
Roxanne shrugged. "Sure, but boys don't know how to do it." She
looked Ursula right in the eyes. "Not the way a girl knows how." She
blushed. Ursula was surprised, because Roxanne never blushed. "I can't
believe the way that sounded," Roxanne said. "Like I wanted a girl to,
well, you know."
Ursula took her friend's hand. "Maybe sometime I could show you
what it's like, when I know better."
Roxanne looked troubled for a moment. "I -- I don't know. It sounds
kind of weird, two girls touching each other's tits." She laughed
softly. "Besides, I haven't got that much to touch. I'd feel like one of
us was getting a better deal."
"Which one?"
"I don't know that, either." Roxanne laughed a little louder. "Are
you going to see him again?"
"Who? Oh!" Ursula laughed, too. She'd been lost for a moment in
imagining what it would be like to feel Roxanne's lips on her breasts,
her soft hands on her thighs and stomach and...other places. Now she was
jolted back to the sensual reality of what she was planning.
"Yes," she said. "Tomorrow."
"Really? What're you going to tell your folks?"
"They won't be home. He's coming here at one."
It took a moment for the comprehension to dawn on Roxanne and then
she looked like she was going to burst. "You mean, you're going to have
him come over here, alone, when there's nobody else -- " She covered her
gaping mouth with her palm and her eyes widened till they seemed set to
pop out of her head. "You're going to, you know, do it?"
"I want him so bad," Ursula sighed. "I've been wet between my legs
all day -- even now!"
Roxanne stared at her.
"I want to try some of the stuff in that book! It sounds so hot! I
want him to lick me down there and I want to suck his thing!"
"And have him shoot that stuff in your mouth? Euuuuuw!"
Ursula shook her head. "It doesn't taste that bad, actually -- "
"How do you know?" Roxanne demanded, her hand gripping Ursula's
forearm. "Did you already do that?"
Ursula explained about the handjob in the car and licking her
fingers afterward. "It wasn't pistachio-walnut ice cream, but it wasn't
bad, either. Kind of salty and sharp, but really thick and hot, too. And
I really liked the way he was like completely paying attention to me and
what I was doing. While I was doing that with him, I was the only thing
in the world that mattered and what I was doing was the most important
thing in the world to him. I moved my fingers and he'd moan or sigh or
gasp or tell me how good it felt. It made me very, very important. That
turns me on."
"What if Daniel finds out?"
Ursula blinked in surprise. "What? How would he find out? You'd
never tell him, would you?"
"Never, I promise. But what if he did find out?"
"Well, I...I don't know. He might think I was a slut and never talk
to me." She thought it through. "I mean, there's not much he could do
about it, except not talk to me."
"I don't know. My brother -- " Roxanne's brother was two years
older and two years wilder. " -- told me the Stompers don't mess around
with him. They told him not to start with him, that he can be really
crazy. He thinks -- swear you'll never tell -- he thinks they're a
little afraid of him."
"Of Daniel?" LIsa laughed. "That's silly. He won't even fight
people."
"Yes, he will. You know Dennis and Eddy, from over by the
projects?"
Ursula nodded. "I know their faces."
"Well, I saw them jump Daniel once. Big fat Eddy grabbed him and
held him and Dennis hit him in the face with a baseball bat."
Ursula gasped.
"Yes, right across here -- " Roxanne traced her fingers across her
cheekbone and saw. "Well, Daniel, he just blinked and then he like to
went crazy. He just sort of bucked and got loose from Eddy and Dennis
started running like crazy. Daniel picked Eddy up -- "
"Big fat Eddy? He picked him up?"
"I saw it. Like he was nothing. And he threw him over the fence
into the greengrass reserve. Then he ran Danny down and punched him in
the head. That's why Dennis has that scar on his forehead, from the
stitches. I think he would have killed him if Dennis had tried to get
up, but he's a chicken and he stayed down.
"You think he's just this nice guy because he doesn't act weird all
the time and he reads books and he's polite and he's not always
fighting. But I'll tell you something, Ursula -- I've seen him when he's
mad and I can believe my brother when he says the Stompers are afraid of
him. A guy you can hit in the face with a ball bat and and all it does
is piss him off -- that's not someone to mess with. What do you think he
might do if he found out about you and this guy?"
