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The late October climate was really acting up. One day could be downright hot, and the next morning could bring frost, though you’d be dressed and halfway to campus before you realized it was cold. So defective weather-sense was not to blame for the scanty clothes Candi wore that morning, huddled on the bench of the University mall in Danny’s jacket and her old juniorhigh hotpants. She’d curled her smooth legs around each other for warmth.
Danny stood behind her, displaying the mixture of anxiety and vexation that he often showed during the early days of his marriage to the ginchy, spoiled eighteen-year-old. Having given up his jacket, Danny was chilling quickly, himself. But he stood there, solicitously rubbing Candi’s thin neck and shoulders as she sat hunched on the bench. Her face had her characteristic little monkeysmile, and she chomped lightly on some chewing gum. Dark eyebrows frowned a little, but not enough to dull the animal brightness of her brown eyes. Candi’s small face was framed by heavy dark hair.
Danny and Candi looked up as I wandered by, and they continued their conversation in a way that made it clear I could join in as I wished.
“If you’re feeling that bad,” said Danny, “you should go home.”
Candi sniffled, “We moved out of town a week too early.” Danny and Candi, with one old car between them, had just moved from the crowded “apartments” near campus to a trailer court some miles to the north of Columbia.
“You could go hang out at the old place until my class is over,” Danny thought out loud. “Then I’ll run you back home, and run back here for the afternoon class.”
It was apparent that Candi didn’t like that idea. Hanging out at the old place would mean sitting in a crowded communal kitchen for two hours or more, as the motley group of roomers scarfed old supermarket pastries and complained about imminent exams and preeminent hangovers.
“Where would I throw up?” asked Candi. The liklihood of such a crisis was doubtful. Candi’s perpetual flu was more like a head cold. Though it seldom left her body for long, the illness rarely amounted to more than a stuffy nose. Occasionally, though, Candi grew slightly fevered, and more listless than usual. That seemed to be her condition this morning.
“I’m headed back to my place,” I volunteered. “Candi could rest there until you pick her up.” I lived in a basement apartment in a marginally nicer house near Danny’s old place.
Candi looked up at Danny, dutifully.
“Well, sure,” said Danny. “I’ll be out there by noon.”
It was a short walk home through a familiar neighborhood. Once her “illness” had waived Candi’s responsibility for attending classes, she grew perceptibly perky as she walked beside me. By the time she stepped off campus, her flatfooted stride had changed to bounce, and she’d straightened her shoulders beneath Danny’s jacket. Now Candi was standing tall.
She was still almost a head shorter than I was. But Candi’s body had a slank tone that gave itself a sleek impression of length, without sacrificing any curves. It was a tone, I’d just begun to realize, that was common to many kids Candi’s age – now four years younger than me. She talked of the recent move (with thanks for the help I’d provided), and of college (she hated it, but it was the only means of getting some support from her parents), and of Danny (he was a love, whatever her parents thought).
The entranceway to my basement apartment was awkward: down a concrete casement, through a dirty outer door, and farther down a narrow, bulb-lighted passage to the inner door. Candi was ahead of me descending the concrete steps. Her enticingly slim legs flashed tripping down the stairs. Her long yet plush thighs stretched the cheesy green velveteen hotpants at the hem, where the decided roundness of Candi’s tight buttocks began to smoothly rise. The pants hems were caught up, a little, into the high cleft between Candi’s legs. The legs still held some of their summer tan, but were beginning to fade and assume the dark girl’s shadowed winter ivory. A few tiny flecks of pigment in strategic places provided data for an essay on miniature beautymarks.
Once through the outer door, it was a strange walk to the illogically-placed lightswitch. Candi paused in minor confusion, and I gently crowded her down the narrow hall, reaching over her for the light. My hand bahis firmaları and face brushed against her hair.
“Kind of close squeeze in here,” Candi remarked ingenuously. Her hair smelled of autumn. She continued to walk carefully down the hallway. I was behind her, trying not to move any faster than she.
