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Message-ID: <39236asstr$1036923003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com>
Subject: {ASSM} (Song Fest) Her Boyfriend's Back (RP) (MF) ~ by DrSpin
Date: Sun, 10 Nov 2002 05:10:03 -0500
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Her Boyfriend's Back (MF)
by Neil Anthony/DrSpin

---------------------------------------------------------
* This story is published here by kind permission of Ruthie's 
Club, where it appeared illustrated by Lloyd W. Meek under an 
exclusivity period for six months. Ruthie's Club 
(http://www.ruthiesclub.com) carries about 40 more of my new 
stories. 

* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers 
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com

* DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: 
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is 
to it. Any reader who is offended should not have been here 
in the first place.
---------------------------------------------------------

 "He went away and you hung around 
"And bothered me every night
"And when I wouldn't go out with you
"You said things that weren't very nice"

-- My Boyfriend's Back (The Angels, 1963)
Words and Music by Robert Feldman, Gerald Goldstein, and 
Richard Gottehrer

* * *

I picked up the telephone on the third ring. "Midge Maguire is 
back," advised Tom Girling, a pal. There was more than a trace 
of humour in his voice. "Just thought you ought to know."

"Shit." I meant it. I thought he wasn't due back in town for 
another six months.

"Yeah," Tom said. "I saw him at the airport. He'll be here a 
week, taking a holiday, and then it's back to Antarctica to do 
his full term."

"Shit." 

"Yeah," said Tom. "See you around. Maybe." He rang off, 
laughing.

Shit. I wasn't ready for Midge to be back in town. Would he 
find out? Would she tell him? Would anybody else tell him? 
Highly likely, I thought. He'd find out one way or the other I 
was screwing Dahlia Preston, his girlfriend since our 
schooldays, and then he'd come looking for me. And when he 
found me, he'd tear me apart.

There was no defence against Midge Maguire. Nothing short of 
an anti-tank missile could stop him. Midge was short for 
midget. It was one of those nickname things, like calling 
redheads "Blue" and short guys "Lofty". Midge Maguire was a 
monster. He shared a mother with Godzilla.

He'd been doing some quasi-scientist thing down in Antarctica. 
The money was sensational, and Midge was planning to buy a 
house with his earnings and marry his darling Dahlia, the 
only girl he'd ever gone with. But Dahlia was not as sweet as 
Midge thought she was. Oh no. She wasn't. She played the shy 
violet with Midge, but she was an exotic flaming-red hibiscus 
with me. Oh yes. She was.

She was a cunning minx, and she could twist Midge around her 
little finger. Somehow she'd manage to come out of this 
smelling like a pure white rose. Which was bad, bad trouble 
for yours truly.

"The trouble with Midge," she breathed into my ear as were 
dancing a slow dance, "is that he's not exactly a turn-on. A 
great guy, Midge, and I'm surely going to marry him. But sexy, 
he's not."

"Dahlia, I don't think you should be telling me this. Midge is 
my friend." But I was only going through the motions. Dahlia 
had her body pushed up against mine, sliding it suggestively. 
My cock was as hard as a bone, and it desperately wanted to 
know what she would say next.

"Now you," she said. "You're sexy. Touch me, and I get hot. 
Look at me, and I get hot. Talk to me, and I get hot."

"Dahlia, I'm supposed to be doing Midge a favour. I've taken 
you to this dance tonight because he asked me to do it. He 
trusts me."

"Fuck him," she said, skating her abdomen across my cock and 
clutching a hand into my buttock. "He's gone to the bottom of 
the world. He's there and he's cold, and I'm here and I'm hot. 
Timmyboy, let's go to your place."

She told no lies. She was hot. She burned, she yearned. Dahlia 
was lean, athletic, flexible, pliable. "Do it to me this way," 
she urged.

She sighed, begged, cajoled, made me feel like a star. She 
wanted it, as much as she could get, and I gave more than I 
thought I had. We fucked ourselves a typhoon. It was 
destructively sensational.

I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Felt like I'd run a 
half-marathon. Gently, she placed a cup of strong, black 
coffee on the bed. "Got to go," she said. She was fully 
dressed, and her face was full of smiles.

I nodded weakly, sleep tugging me back under. "That was too 
good for a one night stand," she said. "I'll be back."

She was irresistible. Two nights later, when next she came, 
she danced a ballet sequence for me, wearing only leg warmers, 
a headband, and dance slippers. She'd trained when she was 
younger, and she knew what she was doing. It was entrancing, 
intoxicating. I fucked her against the wall, ramming into her 
like a burrowing animal, before the music stopped.

"Does Midge get to see you like this?" I asked her later, as 
she was curled up on the rug, legs drawn up, sex swollen, 
protruding, glistening.

"Nah," she said scornfully. "Art and seduction are wasted on 
him. Strictly a missionary, our Midge. You now, you're a 
connoisseur. You appreciate me."

"Jesus, Dahlia. You're a fuck machine."

She chuckled contentedly. "Only for a while, Timmy. Something 
to get out of my system, before I settle down."

She went on a nine-week rampage. She oiled her body, and 
crawled blindfolded across the floor, mouth open, searching 
for my cock. She came to me with experimental positions 
sketched on a slip of paper. She wanted every experience 
possible. She was insatiable.

"One day Midge will come back," I said. "What then?"

"Then you're dumped, Timmy. That's what then."

"Dahlia, you're an awful person. You're using me for sex."

"Spot on," she agreed. "Are you complaining?"

I wasn't. She was a feverishly erotic dream on tape loop. It 
was Satanic in its wickedness. Never were a man and a woman 
designed better for it.

Then Midge came back. It was six o'clock in the morning and I 
was in bed, alone, asleep. He bashed aside the front door with 
his shoulder, splintering the frame, seized me by an arm as I 
blinked my eyes, and threw me cold and naked on the floor.

He loomed over me. His expression was sorrowful. "I'll have to 
beat you, Tim. You know that, don't you?"

I nodded. Yes, I knew it.

"It's not 'cause you hit on her," he said. "I can understand 
that. She's a great girl. It's 'cause you told lies about her 
when she knocked you back. Half the town thinks you fucked 
her. So I have to beat you. Understand?"

I nodded. Yes, I understood.

I took the week off work. I stayed mostly in bed, ate food 
gingerly, drank lots of water. Didn't bother going to a 
doctor. I was sure I had a cracked rib, but that heals by 
itself.

Dahlia was back just after Midge's plane left the tarmac. 
"Well, that worked out all right," she said, sitting herself 
on my bed. "He's a nice man, but so gullible."

"Yeah," I said dryly. "He just knows you'd never cheat on him. 
Told me so himself. Made it pretty clear."

"Now we have six whole months in the clear," she said, snaking 
a hand under the bedclothes.

She brushed my ribs, and I groaned. "But then I'll have to 
take another beating."

Her hand closed around my stiffening cock. "But isn't that a 
small price to pay?"

Good question. I was going to have to come up with an answer 
sooner or later.

ENDS

Edited by Ruthie and Nat.

* DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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