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From: "Mr. Variag" <ludmax11@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Barbara" (Varangian) (MF)
Date: Tue, 31 Dec 2002 07:10:03 -0500
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Barbara
a Short Story
Copyright (C) 2002, Varangian






"It's gin, gin, gin,
"That makes you want to sin --
"In the halls, in the halls."

The entire bus was singing, but Barbara, who sat beside me, leered
as she blared the words into my face.

"You spit on me!" I protested.

"Sorry, Matt," she apologized.  "Would you like to spit into my
mouth?  It's only fair."

The broad face, just a couple of inches from mine, invited a kiss,
but I turned my head aside.  The stocky girl had been after me the
entire weekend, fawning and pestering with unambiguous intent.  I
was hardly attracted to her starkly plain features, but she
thought, perhaps, that sheer persistence would win me -- that and
the lively, rebellious attitude which I found both refreshing and
attractive.  For that reason I had never rejected the girl
absolutely, and, in fact, had played word games with her, which
she seemed to find encouraging.

"I'm saving myself for my wedding night," I once declared
playfully, when she had cornered me behind the camp's dinning
hall.

"But you need practice, Matt," she replied.  "You don't want to
disappoint your bride."

She was wearing me down.  Although she claimed to be a virgin, her
leering behavior suggested otherwise.  More than once I had
contemplated finding out for sure and shedding my own virginity in
the process.  But she was not the sort of girl I wanted for my
first time.  I had seen her too often in a bathing suit.  She was
short, almost squat, and her curiously small breasts were
inconsistent with the overly padded torso.  Her legs, especially
the thighs, were thick.  She was not fat, though.  She was
athletic, like a female wrestler.

The noise in the bus was deafening.  I could not imagine how the
driver managed to steer straight.  Barbara leaned her head on my
shoulder.

"You don't have to be my boyfriend, if that's what's worrying
you," she said just loud enough to hear.

I turned my head to respond, brushing a cheek against her flaxen
hair.  It smelled of shampoo.

"You'd tie me with chains," I said.  "You'd parade me around
campus."

She raised her head suddenly, bumping my chin painfully.  "So
you've been thinking about it!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not stupid, Barbara. And I'm not deaf either.  You've left
nothing to my imagination."

"I may have some surprises for you," she countered, and returned
her head to my shoulder.  She was all words, outrageous talk.  She
never sought to touch me suggestively, which would have been gross
in any case.

The noisy party resounded, although people remained in their
seats.  Still I had the feeling that we were alone.  I pressed my
face to her hair, wanting to smell the shampoo again.

"I promise not to tie you down," she said.

I could scarcely hear her.  The situation was unbearable.  My
resistance began to crumble.  For one thing, I had never felt a
tit and thought she would permit a grope.  But when I reached over
to touch one, she pushed my hand away before I could measure it
with a palm.

"We have to kiss first, Matt!" she declared.

She turned her face up expectantly.  I touched her lips with mine,
intending just a peck, but she grabbed me with an arm and her
tongue invaded my mouth.  It was nice.  I kissed back.  When I
sought to break it, she refused, holding me tightly.

"Now you can feel my boobs," she said, relaxing once more against
my shoulder.

It was dark in the bus, and in any case no one was likely to
intrude.  I palmed the tit to learn that it did not entirely fill
my hand.  It was firm and pointy, very soft, unencumbered by a
bra.  I resented the cloth of her blouse that prevented me from
feeling the flesh, but when I sought to undo her top button, she
protested.

"Another kiss!" she demanded, turning her face up again.

For an instant I resented the blackmail, except that her lips were
sweet.  I kissed her soundly as I unbuttoned the blouse half way
down.  The naked softness was vastly more appealing than my
previous feel.  I played with a hard nipple, causing her to squirm
and giggle.

"You can kiss it, if you want," she offered through heavy
breathing.

I leaned down and suckled like a baby.  Her hands roamed my head,
pressing me to her.  She mewled.  I raised my head to kiss her
again, and she responded passionately.  She didn't protest my hand
on her bare thigh or my fingers touching her shorts at the groin.
In fact, she parted her legs and kissed more intensely.

"Higher!" she gasped.

With my mouth on hers I followed the instruction.  Her kisses grew
wild and wetter as she moaned against my lips.  Eventually, she
bucked, then squeaked.  The touch of the girl and her response had
enflamed me.  I wanted more, but she pushed my hand away when I
sought to undo her shorts.

"Don't undress me here," she said quite calmly.

"I'm hurting, Barbara!" I exclaimed.  "You got me all worked up!"

"Can't you wait, darling?" she asked sweetly.  "We'll be back at
school in a couple of hours."

"I need relief now!" I hissed into her ear.

"Oh," she said, suddenly understanding my plight. "You want me to
touch you."

"At least that," I whined.

She stared anxiously into my face in the dimness for long seconds.
Rain splattered against the windows.  The party was oblivious of
us.

"I've never done that before," she finally said.  "Aren't you
afraid somebody will see us?"

I could not just unzip and whip out my cock, because that would
have been too gross, but I grasped her hand and pressed it to my
hardness.  She flinched and giggled, but did not pull her hand
away.