Inside the low-ceilinged apartment, the atmosphere lightened up. Candi headed to the far side of the sofa, slipping off Danny’s jacket, then fishing a kleenex out of one of its pockets. Candi’s shirt was a conventional white tee, of heavy fabric but much too light for the day. It hung loosely, outside her pants, falling straight down from her tuff round breasts to mid-groin. Her heavy hair poured artlessly over her shoulders. Slank arms had the tone and the complexion of her legs. Candi plopped into the corner of the sofa, Danny’s jacket crumpled beside her.
“Anything to drink?” I asked from the refrigerator across the room.
“Do you have any orange juice?”
Once she was off her feet, Candi’s sleepiness seemed to return. She blew her nose, and held the tissue to nose for a few seconds, as if to make sure all was finished before she stuffed the kleenex back into the jacket. She looked up almost in surprise to find me offering the glass of juice to her. She took the glass with a hum of thanks. Her hands were fine, the shadowpale fingers a little shiny. They seemed a little bit unclean.
“I’m still cold,” Candi exclaimed. “Feel.” With a free hand she grasped my wrist. I guess her hand was cold. She let me go and I stepped back to the kitchenette sector of the room.
Candi looked up at me as she brought the glass to her lips. Then she performed an odd little movement of her bottom; actually, it involved her entire lower body. It was hard to describe, or to give any real meaning to it. Just a strange little wiggle into the sofa. I don’t think I was supposed to notice it.
I fished around among the books on the kitchenette’s feeding surface, trying to remember what it was I had intended to do before I had run into Candi.
Candi stretched. Bluewhite flash of midriff, new angle of leg.
“I’m sleepy. This flu knocks me out.”
“So stretch out.” Finding the right book, I moved to a ratty armchair beneath a floorlamp, a few feet from Candi’s corner. Between the armchair and the sofa was the open door to my seven-by-ten bedroom.
“I’m still cold,” complained Candi to the warm room. She stretched out on the sofa, covering herself with Danny’s jacket. About three minutes passed by.
“Do you have a pillow I could use?”
“Why don’t you just use my… the bed in there?”
“Well. Yeh, thanks,” Candi said. “Er…”
“You haven’t… ah… made love in it lately or anything?”
“I did the laundry yesterday afternoon. I haven’t seen Becca in ten days. I don’t know why you need to know these things…”
“The smell, you know, just, makes me kind of uncomfortable sometimes.”
“Nice to know. I’ll try and remember that. Is there anyone you’d like me to slip the word to? LoriLee and Travis, maybe?”
The darkhaired girl smiled and arched her back off the sofa to look at me upside down.
“The smell of it sort of excites me, actually.”
I was growing less and less certain of how I was supposed to be understanding her.
“Becca hasn’t been here since weekend before last,” I repeated.
“Yeah, but I remember that time last month. Yoshiko.”
Candi pouted and thrashed her lithe body back into sitting position. As if Becca’s betrayal were her betrayal. She was kidding.
“It smells like sex in here,” she said. Sniff, sniff, went her stuffy nose.
“YOU turned me on to Yoshiko,” I said, falling into her mode. “You and Danny.”
Candi was removing her canvas shoes preparatory to using my bed.
“Yoshiko hasn’t been here, ever?” she asked.
“Nooo,” I scoffed. “Of course not. You know Yoshi.”
“Not exactly a One Man Woman,” Candi agreed, casually. “And you’re not exactly a One Woman Man.”
I wasn’t interested in explaining the happy understanding between Becca and myself. Candi had slipped her long thumbs beneath the waistband of her velveteen pants. Each hand palmed the point of a hip.
“How well do you know me?” asked Candi.
Oh – kay. There was still a little time left, a few seconds left to remember the happy bachelor days of high school and college, days kaçak iddaa I could count on Danny as a friend, a buddy… Danny had introduced me to BECCA, for chryssake! The girl with whom I’d found such a happy understanding.