Ursula tried to sift through all the new information and finally
came to her conclusion. "Nothing," she said. "Because he doesn't care
about me at all. I'm nobody to him."
Roxanne stood, looking at her strangely. "Don't be too sure about
that. And things can change, you know."
Ursula lay in her maiden's bed that night with her hand idly moving
over her still-sopping pussy. Roxanne was right; she had never
considered what He might think if He found out about her exploits. But
he had never given any indication to her that he had the least interest
in her. Besides, he wasn't the only guy in the world. There were others,
and they thought she was sexy and attractive and wanted her. They were
nice to her and took her places and drove her in nice cars with the tops
down. They had hard cocks and some of them had knowing hands and tongues
and, most important, they were available.
And, until September, Daniel was not. And even then, he wasn't all
that available.
In the meantime --
She thought of Johnny, here, in this very bed with her. She thought
of his hands on her breast and between her legs. She thought of his lips
and tongue on hers and maybe -- no; certainly -- on her breasts. She
wondered if she could get him to --
What was it the book had called it? "Gamahuche" her. That was it.
Lick her pussy and clitoris.
Holding that thought, she rolled over and buried her face in the
pillow and imagined Johnny -- or was it Father Clement? -- licking her
pussy and then impaling her with his hard cock and dumping his hot semen
into her clutching little pussy.
By noon the next day, Ursula was in high arousal. Her mother's
wake-up knock on her door interrupted a vivid dream of Johnny insisting
he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing her breasts and playing with
her clitoris while she masturbated him to endless, impossible streams of
semen that were steadily filling the bathtub in which she lay.
She found herself absent-mindedly caressing her pussy no matter
what she was doing -- watching TV, brushing her teeth, surveying the
contents of the refrigerator -- or where. She seemed unable to make her
little cunt stop drooling and itching, and her nipples actually ached
with their hardness. Pinching them, of course, did not relieve them.
At noon, she finally had to decide what to wear for his arrival. A
nightie? That was out; all of her nighties had animals on them or were
dramatically unattractive. Shorts and a shirt? Maybe, but they might
make her look even younger and the last thing she wanted was for him to
show up and suspect her lie. Finally, she decided that what seemed to
draw boys most was her bust. She dug through her dresser drawer until
she found the tanktop tee-shirt for camp workouts. She put it on and
checked in the mirror.
Perfect. Her tits were so large that the too-small shirt only
emphasized them. It was so tight, where it did cover her, that her
breasts were almost visible through the tight material. And it didn't
cover her completely. The armholes were stretched by her breasts so the
sides of the firm, creamy swells were visible. She stepped into her
yellow panties, snugging them around the chubby morsel of her pubis, and
then pulled on her only pair of jeans -- bought with her saved allowance
money and permitted only when she was going out in the cooler weather.
She checked herself in the mirror again, posing and turning. The
jeans weren't as tight as she would have liked, but they were tight
enough to show the wiggle of her tiny butt. Ursula was counting on
Johnny's eyes never getting below her tits.
She braided her hair carefully, a tedious process, and then sat
down to wait. Fifteen minutes, assuming he was on time. The clock seemed
to pause longer and longer between ticks. Maybe it had stopped? If so,
he was late -- or not coming.
She went to the living room, opening the window to watch for him.
As soon as the window was open, she heard the rude BRRRRT of the
doorbell. Ursula closed the window and scooted to the kitchen, pressing
the button of the entrance buzzer and listening carefully for the
downstairs door slamming back into place before relenting.
The shadow on the frosted, mesh-glass of the door to her apartment
was his. She undid the locks and opened the door and he stepped quickly
inside. "Hi, baby!"
She closed the door and leaned up on tip toes to kiss his cheek.
"I'm glad you came."
"Yeah, well, uh, yeah." He looked her up and down nervously. His
eyes went to her breasts, her face, her breasts, down the hallway, her
breasts, into the master bedroom, her breasts, her face, her breasts. He
rubbed his nose, brushed back his hair, danced from one foot to the
other, brushed back his hair, put his hands in his pockets, took them
out, brushed back his hair, scratched his arm, brushed back his hair and
put his hands in his pockets. "Like, uh, you're all alone, huh?"
