Barbara

Barbara

a Short Story

�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 spat 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