I leaned over the space between Candi and me. With my right hand I held the back of the girl’s slank neck, firmly. I put my left hand to Candi’s plump lower lip, palm up.
The happy understanding between Becca and me had brought Becca at least two up on me in the three years since we’d formed it.
“Spit out your gum, luv,” I said to Candi, gently.
A sunny and cold Sunday afternoon in January. The trailer smelled of a long-uncleaned kitchen and old sex… the usual smell of any of Danny and Candi’s residences after a while. There was a little squabble over some groceries Candi needed for dinner. Pout. Candi was making dinner, so Danny ought to get the groceries in town. Pout. Okay, okay, Danny went to get groceries. He was a love, regardless of what Candi’s parents said. I was to stay with Candi, watch the football game, and go easy on the beer. Danny drove off on a trip that would take at least forty-five minutes.
“He’s out of the lot!” said Candi, watching through the window behind the trailer’s couch.
“If he didn’t have a flat leaving the trailer court, he’s as good as parking at Schnuck’s right now,” I said. “Now what do we do?”
Candi’s “sly glance” struck me as looking slightly subnormal.
“Hummm…” said Candi.
Aw, what the hell. The stuff between Candi and me had been leading up to a second tryst all afternoon. Danny hadn’t seemed to notice.
“We don’t have much time,” I remarked.
In response, Candi unbuttoned her jeans and peeled them off on the way to the trailer’s spare bedroom. As she passed my seat, I grabbed for the small supple waist, and Candi’s body curled toward me, reacting to the threat of tickle. My face was aiming for the girl’s smelly muff beneath her wornout panties, but it had to settle for a sloppy kiss from Candi’s monkey mouth.
Without disengaging from the kiss, we stood up together. I dropped my hands to Candi’s firm round butt, slipping inside her panties to paw the slick flesh, which tensed further as I pulled her groin into mine and ground against her. My hands left the panties drawn down below her ass in back, hanging halfway off her mons in front, and I made to lift her light teeshirt over her breasts. Still we kissed; the tee made it just as far as Candi’s soft, sticky armpits. Then I concentrated on unlatching her bra.
Finished with the bra and breathing fast, I broke away and moved into the bedroom, stripping.
The little bed was low and clear of junk. It wasn’t until months later that I understood why the spare room was kept in such good shape. I did know that Don and Dena occasionally stayed over on weekends.
“Let’s do it like last time,” I suggested.
“Yummers,” drawled Candi amiably. Her panties were hanging where I’d left them on her. Light blue sox remained on her feet. I kept my socks on too. Two less items to worry about if we heard Danny pulling into the parking dock. Candi kneeled beside the bed and plopped her long belly onto the foamrubber mattress, showing me her rear.
A little dryskinned from furnace heat and a week gone since shaving, Candi’s legs were only just serviceable to lust this afternoon. My eyes went to her smooth shadowwhite backbone instead, and studied the shape of sacrum and coccyx above her buttocks, and the ginchy globes themselves, trimmed with the old grey panties. Pinkshadow something beckoned, just beyond the curve of ass to thigh and above the line of panty elastic stretched in the way.
I thought that Candi’s prone posture, which she’d urged first thing last time, was kind of strange for a woman to suggest right off the bat. Later on I learned it had a particular appeal for Candi, based on some psychology of early experience that made up for – or used – the impersonality and limited “contact” the position afforded.
There was really no time for foreplay, we’d silently agreed. Danny had nearly walked in on us the last time. On my knees behind her, I fluttered two fingers into Candi’s quim, to start her up. My thumb rolled in her hot dry asscrack, pressing flatly against her anus. The panties slipped just a little farther down Candi’s thighs as she shuffled on her knees. Now the old underwear constrained her kaçak bahis legs only slightly. I willed the base of my blood-heavy member to raise my penis.
