Meghan 2: Dad

Meghan instructed me to go to the south gate, through the back yard, and to the glass door in back. She also instructed me to be VERY QUIET while entering the gate, because Dad's bedroom was on that corner of the house.

I parked down the street, got out, and shut my door carefully. I was going into a man's castle to fuck the dogsnot out of his nineteen year old daughter...quiet isn't even the word for what I was being. I was actually willing myself to be invisible, whenever my mind wasn't busy playing scenes of me getting shot by a cop as an intruder. And really, I didn't know much about this girl--she might denounce me as a rapist, if suddenly confronted by Daddy. Yeah, there were a lot of things that could go wrong.

But hey, it makes a great story, right?

Things began to go sour as soon as I hit the gate. Piled in front of the gate were three cinderblocks. There was no way to open the gate without moving them.

You know the sound cinderblocks make when they're being moved? I know that sound intimately, and I want to tell you some special qualities about cinder blocks and their sounds that might bear scientific study:

1) Cinderblocks always make noises when you move them. I'm sure you'd hear the same noises if you were moving them around in jello on the floor of the Atlantic ocean. You can try to minimize it by moving them slowly, but all you do is make the noises last longer.

2) There is nothing in the world that sounds like moving cinderblocks but does not, in fact, involve the moving of cinderblocks. Nothing. So when you hear that sound, you automatically know someone's moving your cinderblocks.

It took an eternity to get those things moved. I became intimate friends with each one of them, knowing their size, relative grittiness, and temperament. I would have named them, and known them by name, had I not been so completely petrified of taking a 9mm round in my right ear, where Dad's bedroom window was.

But finally, blessedly, it was done. I opened the gate, which squeaked, but wasn't the horrifyingly loud squeal I imagined it would be. Fantastic. I'm in.

I crept around to the back of the house, and found the patio door. Then I heard a growl coming from the black depths of the back yard, followed by a fusillade of barking and yapping. A fucking DOG. I almost wet my pants, and I might have even squeaked when I felt a hand close around my elbow. It was her, thank god (whatever god in charge of watching over boys who sneak into strange houses to butter the muffin of strange girls), smiling up at me in the dark, urging me inside.

The dog slipped by me, and I had to fight back the urge to kick it, because she still had hold of my arm and could probably tell what I was doing. Plus, it was the dog's house after all...and I didn't feel like making any more enemies than I already had.

We were in a sort of laundry/utility room, with what appeared to be a large closet and a couple of steps leading up to her bedroom. Her bed was directly underneath a large window, and I remember how brightly the moon shone on her white sheets. She sat on the bed, and I sat beside her. We kissed for a bit, and then I started taking off her clothes. It was a bit like a romance novel: the moon shone down, making her skin seem even more translucent than it normally was...I removed her blouse, and felt the soft skin of her sides and back as I unhooked her bra.

Finally, The Breasts were free. They were perfectly round, but hung a little lower than I expected. Other than that bit of weirdness, they were wonderful breasts--the kind you see in movies, but so rarely encounter in real life. I kissed her again, and gently pushed her down onto the bed. I kissed her neck, breathed in her ear, and then sort of worked my way down to where I could start to work on her nipples.

Gradually, I began to worry. I mean, I was moving slowly, because I really was enjoying it, but I kept feeling around with my mouth, eyes closed, and I knew that something was amiss. I searched, in ever widening circles, away from where those breasts should be...and as I searched, my sense of doom grew stronger.

While I was prospecting for nipple, Meghan was doing quite a bit of moaning and jerking about. She plunged her hands into my hair, which is fairly normal for girls who like long hair on guys. Also fairly normal for a girl who wears a watch, she caught several strands of hair in her watchband. When she jerked them out of my head, I opened my eyes in surprise, and what I saw made me sit up in shock.

Meghan's breasts were in her armpits. They were so far off her front that the nipples pointed sideways, like chameleon eyeballs do...and her sternum was as bare as bone, shining in the moonlight.

It was a catastrophe, not least because I couldn't let on how freakish she was. But I felt sorrow in my heart, for the perfect breasts that were, once again, unrealized.

But, being a trooper, I smothered my disappointment and moved on.

We fiddled around all night, we did, and I won't bore you with the details. Finally, we drowsed, after some spectacularly unpleasant sex. The moon had moved on, and I lay there, watching the sky turn gray, without thinking about anything except her white breastbone in the moonlight.

Then, I heard the alarm clock go off in the next room.

UPDATE:  Jeez, I didn't think I'd have to get into this, but yes, I know that breasts are made primarily of fat, and not, say, styrofoam.  I KNOW that breasts which are large enough to be affected by gravity are going to roll off to one side.  Yes, it's true! 

But this was unnatural, folks.  I've been thinking for some time about how to describe it--the best phrase that comes to mind is "egg in a sock."  The shit wasn't right, yo. 

Still and all, you may have missed the point.  This story isn't me dragging up some slut from years past in order to chuck rocks at her body image.  The story's about what I used to put up with, or go through, to get laid.  I'm the one on the dunking stool, here.