Good-bye Mrs. Sox By Tom Cup It was my first real date in months and it was going well. We did the dinner thing -- a quaint little bistro that had great food; nothing too fancy just good eats, great wine and warm conversation. I was in rare form.
I displayed the modern man, strong but sensitive, responsive but able to listen, understanding and thoughtful. My date, Sheryl, was giving me every indication that I wouldn't be spending the night with Mrs. Sox, my usual bedtime companion. There was a light mist beginning as we left the bistro and headed for the movie theater. On the ride over, the thump, thump, thumping of the windshield wipes emulated the hopeful thumping I would be performing later that night. Sheryl's hand slipped into mine.
I looked into her baby blue eyes and we both laughed. She knew what was on my mind. The night was going well. We arrived at the theater minutes before the show began -- no waiting in line. We ran giggling from the car towards the door. Thoughts of Gene Kelly singing and dancing to "Singing in the Rain" filled my mind. The movie wasn't part of my history -- it was made thirty years before I was born -- but, hey, if you want to get laid you better know the classics; girls love that shit.
I twirled Sheryl and began singing and dancing, poorly.
She laughed. "Excuse me." The last thing I wanted was an interruption. I looked at the speaker. Some soaked rug rat of a kid with a "Mister can I borrow a dime" expression on his face. "Fuck!" I thought, "not now!" I managed to keep Sheryl moving toward the theater entrance, quickly retrieved a buck from my pocket and shoved it in the hand of the would-be attention grabber. OK, no harm done. I had shown compassion by giving the kid money and now we could enjoy the movie, right?
Wrong. He was there with us in the theater. I don't mean physically. It started with Sheryl glancing back toward the theater lobby. I asked what was wrong. "Oh nothing." Oh nothing. I knew at that moment -- she was thinking about the kid, out there in the rain, cold, and maybe hungry.
Shit! Another glance and then she had to go to the bathroom. I debated with myself for maybe fifteen seconds before heading for the lobby. I was right; there she was, standing outside talking with the kid and looking nervously back at me. It would be another night with Mrs. Sox. "Hey," I said, trying to sound friendly but knowing my annoyance showed, "What's going on? You're missing the movie." "Rick," Sheryl said to me, introducing the boy, "This is Max." "Nice to meet you, Max," I said, extending my hand, but wanting to scream at the boy to get the fuck out of here and stop fucking up my lay.
It was too late, of course. Max had already captured Sheryl. His sad, brown, puppy dog eyes stared helplessly at me. Sheryl ran a hand through his drenched locks of hair. Ding! Round over. It was a technical knock out. I had lost the fight.
"Max got kicked out of his house," Sheryl continued, "He doesn't have any place to stay." It was a challenge.
I knew one when I heard one. I had played the sensitive male and now she wanted me to prove it. If I wanted to get into her panties, if I ever wanted to divorce Mrs.
Sox, I had better put up or shut up. Max's eyes focused on the ground. I admit it, OK, I did feel sorry for the kid; but damn, I wanted to get laid! I suggested that we take him to a shelter. Bad move. Max trembled, said "Thanks, It's OK," and began to walk away. Sheryl called after him and stared longingly at me. I gave in, ran after the kid, and offered to let him stay the night at my place.
We'd figure something out in the morning. *********** On the way to my place, Max filled us in on his story. Max was fourteen. His mother died six months before. He never knew his biological father. His stepfather was an alcoholic and, of course, beat the kid. His stepfather told him he was in the way (I had to agree with that) and that he needed to find somewhere else to live.
Since Max's stepfather wasn't legally his stepfather he wasn't really responsible for Max. Sheryl kept eying me as Max told his story. What the hell did she want me to do? OK, at twenty-five, I admit I make a decent living but there was no way -- no matter how bad I wanted pussy instead of a sock -- was I going to be saddled with a fourteen-year-old kid.
NO WAY! At my place, I watched as Sheryl fussed over Max. I directed Max to the bathroom so he could shower; Sheryl insisted. I got him some of my old clothes to wear while Sheryl prepared the spare bedroom. I sat on the couch, sipping a glass of wine that I had hoped to share with Sheryl and prepared for my night with Mrs.