Candi’s cum was as gluey as you could find. I removed my sticky hand from her vulva and used it to position my dick and enter the easily available hole above her somewhat awkwardly closed thighs. I got the head in and pressed quickly inside. Candi squealed playfully and her squirm shook the panties to her knees.
Artlessly, I covered her back, slipping my arms beneath her to work with her and steady us. My breath caught in Candi’s hair.
I drew back, and raising myself on the balls of my feet, I plunged again. After one more such stroke, Candi could anticipate me and she raised her own backside by straightening her legs along the floor. I slipped outin more smoothly and wiggled high in the socket as our straight legs danced to pull off the panties once and for all. Then we fell to a more relaxed position, and let our genitals suck one another with comfortable regularity.
I’d eventually realize that Candi’s vag was of conventional size. But the thickness of her lubricant, as well as a rough-tough resilience about the flesh of her pudenda, made the early experience of her seem extraordinarily tight. (As I grew more accustomed to her, my perceptions grew lazy.)
Although she remained tight, after a couple of minutes Candi’s response began to slacken. I sort of enjoyed the woodenness of the experience for a little while… like fucking a hot knothole… or…
I wrestled the recumbent Candi off the bed, to her knees, slipping out of her in the process. Then we both rolled clumsily back onto the bed, face to face now. Candi’s eyes and pout bespoke serious desire. The one flat pillow, rapidly doubled over, served only indifferently to raise her rear on the cheap mattress. Her sleek belly showed long muscle as she waved her legs into the air. Her pinkshadow twat, high between her pale thighs, was greasy with her cum. My hands roughly handled Candi’s pale, round, brown-nippled breasts and I moved up her to pin her black hair to the bed and pose, stiff-elbowed and straight-legged, prone above her eager form.
I made a bob or two into her rough muff. With two trembling dirtywhite hands Candi planted my bulb, and I engaged the girl heavily, one long press into her uprising body. Candi reacted with a nasal moan, a pause, and a quick series of leg-waving jerks that interrupted my withdrawal and sparked almost autonomic counterpunches into her cervix. Three or four high, gutteral monkeysqueals from her and I dropped my upper body onto hers, my arms tangled in long hair, her hardened nipples pressing noticeably, rubberily, into my chest. Candi’s slank forearms stroked my back, downward, downward, while her raised legs fell and I began at last to draw back… and then into Candi’s new, strong arch.
Huff, eeyuh, puff, push. Huff, eeyuh, puff, push.
“HuYUNHH, NHH, NHH!” moaned Candi with finality. And her arch collapsed around my erection with a series of little trembling wiggles.
‘dunno about her, but I was exhausted. And still full.
Sweating in the suddenly warm atmosphere of the little bedroom, we made adjustments for comfy love on top of the bed. Each crotch straddled a leg, as we stroked on our sides. I wanted a pillow, but we supported one another’s heads with our arms.
“Yeahhh, that was good,” sighed Candi, with a sort of exaggerated pleasure.
“Now just work it for me…us. Like, it’s okay.”
Her pussy seemed to have relaxed a bit, but the cum remained viscous. Snick, snap, snick, popped our sex with every moderate stroke. Candi’s thigh rubbed my balls with each movement. There was some smell of her in the room, now. Sweet citron perfume unwashed from yesterday, and today’s new mucus.
I worked my juice up comfortably. Candi was relaxed now, closed eyes and monkeysmile beside me, and I could afford to think almost hygienically. There’d be time for only one ejaculation this afternoon. It was a week ’til Becca arrived. No half-measures could be tolerated. I could feel the build up, but I held on. Candi seemed to sense it, too. Her steady breathing built up speed, grew more shallow. Yes, she knew it was coming. She opened her eyes.
“Get on… get up on top!” she said.
There followed a softer reenactment of the earlier arching moves. Conventionally placed between slightly lifted legs, I waited only to establish a comfortable groove for us both before the gout de grace – a strong grunt into her, finishing with a measured, cool injection of sperm… and another… and (tweet!) another.
“Whooo,” we both said at once.
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