"Not anymore." She slipped her arm through his and led him toward
the living room. He glanced nervously at the bed as they traversed the
master bedroom. "Would you like a drink of water or something?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Sit here." She pushed him gently onto the big old couch. He looked
all around the room. It was, of course, impeccably neat and clean. When
she returned, carrying two glasses of water she smiled at him. "Johnny,
I am really glad you came. I was thinking about you all night."
"Oh, yeah? You were, huh?"
She set the glasses down on the little occasional table in front of
the couch, bending and enjoying the way his gaze focused on her tits.
She could already see the lump hardening in his jeans.
Ursula straightened and went to the windows, drawing the curtains.
"What're you doing that for?" he asked suddenly, as if her movement
made him even more nervous.
"Sunlight's bad for the carpet," she explained. "Besides, it's hot
enough in her."
"Oh, yeah, right." He sipped the water cautiously. "So, uh, what've
you been doing?"
"I told you," she said, stepped directly in front of him. She
nudged his legs apart and stood between his knees. "Waiting for you."
Her tits were right at his eye level and her nipples stuck out against
the flimsy shirt as if trying to burrow through the cotton.
"Jeez."
She took the glass from him and slowly drank from it, upending the
glass and putting her head back. She was purposely sloppy and half the
water ran down her chin and onto her shirt, soaking it.
"Look familiar, Johnny?" She put the glass down. "Oh, my, I've
gotten my shirt all wet. I better take it off before I catch a death of
cold."
She put her hands at her waist and slowly, wiggling her hips
gently, pulled the shirt upward. The water had soaked down below her
breasts and the shirt clung damply to her skin as she pulled it upward.
It felt like a huge kiss when it separated wetly from her skin.
She pulled it up and over her head, taking a long time about it,
knowing the picture she presented -- she'd posed in the mirror that way
often enough. Her arms high, her breasts were tautly raised and her
nipples were swollen to hard points. She dropped the shirt on the table
behind her and looked down.
"Touch me, Johnny -- I want it!"
His hands came up and covered her tits lightly, as if they were the
delicate china that was their complexion and might shatter. He rubbed
his thumbs over her nipples and she groaned and slowly brought her arms
down to rest across his shoulders. He leaned forward and covered one
nipple with his mouth, sucking and tonguing the turgid flesh avidly.
Suddenly, he pulled away and dropped his hands. "I shouldn't be
doing this!"
"Why not?"
"Because you're -- I can't believe this -- you're only twelve!
You're just a kid!"
She put her hands on either side of his face and drew it to her
breasts. "A kid? Just a kid?"
"You're so damn sexy -- " He dove his face forward and licked and
sucked her tits frantically, as if having gone this far, he was lost
anyhow and might as well give in completely.
Ursula released a deep sigh of pleasure at what his mouth was
doing, then another when she felt his arms go around her. His hands were
all over her slim back, then dropping to squeeze her hard little butt
through her jeans and panties. She brought her hands to her waist and
unfastened and unzipped her jeans.
"Push them down?" she pleaded. "Please?"
She felt the jeans slide off her narrow hips and fall about her
lanky thighs and finally catch around her ankles. She stepped out of
them as he reached between her legs from behind and rubbed and prodded
the panty-clad slit that was oozing so much juice in happy anticipation.
Ursula put her hands on his jaw and pulled him up from the couch.
"Come with me to my bedroom," she said. Half-dazed, the tough gang-
member let the nearly-naked 12-year-old nymphette lead him by the hand
out of the living room. He hesitated in the master bedroom.
"Not here," she said. "In my bed, so it can be what I was imagining
last night in my bed while I was playing with myself."
At her door, he said, "You play with yourself?"
"All the time." She led him inside and sat on her narrow bed. He
would've looked around the room -- he'd never been in any girl's room
except his older sister's, once, before she threw him out -- except she
was distracting him irresistibly with what she was doing.
She was unbuckling his combat belt.
"Take off your shirt," she said. He pulled the sleeveless tee-shirt
over his head, revealing a stringy, well-muscled body with a thick patch
of dark hair on his chest. She ran one hand through it. "Nice," she
whispered and kissed his belly. She kept kissing his belly as she
returned to opening his pants. The zipper sounded very loud. She pushed
his pants down to his ankles.
"Shoes," she said and he worked his way out of them without using
his hands or loosening the laces.
His cock was making a tent of his boxer shorts. She put her hand
into the opening and grabbed his meat and pulled it out.