Sox. Sheryl finished the room preparations and sat next to me. She hugged me and kissed my cheek telling me how proud she was of me. Maybe there still was some hope. The shower stopped. Max emerged from the bathroom wearing the oversize t-shirt I had given him; holding the boxers in his hand.
"They're too big," he explained, holding the boxers out to me, "They won't stay on." I rubbed my eyes. Sheryl told him it was OK. She'd stay and wash and dry his clothes for him. She guided him into the spare bedroom. I refilled my glass of wine and downed it.
"Rick," Sheryl whispered, returning from the bedroom, "Max wants to talk to you for a minute." I rolled my eyes. No need pretending that I didn't hate this situation.
"Come on," Sheryl pleaded, "Please." I walked slowly into the bedroom. Max was sitting on the edge of the bed, head down, and hands in his lap. "Sorry," he whispered. I was caught off guard. "Sorry for what?" "Ruining your night," he said looking up at me as tears fell from his eyes, "Getting in the way." Jesus! He started sobbing! His chest heaved and the tears fell.
I glanced quickly toward the living room. Sheryl was busy clearing away the empty wine bottle and glasses. The last thing I needed was for her to think I made the kid break into hysterics. I closed the door and sat next to him on the bed.
His fingers were intertwined on his lap. He was clenching his hands together so hard his knuckles were turning white. His determination not to cry audibly added to his sense of hopelessness, as his breathing jerked and he continued to cry. I hugged him. The kid broke, threw his arms around me, head on my chest and wailed. The bedroom door flew open. I looked up into Sheryl's face. Her dismay turned to a smile as I held Max, rocked him and shrugged. Max's tears subsided.
He wiped his face and again apologized. I lifted his covers so he could crawl in bed. As he did, I noticed two things: he was a cute kid and the t-shirt I had given him was tented with a boner.
I tried my best to get Sheryl to stay the night but she said she felt weird about having sex with Max in the next bedroom. I tried not to look too disappointed.
She told me how proud she was of me and that she `definitely' owed me one. She promised to stop back in the morning to help me figure out what to do with Max.
Then she was gone and I headed to my bedroom and Mrs. Sox. I was just settling in, sliding under the covers with Mrs. Sox, when I noticed Max standing at my door. He looked so lost that I told Mrs. Sox to forget it. Neither one of us would be getting any tonight. I didn't say anything to Max.
I guess because I didn't yell at him to "get out" he felt it was OK to come in. He slid under the covers with me. I turned off the table light. He snuggled close to me and whispered again that he was sorry. I grumbled it was OK and told him to try to get some sleep. I comforted myself by noting that at least I wasn't being shitty to the kid. I began to drift off to sleep. Max shifted and stirred in the bed. He couldn't seem to get comfortable.
He lay still for a few minutes and I thought he had fallen asleep. Then I felt a slight movement. I lay still discerning if what I thought was happening was indeed happening.
Beside me, Max was jerking off. No doubt about it. I waited and listened. The moon lighted faintly through the closed blinds giving me enough light to make out the slight movement of the sheets. At first I thought to kick the little shit out of my bed.
Then I realized that the show was turning me on. His movements were steady. He was cautious but deliberate in his masturbation. I remembered when I was fourteen. How my cock demanded more attention than it did now, and now it had to get off at least once a day -- that meant a lot of jerking off. I was raging hard. Max continued to stroke. My eyes cut to his face. Our gaze met in the moonlight. He knew I was awake. Still he stroked. "Sorry about tonight," he whispered.
"It's OK," I whispered back. "Naw, I know I fucked things up. That's why my. John, made me leave." He turned on his side to face me. He stared into my eyes. I felt his hand reaching for my cock. "What are you doing?" "I owe you." "You don't owe me anything Max. It's OK. Really." His hand gripped my cock. My mind said no but my cock said this was a lot better than Mrs.
Sox. He stroked me steadily. I closed my eyes and gave myself to the sensation. The boy knew how to handle a cock. He wasn't rushing my stimulation. He was stroking, caressing, building my excitement bit by bit. I moaned. The bed rocked and the covers ruffled.
I felt the warm, wet, softness of his mouth on my cock. "Oh," I sighed. "You two seem to be getting along," I heard Sheryl's voice. My eyes popped open, Max sprang from under the sheets. Sheryl stood leaning against my doorframe, smirking. My mouth opened and closed. I looked at Max and he looked at me; we both looked at Sheryl. "What are you doing here?" I finally managed, hoarsely. She shrugged.