"Is this what you need?" she asked, kneading my member.

"Not quite," I replied.  "Take it out."

"But there are people around!"

I fumbled for my windbreaker and draped it over my lap.  "Do it
now!" I insisted.

With awkward fingers she unzipped me and probed my shorts.  I had
to find an opening in the underpants to release the impatient
monster.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed when she placed her hand on it.  "That
feels strange."

I covered her hand with mine, squeezing it slightly, and began to
pump.  She looked into my eyes with some amusement, but I
concentrated on my growing pleasure.  I grunted as I came,
slimming our fingers beneath the coat.  I finally relaxed and
released her hand.

"I'm all messy!" she complained.

"Wipe it off against the seat," I suggested.

Instead she pulled on my T-shirt and used that.

For the rest of the bus trip she leaned against me, sought kisses
and called me darling.  Although I felt like I was in her trap, I
decided to score with the pudgy girl as soon as we could find some
privacy.


* * *


We moved slowly into the dark building, tripping up a short
staircase.  I had a key, because I was an assistant editor of the
student newspaper that had its office there.  More important was
the seminar meeting room on the first floor where we would have a
choice of several couches.  Just weeks before Barbara and I had
sat together on one for a session of freshman orientation.

"Won't somebody catch us?" she asked nervously.  "Maybe a
watchman?"

"They never come inside," I explained.  "They just wander the
campus."

Although I spoke clearly, my mind was distracted by the prospect
of getting laid for the first time.  We would do it in the dark,
so I could avoid looking at my prize.  I soon found that I was
mistaken in that assumption.  When we pushed open the door at the
end of the hall, I found the room dimly lit by lights from
outside.  I hurried her to a couch near the back wall where it was
darkest.

"Let's kiss for a while," she begged and pushed my hand away when
I sought to unbutton her blouse.  She quickly sat down, leaving me
standing.  I joined her and immediately began to grope her small
breasts.  But again she insisted on kissing, so I obliged her,
undoing the buttons while we traded spit.  I opened the garment
and pulled it from her shorts, but she refused to let me take it
off.  I leaned down to suckle each breast in turn.

"Will you kiss me like the French do?" she moaned as she caressed
my head.

"Didn't we just do that?" I asked, bringing my face to hers.

"You know what I mean," she stated emphatically.

I understood her request only after a moment.  "That's
disgusting," I objected, although I would have done it with a
beautiful, slender girl.

"I don't think so," she responded.

"You mean guys have gone down on you?"

"No.  I've never had a boyfriend."

That eliminated one half of the human race.  "You've done it with
a girl!"

She remained silent.  Then she asked, "Haven't you ever, you know,
played with another guy?"

"No!"

"Well, maybe girls are different.  It's not disgusting."

"What about sucking on a guy?  Have you ever thought about doing
that?"

"That would be messy," she answered after a brief pause. "But I'll
do it, if you lick on me."

I noticed a change in her attitude, in her voice.  She was
nervous.  "We don't have to do those things," I said.  "Aren't we
going all the way?"

"There's no hurry," she responded almost in a whisper.

I feared she was having second thoughts about fucking.  "You were
eager enough back at camp," I stated perhaps too harshly.

"I'm sorry," she whined.  "Could we kiss some more?"

At that moment I realized I wasn't going to get laid.  I abruptly
stood in angry frustration. Then I sat down again, understanding I
could get a blow job if I licked on her.  She pulled me to her
with amazing strength.  She was weeping.  "I'm sorry, Matt," she
gasped.

It was my worst nightmare, the one in which I find myself bound by
inexplicable ties to an adoring, homely, squat girl. She was no
longer the chipper, wise-cracking Barbara I knew.  But I felt more
sorry for her than for myself.  I really liked the girl.

"Let's just kiss," I said, cuddling her head to my chest.  "We
don't have to do anything more."

"I'll suck on you, Matt.  You don't have to lick on me, if you
don't want to."  She was crying.

"Let's just kiss some more," I repeated,  "then go back to the
dorm."

"I don't want to lose you!" she bawled.

It was an ugly situation.  I felt like a louse.  "We're still
friends," I said, "special friends."  I kissed her lips tenderly
with a hand on her cheek.  She held tightly to me like a person
drowning.



* * *


I observed over the next week or so that she began to wear slacks
on occasion and generally appeared much neater than before.  She
also did something to her hair.  I noticed too that small amounts
of make up, expertly applied, brightened her pale, plain face.

I could not take advantage of her, despite my horniness, because
of a curious guilt.  I had done nothing to warrant that feeling; I
had not seduced her or caused her to love me, for that's what it
seemed to be.  But a feeling of culpability nagged me, lurking
whenever we were together -- that and a sense of obligation.

There were a number of attractive girls on campus who showed some
interest in me.  I had been a popular guy in high school, and had
come to college with the expectation of scoring with someone
bright and pretty.  But my social life did not develop as I had
hoped, and I began to hold Barbara responsible.

"Are you interested in her?" she asked me in the cafeteria.,
suddenly appearing and sitting at my table immediately after a
pretty, slender girl had departed.