It was, she thought, absolutely gorgeous. Six or seven inches long,
almost too thick for her touch her thumb and forefinger around it and
hard as iron in her grip. And hot! The glans was swollen and purple and
unbelievably soft to her touch.
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She leaned forward and kissed it.
"Shit!" he gasped.
"You like that?"
"Yeah!"
She did it again, this time parting her lips a little and letting
the tip of her little tongue work across the velvety smoothness.
"Damn-damn-damn-damn-" he moaned. He put his hands on her
shoulders, caressing, then dropped lower to cup her ripe young tits.
She opened her lips, just as she read, and sucked his cock into her
young mouth. When it hit the back of her mouth, she backed off. She
gripped the shaft with one hand and began moving her mouth up and down
on him, clasping him with her lips and sucking urgently. His hands went
to her head and he started thrusting his hips at her -- too hard.
She jerked her head back. "No! I'll do this my way! You're hurting
me that way!"
He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I'm sorry, baby, it
just felt so good." He caressed her head and then put his hands on her
shoulders. She took his cock back into her mouth and felt the tension in
him as he fought the urge to resume fucking her face.
"Baby, you're gonna make me cum in your mouth," he warned.
She pulled back, releasing his thick prick with a pop. "Don't you
want to?"
"Yeah, but, you know, I was thinking maybe you'd rather have me in
you, or maybe you wouldn't want me to cum in your mouth."
"That's sweet, but I won't know if I like it until I try it,
right?"
"You never did this before?" He sounded horrified. "Hey, you ain't
a cherry, are you?"
"I'm no virgin," she said and he visibly relaxed. "But I never
sucked a man before and I want to know what it's like." She kissed the
underside of his glans. "So far, I like it!" And she started sucking
again. She put her free hand between her own legs and began rubbing her
pussy and clitoris through her wet panties. She was already close to
cumming, herself, and knowing what a hot and nasty thing she was doing
was turning her on even more.
Johnny began moaning urgently. His hands tightened carefully on her
shoulders. She sucked harder and rubbed her tongue on the underside of
his glans.
"I'm almost there, baby!"
She moaned around her mouthful of cock and jerked on his shaft.
"Oh, yeah!"
There was an eruption in her mouth. His cock swelled, lurched, and
then he was shooting a powerful stream of that thick cream right into
the hot suction of her mouth. Ursula squeezed her pussy, jerked on his
cock, swallowed and sucked in another geyser -- and came herself. She
moaned and writhed where she sat on her bed and sucked still more of the
thick jism from him. It was so hot and so copious! He kept cumming and
she tried to hold it in her mouth, but her cheeks bloated and she had to
swallow. Shy jerked back hard on his cock, toward the base, and was
rewarded with another blast of his cum. She knew she turned him on,
because he came a lot for her.
Finally, even he had to slow his spurts. There were a few shots of
reduced volume and then some dry spasms, but there was no more cum. She
sucked as hard she could, wanting to be sure she milked every drop from
his lovely dick, then she held his meat with two fingers and licked all
around it.
She looked up and found him staring, slack-jawed at her.
As he looked down at the pretty 12-year-old face and mouth that had
just drained him -- and she'd claimed it was her first time -- Johnny
couldn't believe how sexy she was.
She watched him panting.
"Baby, you are the best!" he said. He caressed her face. She turned
her head and kissed his hand. "How did you like it?"
She closed her eyes and shivered. "I'm not crazy about the taste,
but it made me so hot to be sucking your -- your cock and doing
something so nasty that I came, too, just rubbing my pussy."
His cock was only half-hard, but still stuck out of his boxer
shorts. She pushed them off his legs, then helped his socks off. He had
thick, dark brown hair around the base of his cock, and his balls looked
-- well, strange. How odd to have part of you hanging outside your body
like that, she thought. His scrotum and testicles looked like an
afterthought by the designer.
Ursula lay back on the bed, knees bent at the edge and arms
stretched over her head. His gaze went up and down her form, drinking it
in. The way he looked at her made her even wetter. The way she looked to
him started pumping erection-sustaining blood back into his teenaged
cock.
"Wouldn't you like to come down here and touch me some more?"
"Hell, yes!" He lay down next to her and began running his hands
over her tits. He played with her nipples and she put one arm around his
shoulders.
"Kiss me?"
He looked at her oddly, with a hint of distaste. "You just sucked
me off."