"I felt guilty for leaving you alone with Max. Thought I'd come back and make it up to you." "I'm sorry," Max stammered, finding his voice. "No problem," She beamed, "I think it's sexy. I'm glad Rick is this open. I was a bit worried." She walked toward the bed. Stripping as she came. "Mind if I join you?" Max and I looked at each other. Max shrugged and climbed back under the covers. His mouth quickly engulfed my cock.
Sheryl climbed on top of me, her pussy at my mouth. I licked and sucked her as I pumped my cock into Max's willing mouth. Sheryl moaned as I licked her. Max bobbed expertly on my raging hard-on. Sheryl was panting. She rolled off between Max and me.
There was a moment of clumsy readjustment. Max slid from under the covers, wrapped his arms around Sheryl and hugged her. "Hmmm. What shall we do, what shall we do?" Sheryl asked running her hand through Max's hair.
"I think Rick wants to fuck somebody," Max offered. He was right. I was completely turned on.
A fourteen-year-old boy had sucked me while I ate pussy; it was time to fuck! "And what about you?" Sheryl teased the boy, "Don't you want to fuck?" Max's eyes enlarged.
He nodded vigorously. "Come on then," Sheryl coached, "The adults shouldn't have all the fun." Max looked across Sheryl's body at me. "Is it OK, Rick?" "Hey," I said getting turned on at the prospect of watching a fourteen-year-old fucking my new girl friend, "It's her pussy. She can put anything she wants in it." "Cool," Max said excitedly; but he jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room. Sheryl and I stared at each other. Max reappeared a few seconds later holding a bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion.
He grinned wickedly. "I saw this when I was taking a bath. If I get to fuck Sheryl, Rick gets to fuck me!" he announced. He dove in between us and handed me the lotion. My mouth stood open. Sheryl laughed. "I like it Rick," Max said, "Really. Please." Sheryl kissed him. Max groaned and I watched as they tongued each other. Hot! Then Sheryl spread her legs and pulled the boy on top of her. I started applying the lotion to my wanting cock.
Sheryl guided Max's rigid penis into her waiting hole.
The boy gasped and started to buck wildly. Sheryl laid a hand on his buttocks, steadying him. "Calm down," she whispered, "Or you'll blow before Rick can get started." Max grunted, but laid still.
I looked at Sheryl and shook my head -- I was having second thoughts.
She mouthed, "It's OK. He wants it." I gave up the fight and lubed Max's ass. He moaned. "Stick your finger in," he breathed. It was hot, moist and willing. My senses were in overload. There was no turning back. I climbed on top of him, staring into Sheryl's eyes and lowered myself onto Max's youthful body.
He inhaled deeply as my cock probed his ass. His butt pushed up toward me. I sank into him. "Oh!" he cried. It was too late. I was too far gone. I began grinding into his ass, pulling out, thrusting in, circling, pumping. Sheryl moaned. She ground back at the two bodies above her. I humped Max. He humped Sheryl, pushing his firm boy ass back against me, inviting my pleasure.
Sheryl grabbed at us both, forcing Max deeper into her and me deeper into Max. Max squirmed beneath me, repeating, "Oh, oh, oh. fuck!" I couldn't have agreed more. I pounded his ass, forcing him to pound into Sheryl. Sheryl bucked beneath us, intensifying all of our pleasure.
My cock swelled inside the boy. I was about to blow. Max screamed that he couldn't take it anymore; he was coming. Sheryl panted and clawed at me. I forced myself deeper into Max's tight hole and grunted. Max and Sheryl cried out as we were all rocked by orgasm. We lay panting. My cock was still deep in Max's ass.
Max was still in Sheryl's cunt. I kissed Max's cheek. He turned his head and our tongues met. It was my first male-to-male kiss. I liked it. "Can I stay?" Max whispered.
"Yeah," Sheryl asked, "Can we stay, please?" I didn't answer. I just slowly began to pump Max's ass. He could stay.
Sheryl could stay: Good-bye to you, Mrs. Sox. ************************************************************************ This story is part of the Tom Cup Library Please send comments to: [email protected] To support this and other stories by Tom Cup, join at http://www.tomcup.com Visit TomCup.com for the lastest stories and updates ************************************************************************