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chap. 4...blondy- blond and the gobblecock
chap. 4...blondy- blond and the gobblecock
Tragedy doesn't sneak up like a thief, it pounces like a snarling tiger. Dana had a twin sister and they were close, as twins usually are. Her sister was a bit heavier and slightly taller, more big boned. They had the same wavy blond hair and long slender waists, but Dawn's face was fuller and her baby blue eyes didn't sparkle with the same intensity as her sister's. She was coming home from a concert in Chapel Hill one night when the kid driving fell asleep and crossed the median. She was killed instantly. The tiger pounces. It changed Dana's entire perception of the world.
Lori was the first one to see Dana after the wreck. She showed up early the next morning and led the hollow-eyed, sleepless Dana, still in her nightgown, from the dark bleakness of the death house out to her car where they sat and smoked a joint. Lori listened as she raged and held her tight as she cried. And she always loved Lori for that. Whatever else you might say about her, and everybody had an opinion, Lori was pure at her innermost core. She was also the only true nymphomaniac I have ever met. Not to say that is a bad thing.
She was three quarters Cherokee, dark skinned exotic with long jet black hair and her father was chief of police in our small treelined town. At thirteen she was a full blossomed red,red rose of a woman. We grew up together, running the dark streets at night, listening to music after school and watching tv. We became fast friends, but that is as far as it went. Lori liked the truly dangerous boys, the bareknuckled schoolyard brawlers and petty thieves. I didn't piss off her father enough and that was the whole point.
Dana and Lori had an on again off again kind of friendship, and after we split up, they went through a cycle of closeness. When they needed cash, sometimes they would sell pussy together at the truck stop out on 95. There was a small trailer behind back and all they had to do was show up, fuck a couple of anonymous horny truck drivers, and leave with a couple of hundred each within an hour. The house took ten percent and nobody was ever any wiser. I only found out by accident. Jeff was a truck driver and he said they were famous up and down 95. From as far north and south as the Pedro billboards stretched they were known as Blondy-blond and the gobblecock.
Dana played her sad part all the way. Dawn had been dead a year, and doors that been open were now shut tight and locked. After she started selling bits of herself, she soon fell into the basement of despair. Decadence is as decadence does. Ahead lay stormy seas.
But it was all bright sunshine to Lori. If she could make money for what she loved to do free, she was ecstatic.
One spring morning at our house on the lake I got up to make coffee and Lori was asleep, half covered on the couch. The tv was on, muted. She was on her back and her long black hair lay out like a fan behind her. One muscular brown leg lay off the couch and her legs spread apart. Her thick patch of dark pubic hair glistened in the soft morning light. The deep rich aroma of arousal came from her, pungent as low tide. I inhaled and savored its exotic richness. The door to Jeff's bedroom was open, but he was gone. I rattled dishes and she was soon roused and sitting up rubbing her face.
"Get me a shirt," she said. So I got her a large t shirt and she put it on under the blanket.
"Jeff left early and I wanted to watch tv,' she said.
"How's Dana?" I asked, nonchalantly.
"I worry about that girl. She's on the maddog.
She's doing some dangerous dudes."
Lori lay back down and pulled the white t shirt as far down as it would go. Her breasts were like two large mountains straining through. She crossed her brown legs and looked up at the ceiling.
"I'm still sleepy. Let me lay down with you."
"You're not getting any pussy," she said. "We're too good friends for that." She gave me a skeptical look. I smiled and whispered "please" and her hard brown eyes softened. She slid over and I crawled beside her.
"Don't even try. I'm going back to sleep."
She lay on her back with her eyes closed. I lay beside her on my back. Then I stood up and took off my sweatpants and lay back down in my underwear.
"You're not getting any pussy," she repeated.
A few minutes passed and she was out. I put my hand on her shoulder and slowly began making small circles with just the tips of my fingers. I kept this up until I had worked to her elbow and then down to her wrist and fingers. Slowly , softly, ever so sensual in its persistence, circles, soft easy circles. After fifteen minutes my fingertips were on the smooth taunt skin of her legs. I worked circles into her thigh, she barely felt me, It was so easy, so easy to be mistaken. But it feels so good. Her thighs fell apart and her breathing became faster. Her loud heartbeats broke the silence. I worked circles with my fingertips at the top of her thick triangle, tickling and lightly pulling at the hair.
I put two fingers together and gently moved them in circles around her slit. It was already soaking wet. I put just the tips of the fingers in her, then I used their resulting slickness to coat her enlarged clitoris. She had big meaty labia. As slowly as I could I slid my fingers back into her, a little deeper this time. Then I slid them back up and did wet circles again. I did this for about an hour, never stopping, slowly, slowly, slowly as she moaned in her sleep, and came time and again under my fingers.
The last time, she woke at the intensity of her orgasm. Her hips pushed hard against my hand. I had her pussy in my palm and the big outer lips stretched between my fingers in loose folds. Her aroma saturated the room with it's deep muskiness. She gripped my face with her hands and looked me in the eye. Then she exploded, and for a couple of minutes she was lost in her own sweet oblivion. The little death.
She lay back on the couch and relaxed. Her hips moved lasciviously against my fingers as they slid in and out of her.
"God. I have been dreaming about that for an hour," she said. The t shirt was wet and clung to her body. Her brown nipples were still hard. The heavy funky odor of sex was everywhere.
I took a last look at her famous slit and believe me it was a glorious cavern, full of false starts and wrong turns and sweet crevices that I wanted to explore, spelunkering deep down into those mysterious recesses.
"Imagine that,"I said.