Darkside girl #39

Then just as soon as I got inside, the strangest thought hit me: Did I just fuck somebody?
Darkside girl #39
My mind at the time could only run in patterned grooves. I had the cigarette, the next thing was a beer, and then when I found myself standing in front of the toilet not needing to pee I was at a loss until my finger tips touched the slight remaining wetness her pussy had left at the base of my cock, and I sniffed my finger tips to be sure. Oh, yeah I was trying to figure out if I’d fucked someone only minutes before, or was it Memorex. Well, it was real alright, and I had that sinking feeling that everything was far from alright.
Chugging on the beer I headed for the couch to contemplate this latest turn of events and wondered if what I had felt might have been left over from the night before. I’d scored with Bessie in the back seat of someone’s car, and then had another darkside visit later, and the only thing I could really remember about Side-winder, was how wet she was. It was a nice try, but she wasn’t that wet and thick, and since I’d caught myself looking for a mental escape hatch I figured I better face my growing fear and figure out what I was trying to hide from myself.
Who was she? As usual, if this was going to be trouble I was already at a big disappointment because she obviously knew who I was and I couldn’t place her. Could I picture her? My mind went back to the musty stench of the rabbit hutch. I could see her face and short brown hair. Not a clue. Watching in my mind as her rising dress began to uncover her body, they were all negative signs. Skinny legs, long but crooked; no hips, long flat belly, tiny white bra, but no hint. Tiny little tits that looked puffy with boy nipples, one little mole. Here public bone coming into view, big disappointment, hardly any public hair. Little skinny girl pussy, with luxury the consistency of warm water against my hand as I inserted my cock in her. Damn, glad I wasout of beer because I was out of clues and the walk back to the fridge gave me something else to think about except the possibilities of brothers or mad parents kicking down my door, again.
I got the beer and got the refrigerator door closed but that was about as far as I made it before I was leaning against the wall wondering who she was and why I had fucked her if there was nothing that really attracted me. There was something there though; brothers; wet warm pussy; that tiny beauty-mole mark, the way she tried to tune the penetration of my cock out, like abused ones do. The way I made it hurt while thinking you Deserve this the way I always do. I lit another cigarette and realized I was holding an empty beer can. “Oh,” I thought, “I came in here to get another beer, two would be just right”, so a grabbed another one and puffed my way back to the couch.
As I plopped down on the couch I was thinking brother-abused not father abused, she didn’t have that deeply disturbedand total blankness. The beer was starting to slide down when I suddenly thought beauty-mole-mark, and could hear my younger brother teasing a young girl about it. She had her training bra up and was pointing to it. That was about a year ago, just after he and I had started living on our own. I could see her and her little blond friend turning to point their little budding tits at me as I walked in the room. They were still smiling when I took a swipe at my brother and asked him what he was doing with those little 12 years-olds in our house.
Eli, Ellsie, something like that was defiant. She was no little girl she knew how to screw and would show me right there. I told her she and her little blond friend would be showing their tits to the neighborhood when I throw them out the door. It was the start of a bad scene that split me and my little brother up, and it wasn’t a week later when I woke up alone in the wee hours of the morning feeling my hand being pressed against a warm wetbald pussy, and Eli was the one doing the pressing. I threatened to call the town cop on her that time. And now that I just fucked a 13 year-old she could call the cops on me.
I looked at our old beat up travel alarm and realized I was already late for work. I tried to jump to me feet and run for the door and instead my feet reminded me I’d just chugged three beers instead of two.
I was pretty sure I left her hurt and sobbing in her rabbit hut but as soon as I hit the street the was smiling and waving again. Why couldn’t they learn to hate me, instead of want me to fuck them?