"If my lips are good enough for that, they're good enough for a
kiss. Besides, it was your jism." She tilted her face up at him. "No
kisses, no more sucking."
He looked troubled, but he complied. He kept his lips closed at
first, then let his tongue penetrate her mouth only a little. Ursula
clasped it with her lips and sucked his tongue, using hers to play with
it. She could feel his resurrected hard-on pressed against her slender,
irrepressibly moving thighs.
When he broke off the kiss, she said. "Taste okay?"
"A little funny. But, I mean, you know -- I don't want to turn into
a faggot."
She gave him a puzzled look.
"You know -- a queer, a homo. Guys who like the taste of jism are
faggots."
"So I'm a faggot?"
He looked truly troubled by the question. "You can't be no faggot;
you're a girl."
"You noticed!"
"Yeah..." And he bent to kiss and lick her upthrust breasts, laving
the precocious thrust of her tits with his tongue and lips. He paused at
her nipples to suck hard, then soft, then twirl his tongue on them. She
caught his hand in hers and pushed it down to her waist and guided it
inside her panties.
He quickly found her slit and thrust a long finger deep inside,
working it in and out in a fucking motion. What she liked was the way
his palm was pressed against her clitoris. At last -- someone else's
hand was on her magic button! She writhed and ground her cunt against
his hand, reveling in several minor orgasms from the combination of his
lips on her tits and her hand against her clitty and, as afterthought,
the minor stimulation of his finger in her tight cunt.
Upon which he remarked, thusly:
"Damn all, but you are tight! And wet!"
"I've been wet since yesterday."
He bent and pulled her panties down. He frowned.
"What?"
"It's -- I don't know. You don't have any hair down there. You're
like a little girl."
"I am a little girl, you dope," she said playfully.
"But you got such big knobs and you sucked -- Where did you learn
to suck like that?"
She noticed that he'd put his hand back on her abdomen, nearly
covering it.
"From a book."
"Must be a hell of a book. You got it?"
"Sure." She turned and reached between her mattress and box spring.
She withdrew the book and handed it to him. He immediately opened it.
"Hey, there ain't no pictures!"
"Sure there are," she said, sitting up with the easy limberness of
youth. "In here." She tapped the side of his head.
"Huh?"
"Reading this puts plenty of pictures in your head."
"Yeah?" He closed it and looked at the cover. She watched his lips
moving -- slowly -- as he puzzled out the words. "Yeah?"
She took the book and opened it at random: " -- couldn't believe
the ease with which she accepted the mighty stanchion. His enormous
prick had nearly split her in two, yet her friend seemed to accommodate
it easily and already made the happy sounds of pleasure as he fucked her
young cunt with abandon -- "
She closed the book. His eyes looked a bit glazed. He said, "You
learned to suck cock like that reading that book?"
She nodded.
"I'll be damned."
"Enough literature for now," she said, laying back and reaching up
to put her hands on either side of his face. "I want you to suck my
nipples."
"Now you're talking!" He happily dived back to mouthing her tits.
His hand found its way, without urging, to her cunt. Her hairlessness
seemed no problem at the moment.
Soon, she was writhing and bucking beneath his kisses and
fondlings. Finally, she couldn't bear it any more.
"Johnny! I want you to do something to me!"
"Anything!"
"I want you to -- to gamahuche me!"
He blinked at her. "What? Gamawhat?"
"I want you to -- to lick my pussy and kiss my clitty!"
"Kiss your what?"
"My clitoris!"
"What's that? And I ain't about to lick no pussies, no way. That's
where girls pee!"
"But I sucked you!" She was shocked at his resistance and doubly
shocked at his ignorance.
"That's...right. But it's different."
She could see she was facing an invincible ignorance. By way of
reply, she pulled his head down to her breasts and enjoyed his fingering
and tit-sucking.
Eventually, he climbed over her. She reached between them and
guided his cock to the entrance of her quim and they both groaned as he
worked his way into her tight little cunt. It stretched her 12-year-old
pussy immensely, but it didn't -- quite -- hurt. She was very wet and
very horny. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs and
pulled herself up and onto him.
He immediately began flailing away, which was great, and let his
entire weight rest on her, which was not so great. She finally convinced
him to stop long enough to let her wheeze out that he had to hold
himself up on his arms so she didn't suffocate. During this brief
interlude, he continued pounding his cock into her as hard as he could.
