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From: Allen Parks <allenp5@earthlink.net>
Reply-To: Allen Parks <allenp5@earthlink.net>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 20 Oct 2003 15:31:15 -0600 (GMT-06:00)
Subject: {ASSM} Birdie (mf, first time, true)
Date: Mon, 20 Oct 2003 20:10:06 -0400
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I wrote this some time ago during a nostalgia attack. 
When I regained consciousness I cleaned up the mess 
(and the typo's) and saved this story in a 
"reread in 1 year and if you don't gag, keep it" folder.

Here 'tis. Is true story. Really. True. Really true. Yup.

Allen (Graybyrd)

<1st attachment, "Birdie.txt" begin>

BIRDIE

by Graybyrd

I was just out of high school, and 18 years old. John, my step-dad,
was a construction worker. This particular time he was on a job in a
small town a hundred miles away. As usual, he was living in a motel
cabin.

I went to visit him one weekend. Donny, one of my high school
buddies, was staying with John, working on the same job. And, this
evening, there was a woman about my mother's age visiting with them.
She was someone John had met at the local bar. Unknown to me, John
had decided it was time for me to "get laid."

Abruptly, John and Donny said they were leaving to go look at a car,
and would then be looking up a buddy, so they'd be gone for a few
hours. The lady seemed in no hurry to go anywhere; she lingered
behind in the room with me.

What they didn't know was that I had gotten "lucky" with a rancher's
daughter at last Saturday night's dance, in the tiny mountain
community where I had a Forest Service summer job. I had lost my
virginity to her in the front seat of my car.

Here we are, this older lady and I. I'm getting curious, and the
room is getting smaller, and she is making small talk, and the beds
are right there in front of us in this small, cheap motel room, and
soon I stand up and move over to her, and she smiles and moves
against me and we put the hugs on each other and I get a big
erection.

She is playing "coy" and telling me that I'm a nice boy, and I
really don't want to do this, and she shouldn't be fooling around,
etc, etc. but she is not stopping what is happening.

And the more I let myself rub against her, and feel her small
breasts against my chest, with her hair smelling good right under my
nose, and she is holding herself against me,  the more my self is
trying to stand at attention right through my jeans. It's getting
hard to breathe. Apparently she is just testing to see if this kid
is serious.

She reaches down between us and latches onto me with her hand; her
face lights up like she just hit a jackpot and she heads for the
bed, shucking her blouse and skirt.

She must have been 45 or 50, but it was hard to tell: people who
spend their years at the bars age faster than their years. She was
not tall and she was thin, even a little bony, with bony fingers and
hands, and a narrow face. She was called "Birdie."

Birdie is an experienced woman and I am an 18-year-old kid with one
encounter and that one was a pretty clumsy car-seat affair.

My home was in a mountain valley on the fringe of the Cascade
Mountains in Washington, where I grew up walking the hills with a
.22 rifle, backpacking, cross-country skiing,  moving sprinkler
pipes and stacking hay for local ranchers, and cutting firewood in
the fall. Actually, I was in terrific good shape.

The bird woman is turning back the blanket and the sheets. The only
light in the room is coming from the bathroom doorway with a little
streetlight glow through the window curtains on the front wall. She
lays herself out on the bed, wearing only her panties.

With a little awkward finger work, which is about the only foreplay
I knew then, and with some insistent urging and dry kisses from her
pointy little tongue in my mouth, she starts cramming me into her,
and ramming herself upward. In I go! It's awkward as hell, at first,
but soon everything starts working just fine.

A randy kid has a hair-trigger whacker. I move in and out about a
dozen times and I climaxed so hard I must have shot half through
her! She yelps and grabs onto me so hard I can't breathe, and her
hips keep on pumping like crazy! Boy, this is something wild!

I'm not about to give up on this, but I'm really mad at myself for
coming off so fast. I want this new business of "screwing" to last
for awhile! I and my buddies had spent a lot of years speculating
about sex, and here I am, only the second time ever, so even if I
did just shoot my wad, I won't quit now. I figure John Henry is
meant to be a hero; tonight he'll just have to keep on swinging his
hammer.

So I keep going, pumping away. But the feel of her is cramping my
ability because John Henry wants outta here, now! The bird-lady is
feeling all loose and wet gooey stuff is running everywhere on us
and I am thinking, "Oh gawd, what a mess this is!"

I'm rocking along in the saddle and John Henry is screaming in my
head to give it a rest but I grit my teeth and keep urging him along
and the wet sticky mess has kinda dispersed and real soon everything
is working okay again, and the bird-woman's eyes open wide, and she
is saying, "Honey! Are you going again?!?" and I feel her start to
hump back, hard!

