(I love sex. Wait. That isn't exactly accurate. Oh, I do love sex, but what I really love, what turns me on the most is making a woman cum. Whether it's with my fingers, palms, tongue, teeth, lips, cock, toys, whatever - watching a woman cum, seeing how each one reacts differently to that sensation, and knowing you are the one who caused it,is what takes me over the top.
There is nothing more beautiful, nothing sexier, nothing more sensual and nothing that stirs my blood greater - unless it's making her do it again and again and again.
This is my first story. These stories will be true. Names will be changed to protect the innocent, as they say, but the descriptions of the people will be as accurate as my limited ability will permit. Locations will be described generally. Enjoy.)
Chapter 1: My Name is T
My name is Timothy. Tim. But long ago, much to my Mother's dismay, my Dad shortened it to T. I don't remember. I was too young. I'm the third oldest of 8, second oldest of the 4 boys. My Dad called me the ringleader because I could get my brothers and sisters to do things they wouldn't normally do otherwise. I had a knack.
So T it was, for Tim, until I began playing organized school sports where you had to shower with other boys in your age group. I remember the first time I walked into the shower in Jr. High. I heard whispers of "Donkey Dick" and "Elephant Boy, I can see his trunk" You know how mean kids can get.
I could easily see that my hanging penis was much longer and much thicker than the others in my class.
(Before we get too carried away it has since been measured, with a hard-on, at 10 3/8' in length, and, with a tailors fitting tape, to be 7 7/8' around. Some of you have seen bigger, or longer. So have I. I've had a lot of fun with what I have and am completely satisfied.)
Luckily I had grown fast, tall and lean, and lightening quick. I put a stop to the name-calling. Still, I was embarrassed.
When I began my first year of high school it started again. As I said, I grew quick. I was a freshman, yes, but I was 5'10" and 175 lbs of hard worked muscle and still growing. By my senior year I was 6'2", 193 lbs and a 29" waist.
I couldn't fight everyone so I settled to still be called T, only now it stood for "Trunk". And still it was an embarrassment. I waited to shower alone or in the presence of only my closest friends. Even the closest of friends could be caught staring at it or taking sly peaks from time to time.
I turned 18 at the beginning of November in my senior year. I had been working in a three-bay garage/filling station/grocery store since I was 14, first as a mechanics helper, then junior mechanic and finally, at 17, a full time mechanic. The pay was good for the mid-sixties. The work was hard but I enjoyed the challenge of getting an engine to achieve peak performance.
My working hours during school were after practice, during football and baseball seasons, until 10 PM. When I wasn't playing sports I worked from 3 - 10 PM. I had Friday and Saturday nights off, working from 9 - 5. My Sunday's were totally mine.
We lived in a small town of 250 people. Our school was a consolidation of 3 small towns and the farming area surrounding them. Our town was the smallest of the three. Not even a stop sign or light on the main street, which was a US Highway.
We had a lot of traffic through town.
There was a lake close by with camping and a beach, so summers we had a lot of campers and tanners. We also had a lot of truck traffic. It was inevitable that someone would take advantage of the old 4-room school building at the edge of town.
Having been deserted after the consolidation, a family I'll call the W's bought it and turned it into a diner/truckstop.
The W's also owned a small 350-acre farm about a mile and half from town. Mr. W drove semi and was gone for weeks at a time. His boys ran the farm. His wife Bonnie ran the truck stop.
The youngest boy, Brad, was in my class. I won't say we were good friends, but we liked each other, talked to each other, played sports together, etc. He ran with some kids I didn't like. It was the only thing keeping us from being really good friends.
Brad knew what the "T" really stood for and Brad talked to his brothers about everything. My brothers and I shared most things also, so I really didn't blame him.
What Brad didn't know was that his mother overheard some of their conversations.
I used to go to the diner to grab a burger and fries a couple of times a week after work. I got off at 10 and the diner didn't close until 10:30. The counter was L-shaped with flip-tops at both ends of the L for entry/exit.
I would sit at the last place on the short side. It was the seat with the best view.
You see Mrs. W was really good looking. She was 38, about 5'5", 115 lbs, long black hair, pretty face and beautiful blue eyes. Truthfully, I went there to replenish my memory more than for the burger and fries. Mrs. W was the focus of some great fascinations. Yes, I mean masturbation.
It was during football season, a Wednesday night, when I entered to find the place deserted except for Mrs. W.
She looked up as I entered, got up, walked toward the kitchen calling back over her shoulder "I'll have your burger right away, T."
I walked behind the counter, as I often did when she was busy, got my own Pepsi and a glass of ice water, then sat down at my spot.
When she came out of the kitchen with the plate she didn't place it across the counter as she normally did.
Instead she got herself an iced tea, flipped up the hinged section, walked to the stool next to me, placed the plate in front of me and sat down. Leaning on one elbow sipping her ice tea, she watched me as I ate.
I was about half done when she said "I know what 'T' really stands for, T."
I froze with the burger half way to my mouth, turned my head and looked into those eyes, turning a beet red so I am told.
"What?" I asked. "Trunk" she responded with a slight smile on her face.
That was it. I got up and began walking toward the door. I don't know what I was feeling most, anger at Brad, embarrassed, ashamed?! It was welling up in me and I wanted to hit something, someone.
"Wait, T, don't leave, please, don't leave. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Please sit down. Finish your sandwich. It's free. I'm sorry. It was stupid of me."
I heard the words from the start and stopped. I saw her approach, felt her put her arms around me. The "I'm sorry. It was stupid of me" were whispered in my ear as she held me close with both arms around me.
Releasing me enough to pull her face back about two inches from mine so she could gaze into my eyes, she pleaded "Please, T. Don't go. Stay here. Let's talk a little. Please."
A weak "OK" was all I could manage. She grabbed my arm, squeezing it into her breast as she guided me back to my stool.
I sat back down but I couldn't eat. I pushed the plate away from me, turned to her and asked, "How did you find out?"
Holding my hands in hers, she hadn't let completely go of me after our first embrace, she told how she had overheard Brad telling his brothers, them talking about how big it was hanging and speculating how huge it might get with a hard-on.
When she ended her story I guess I was turning red again.
She said "Wait right here", walked over to the door and flipped the sign so the "Closed" was facing out, locked the door, turned off the lights. The only light shining was coming from the kitchen as she came back to stand next to me.