But it felt good -- it felt very, very good -- and she started
cumming quickly. Again and again, she reached a peak, mellowed slightly,
then peaked again. He knew when she was cumming, too, because he moaned
about her cunt sucking on him.
When she slipped her hand down to her crotch and let her fingers
lightly rest on his pistoning prick, he moaned at the touch and thrust
all the harder. But when she put her fingers on her clitoris and started
massaging it, her orgasms became still more powerful, more compelling,
her cunt locking down on him and pulling him deeper into her. He let out
a roar and drove into her as hard as he could and held himself there.
Her cunt was coating his cock and she could feel his spasms through her
own as he poured his hot, teenaged load deep into her quivering little
body.
She was already juicy and his semen quickly filled and overflowed
her prick-packed vagina. The stuff ran down over her upturned ass
cheeks, slicking the small, hard masses of lean muscle. When he gave out
a death-rattle groan and began collapsing on her, she was still totally
gripped in the wracking throes of orgasm.
It took long seconds to work herself out from under his all-but-
inert bulk weighing down on her, but she managed. As he snored, she
stood on quivering legs and checked the clock: 3:15. Ursula looked down
at his muscular, but unconscious, form and sighed. This was a lot of
fun. She had cum just as much as she'd thought she might, and part of it
was the knowing that he would do whatever she wanted, as long as she
kept making him feel good.
But he had downright refused to do something she really craved and
he was as stupid as a stone. She corrected herself. Actually, he might
be very bright; he was merely illiterate -- which to her was a damning
quality.
Still, she could have this fun with him.
She went to the bathroom. She was going to use the hose to wash
herself out, then wake him and thank him and see him on his way. He was
really nice enough and well-meaning, but he wasn't what she wanted. She
was sure there were plenty of Johnnys out there with whom she could have
fun, manipulating them into pleasuring her. She wanted a man who would
do the things she liked because he wanted to, a man who was at least as
smart and well-read as she was and willing to make her cum a lot because
that was what he wanted, too -- to make her cum.
As she used her home-made douche on herself, Ursula told herself
there was no point in ducking it any more. What she wanted was a Daniel.
Well, she told herself, I'm going to have him!
CHAPTER FIVE
"Hi!"
"Hi, Roxanne!" Ursula stepped back and wave her friend into her
apartment, locking the door behind her. In the two weeks since he first
-- and only -- session with Johnny, Roxanne had pumped the explosively
developing 12-year-old for every detail and bit of information she could
get. Did he kiss her nipples and suck them? Did it feel good? She did
what to his what??? Eeeuuwww! What was it like? Was it gross? She
actually what when he shot? And when he was inside --
It had taken many sessions of many hours to make even a dent in
Roxanne's curiosity.
But it was the only session with Johnny because he was getting
ragged on by his friends for being a "cradle-robber." At least, that was
what he'd said when he called her and told her he wasn't going to be
seeing her any more. Not that he didn't want to -- he did! -- but he had
to have respect from the other Stompers and, Well, You Know How it Is.
Roxanne tanned well and Ursula was a bit jealous of her taller,
rangier friend's shapely legs and rich, glowing complexion. Ursula had a
typical redhead's problem with the sun: She burned fine, but didn't tan
worth a damn.
Roxanne was striding toward the kitchen in her self-assured way.
She always did this -- walked right in and made herself at home.
Somehow, though, Ursula found it endearing. In many way they were more
like sisters and friends then friends or sisters only. "Well, I have two
bits of news for you," Roxanne said loudly as she strode down the
hallway.
"Like what?"
"I saw Daniel yesterday and -- "
"You did? Where? When? What was he doing? Was he with anyone? What
did he say?"
Ursula was looking into the refrigerator. She selected a glass jar
filled with orange juice, unscrewed the cap and swigged away at it.
"He was just checking on his apartment; said he was told to pick up
the mail and check the place over. He was by around two o'clock -- "
Ursula had been running errands.
" -- and he was alone."
Good, she thought. "What did he say? Did you talk much?"
"I guess for about a half-hour. He has two part-time summer jobs,
at the A out there near the beach house, and working in a hamburger
place near the amusement park."
"How'd he look?"
For the first in all the time she'd known Roxanne, Ursula saw her
friend w
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