"We were just talking," I responded brusquely, although in fact I
had asked the girl for a date and she refused.

"She has a pretty face," Barbara continued, "but there isn't much
more to her.  I've seen her in the showers after gym and she's
really skinny."

"Do I need your approval to talk with someone?" I barked.

"I just though you'd like to know," she said with a hurt
expression on her broad face.

Not long after that episode in the cafeteria Barbara again
demonstrated her cloying devotion to me.  I wrote a piece in the
student paper on a political demonstration in response to which
the editor received several angry letters.  Barbara then wrote a
long critical piece in defense of my reporting and blasted the
critics.

"Why did you write that?" I asked her the next day.  "I know you
disagree with my views on the subject."

"Those other people weren't being fair," she replied.  "Someone
had to stand up for you."

She was always around, in my sight when not actually with me.  I
considered her a friend and did not discourage her or chase her
away, but I never asked her for a date.

"I know a girl who likes you, Matt," she told me once.  "At least
she said you're sexy and would like to try you out."

"She sounds like a tramp," I responded, although I wanted to learn
the girl's name.

"It's true that she's rather loose.  She's keeping a record of the
virgin boys she's had."

"Why are you telling me this, Barbara?  Are you trying to
embarrass me?"

The pudgy girl looked crestfallen.  "I thought you wanted to have
sex, if only a one night stand."


* * *


"Do you want to go exploring?" Barbara asked one Saturday morning,
three weeks after our fiasco in the lounge.

"What's to explore?" I replied.  "There's nothing but cornfields
around here."

"I know a place that's not plowed," she said.  "It's a creek with
willow trees along it.  I've seen it from the road and I'd like to
go there.  We could have a picnic."

It was a balmy, October day -- Indian summer.  "Sure," I agreed.
"Do you have the food?"

She nodded, gazing up at me like a devoted puppy.

We set off on foot an hour later.  I carried the basket and she
held my other hand as though she possessed it.  We walked in
silence, except for casual remarks.  We could not converse freely
because of the tension between us.

"Let's stop here," she suggested after a ten minute trudge through
harvested fields.

A creek bed stood before us with a shallow, stagnant pool covering
the center of its widest part.  A large willow offered shelter on
the other side, its branches cascading almost to the ground.  It
was a very agreeable setting, removed from the rest of the world.

I was ready to fuck her and had brought along three rubbers.  But
it was up to her to say yes or no, because I refused to pressure
the girl, and I could not promise love.

We just nibbled at the food that she spread on the checkered table
cloth, our legs dangling  over the creek bank.  She put down the
chicken leg and wiped her hands on a napkin.

"You can do what you want to me," she said with face averted.

I took hold of her bare, upper arm, felt it with both hands,
assayed it and found it not too thick.

"What do you want?" I asked.  "I don't intend to use you."

She riveted me with a stare.  "I wish you would," she declared.
"Then maybe we could talk about us."

Her words angered me.  I wanted a human frolic, not a feral
coupling.  I told her so.

"What do you expect from me, Matt?" she exclaimed.  "I can't be
more obvious.  I love you!"

She looked at my hands as I fondled her thigh.  I could feel the
strength in it.  She had conquered me, finally, after all that
pestering, and the realization of it seemed to set me free.

"I'll lick on you," I announced, meeting her face with a grin.

"You don't have to," she said, grinning back, euphoric relief
flooding her face.

"No," I said.  "I want to taste you while you're still a virgin."

"That's a sexist remark," she objected, still smiling.

I did not respond.  Instead, I undid her shorts and tugged on
them.  She raised her butt to assist me, all the while unbuttoning
her blouse.

"You may lick on me everywhere," she said.

She was quickly naked, lying back in the dirt of the creek bank,
one knee raised in promise.  I gazed at her wild, light-brown bush
that did not entirely conceal slightly parted vaginal lips.  I
wanted no more than this, I thought, and went down on her.

"Higher!" she demanded immediately, pulling on my head.  She
whined a cry when I got it right.  Soon her muscular thighs
gripped my head painfully and she yelled without inhibition.

"Stop!  Stop it!" she exclaimed when I persisted with my tongue.

I knelt back from her with the sudden knowledge that I was fully
clothed.  I fumbled with my belt.

"Hurry!" she implored.

With shorts and underpants around my knees, hard member aching for
her hole, I groped desperately in a pocket for the rubbers.

"I have rubbers somewhere," I explained in a panicky voice.

"I've been waiting for you, darling!  I'm on the pill!  Do it now!
Please!"

I fell between her outspread legs, and with the assistance of her
guiding hand I ripped her on the first thrust.  She endured the
discomfort for the few seconds required to attain my pleasure.

"I was too quick," I apologized when I raised to my knees to look
at her sublime face that suddenly appeared remarkably cute to me.

Blood and semen oozed from her slit.  She passed a finger through
the mess and brought it to her mouth.

"That hurt," she said without reproach.  "I'll be sore for at
least a week."  She grinned at me.  "But I'll suck on you until
then."


* * *


Epilogue

If you have ever wondered why a successful vascular surgeon would
marry such a dumpy woman, you now have a clue.

END


Comments to ludmax11@hotmail.com

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