She hasn't shown any signs of climaxing, and I figure my obligation
is to be sure that she gets off, too. So I keep at it, sort of
liking it, but the way she is ramming herself up at me is beginning
to hurt.

After a while my feelings begin to change; this is starting to
become work! Sweat is pouring off me, and her little pubic bone
begins to feel like a hard little beak pecking into me and it is
really getting painful. I can't believe what is happening. I am
screwing my eyeballs out and I won't give up before this lady
climaxes but it is becoming torture in hell; this woman is hurting
me now and she shows no signs of stopping!

So I am arching back in the saddle and sweat is dripping off me now
and this woman is making little "oh oh do it do it oh good oh yes"
sounds and her hard pubic bone is hammering up at me. In pain now, I
am trying to find a way to screw her and avoid her at the same time!
How can I dodge that rap-slamming bone of hers? Can't she feel it?
Owww, it hurts, but I keep thrusting in and more quickly jerking
back; I'm trying to dodge that damned little hammer of hers and
still she will not finish!

Finally, she must sense that something is wrong. She stops and
mumbles,  "I'm sorry, you don't have to worry about me ... I don't
think I'll be able to finish." and with a silent "Oh, thank you!" I
rolled off her and collapsed on my back. I feel as if my poor pecker
has been trapped in a runaway milking machine, and my pubic bone is
aching. The lust is gone, for sure!

Staring up at the dim ceiling, I get this really awful mental
picture of my stepdad, Big John, with his massive barrel chest, even
bigger pot belly, and his undersized little banty rooster legs,
rocking away in the same saddle that I had just bailed out of; her
tiny little saddlehorn hammering up at him, rap-rap-rap-rap-rap! I
squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the image out of my head, cursing
silently: "ohmygawd ... yuchhh!!"

Birdie has slipped back into her panties and bra; her blouse and
slacks slide on and here she comes, cooing, hands flitting around my
shoulders. She starts to talk about this stepdaughter she has who has
trouble settling down with the "right kind of boy" and who needs to
meet a nice fella. She flits over to her purse and pulls out some
lipstick and patches her mouth and fusses with her hair, putting
loose strands back in place, and she rattles on about the wrong
crowd at the bar and her stepdaughter, while I clumsily search
around for my clothes, trying to get myself back together. Poor John
Henry and the "section gang" are hurting; when I straighten up to
pull on my pants, my groin yells, "no way, dummy!" and I pull up my
jeans while half doubled over.

"Where the hell is John and Donny," I wonder to myself, wishing they
would show up and rescue me from this twittering nightmare who is now
fussing around in the bathroom.

After an eternity of small talk and more glowing words about her
stepdaughter, and an endless stream of "I don't often do something
like this, dear" and "Poor boy, what you really need is a nice girl
closer to your own age," John and Donny come barging in and I can
see their faces making lewd speculations. John has a grin like he's
been sucking eggs. He scoops up Birdie and off they go in a cloud of
driveway dust, leaving Donny and I behind in the room. I mumble
something about, "It was a long drive over here, and it's been a
long, long night ... I gotta get some sleep!" and I rolled into one
of the beds and died.

I woke up about mid-morning, pried open my eyelids, and got the hell
out of there, mumbling something to John about remembering that I had
to be back at my place, that somebody was coming by to go fishing or
something.

Two weeks later I went visiting John again. He had that same
egg-sucking grin when he saw me.

"What the hell went on with you and Birdie, son?" he grinned. "Not
two hours after you left, she showed up with a big bowl of salad,
asking for you. She seemed real anxious, and wouldn't leave here
without knowing all about you and when you might be back. She seemed
real upset you weren't here. I had a hell of a time getting her in
the sack that night!" he smiled!

I never saw Birdie again. My summer job ended and I moved on to
another life. Big John got into some bad trouble playing poker in
the back room of the bar where he and Birdie and the other
"regulars" hung out. He quietly drug up on his job, drew his pay,
and disappeared.

He showed up the following spring in a trailer camp 200 miles away,
at another construction job. I stopped by late one morning and,
knocking hard on his trailer door, I was greeted by another "stray
lady" calling out to me. I loudly explained who I was through the
door so she unlocked it and invited me in. As I entered I got a
flash of her in her slip, snuggling back into his bed. I stood in
the hallway door, and she explained that she had met Big John the
night before at the local bar, and that he had offered her a place
to stay for a few days. She said that she was travelling from
somewhere in the midwest to somewhere else on the coast. Big John
was at work, she smiled, but it was okay if I stayed around, since I
was his stepson and all...

---==<<<end>>>==---

Copyright 2003 by GrayByrd
<1st attachment end>


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