Blood, Guns and Whores

~An
All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog

Written and Illustrated by W.Ross Ayers

An SFWC Co-Publishing Studio Production © 2011 by LND, inc. All rights reserved

“Blood, Guns and Whores – An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog“, is a coffee table novel TM made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.

W. Ross Ayers
Goto www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters or to by the book.

23. New Red Firebird

We were sixteen. I had kissed other girls before and had gone steady with Lynne in eighth grade, but I never kissed her. When I was fifteen I am pretty sure I had sex with Cattie, kinda. Let’s just say I did. But Kate was my first girlfriend. Christmas gifts, hot make-out sessions, talking about dreams and desires. My first intimate relationship, awkward, exciting, scary, nervous. It was midsummer after my junior year. My parents were at work. So was Rich. I had never had a girl over at my house alone before. I don’t remember our phone call talking about her coming over, but she did knowing we would be alone. She drove her new red Firebird that her dad had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. We had dated my whole sophomore year. She was a freshman. We were fifteen. During that year one Friday before I was supposed to go to a lock-in at the Catholic church I spent the evening with her in her parents’ breezeway watching MTV. A Chaka Khan video played on the TV. Kate was in her pajamas, a t-shirt and small cotton brief shorts as a bottom. I couldn’t believe her mom let us hang out like that. I think her mom must have really liked the idea of me being with her. And she was even a substitute teacher at our high school. I was always on my best behavior when she was the substitute for one of my classes. That night when we were in her parent’s breezeway watching MTV I went down on her. She totally let me. I had no idea what I was doing. Luckily, I had kept listening to Dr. Ruth on the radio over the summer on Sunday nights in my room lying on my bed. So I used the A-B-C method that Dr. Ruth had described. Outline the alphabet with the tongue A…B…C. I just wanted to make her excited.

I pulled her cotton brief shorts to the side. I smelled and tasted a woman, a girl for the first time. Her flesh, hair, wetness coated my mouth, face, tongue. She squirmed and squeezed my head between her legs. Later that night during the lock-in at the Catholic church I told my friends what I had done. They didn’t believe me. Pat had gone steady with her in eighth grade. They hadn’t even kissed. He didn’t want to believe. Twenty minutes after our phone call that summer day, as she drove her new red Firebird down the driveway, I heard the gravel popping under her tires. I watched out the window of the back door of our old farmhouse as she got out of the car. Shoulder length blonde hair, light skin, 5’7”, 125 pounds, perfect sixteen-year-old breasts, blue eyes, smooth hips and legs. She smiled at me and walked up the two cracked concrete steps onto the crooked pressboard covered porch. I opened the door. We kissed. I don’t remember how we got there, but we quickly ended up in my bedroom. The midday sun lit the room. The air was hot, dry, almost dusty. We were lying on my twin bed in the corner of the room, windows at the head and side of the bed. We were kissing and touching, feeling, being sixteen. Then her shirt was off, just in a white cotton bra. Then my Levis were unbuttoned. Then she had my cock in her hand. I moved up and her mouth was on my stomach. I so wanted to feel her lips around me. I was hard, delirious, awkward, excited, scared, nervous. She went further. Down warm, down her lips around, hot, wet. I slipped into myself, filled with intimacy, excitement, delirium, anxiety, fear, blonde hair, smooth shoulders, straps of a white cotton bra.

Time froze. The world left. I felt the come rising in me. I knew she had never done this before. Neither had I. I wanted to warn her about me coming. But I could not…would not, decided, couldn’t think, wouldn’t think. I wanted to come in her. This is it. I knew she had never made a boy come, seen a boy come. Rising, don’t, but…Back around, down, excitement, delirium. Tension. Tension. Tension... Release spraying into her. Blonde hair, smooth shoulders, straps of a white cotton bra jerked away from me. She gagged and spit on my bed. With a look of repulsion she got up, went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. I heard popping gravel as the new red Firebird drove away.

“Blood, Guns and Whores – An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog“, is a coffee table novel TM made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.

W. Ross Ayers
Goto www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters or to by the book.

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