April Sunday (KOI 18, and out...)
South of Columbia. Spring, 1975
The group, three guys and a gal, lounged in an improvised "conversation pit" of cushions around the rural apartment's big stone fireplace. Rain spat at the picture window that provided the room's only light.
Candi and Becca had succumbed to doughnut hunger as the morning's adventures played out. They'd quickly dressed and split for the twenty-minute drive to town, planning to shop for dinner and promising to return soon with restaurant-takeout six packs. The rest of us had found little reason to get dressed. Danny had been still busy with Brandi in the back bedroom when his wife left with mine.
Now Danny, Don and I were quiet in the pit, keeping Candi's cousin company.
The thick-shafted hair on Brandi's high mound was unusually sparse -- some folks would have found reason enough there to suggest it be shaved. I thought her half-bald muff was perversely charming.
On Brandi's wrist flashed a thin gold chain matching the chain around her neck. Her fine tan hand gripped a damp paper towel. With it she tried to fluff the black pubes. The stuff on the towel mostly served to gob the tangled hairs together. It imparted a dull sheen to her bare skin before drying altogether. The three naked young men lounging around her watched appreciatively. Brandi, in turn, was alive to them.
She stoked her liveliness with puffs of kif. She'd been dosing herself since climbing into Don's car that morning. Brandi was running away from her social worker again. Don was headed her direction, and when they stopped for breakfast at her cousin Candi's they'd found Becca and me out in the woods as well.
The three of us men were Drug Free.
"Don't you know smoking gives you zits?" asked Danny.
"You should know," replied Brandi. That was mean.
Brandi was a tight brown version of her small, slank cousin Candi, but with sharper facial features and a smoother, darker complexion, more resistant to the buffets of climate or lovemaking. Her coarse black hair, parted in the middle, fell straight to wave on her bare shoulders. Her brown eyes were bright, even through the craze of smoke. Indeed, the smoke seemed to add to their brightness.
"Wow," said Brandi. "It's been a long time since I've done shit like this."
It wasn't certain whether she was talking about the dope or the sex.
"You ever do three guys in one morning, before?" asked Don. Good old Don.
Brandi just looked at him with a sly smile.
Brandi was turned toward us as she lounged on her side, back to the fire. I rolled off my cushion to approach the girl, slithering over the thick throwrug toward her fine legs. The morning's trade had been fun, but sort of straightforward. Now was performance time, maybe. Brandi pushed out a thin teen thigh to pillow my head. The air between her legs smelled of rich cheese.
"Have you ever done three on one?" Brandi countered, her voice suddenly hoarse.
I kissed the tasty soft rind of Brandi's thigh, and she thrust her fingers into my hair. She worked partly in self-defense, partly to guide me. I nipped her tender inner thigh, and Brandi emitted a not-too-friendly growl. To make up, I flutterlicked up the crease between mound and right thigh. A little gaggy taste of another man's cum.
