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The Pleasure Principle

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David and Corky are siblings who grow into middle-class yearnings against the backdrop of suburbia. Both come to reject their parental-imposed values, with David in particular developing an existentialist, id-based life, while his sister seeks satisfaction at college. The pair are on a collision with society... and each other.


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The Pleasure Principle
Jessie Taylor
This page copyright © 2006 Olympia Press. For Tillie and Mac without whose inspiration I never would have...
CHAPTER ONE
David Cummings was as strong and healthy as an elev en-year-old boy could be; he had passed the five-foot mark on the kitchen wall family gauge months ago, and he was already looking toward the five-six stripe on his w ay to the goal of six-one (so he might pass his dad). He hated school, loved baseball, had perpetually dirty hands and feet, didn't like going to bed or getting up in the morning, car ried a penknife, played hearts at the playground, tried smoking, liked Christmas, and spinach (just to be contrary), and he liked his mother, father... and sister Corky. Sometimes. Sister Corky was also a normal, natural, lithe-limb ed thirteen-year-old girl-child. She had almost evolved from the stage where she compuls ively fondled her cunt. Well... scratched, tugged at and prodded might better describe what she did. She missed it, and couldn't think of a thing to do to replace the ritual. She only tried to quit when she became self-conscious about it. Her mother began slapping her hands and forecasting horrible physical deformities which would spoil the line of her prom dress at graduation time. But somehow Corky couldn't kick that erotic odor on her slender, bone-china fingers. Like a junkie, she was hooked on it. She, too, like David, loved her mommy and daddy— but unlike him, she favored school, hated baseball and had not yet smoked or been quite able to stomach spinach; she liked to listen to her records, cut out pictures of Rock Hudson and Donald O'Connor, dance with girlfriends in her room after school, and experiment at different ways a young lady in her bloom could urinate: standing; with one leg on the wet, cool white bowl; backwards; forwards; and through h er erotically permeated fingers. And she liked David. Sometimes. All went reasonably well with the rather idyllic fa mily, until that summer when the children were eleven and thirteen. David's father (although quite well fixed financially) had earlier insisted that David take a paper route—so that he might learn some responsibility and the value of a dollar. David didn't really mind because all his friends seemed to have routes, too. But that summer his father dismissed him from the duty and, as David wished, allowed him to go to summer camp. And, indeed, it was. Corky, on the other hand, had no interest in going to camp, and her father didn't see any reason to make her go. So she hung around the house all summer, dancing, smelling her fingers and cutting out pictures of Donald O'Connor and Jean-Louis Barrault. They all went down to the railroad station to see D avid off on the big day: Mommy, Daddy, Corky and Melvin, the Dalmatian. After he had kissed his mother and shook hands with his dad, the time came to face Corky. He didn't really want to kiss her, and to shake her smelly hand would have been awkward and ridiculous (not to mention nauseating in a rather stirringly disgusting way). She didn't know how to handle the situation either, so Mommy, as usual, came to the rescue and clapped the m together like one of the Three Stooges used to do with the other two. Problem solved. It was a sweet, sensuous, lingering kiss, as their tongues searched imploringly into the corners and moist reaches of one another's mouth. T hey finally parted, after a long
moment, he glassy-eyed and she impervious to all bu t the taste of her brother's mind-boggling oral appendage. While Melvin scampered, yapping in circles around them, Mommy smiled and Daddy tossed David and his paraphernalia onto the train and was rid of him for two months. After all the ludicrous and obscene waving and gesticulating had transpired, David settled back in a humid, sun-yellowed car to read the magazine h e had brought with him; it was the current issue ofBoy's Life,which seemed, at that point, silly—not to mention unstimulating. Then David realized that something was wrong: the crotch of his trousers was wet. He had ejaculated in his very jeans; the first rushing gush of manhood. He felt strangely pleased with himself and tried to snuggle down into it, but found it impossible, as his pants went the way of his thighs. He would have liked to run to th e men's lavatory, but the inane red-headed boy next to him became a wall, as he constru cted a large phallic symbol with an Erector Set. Later, David discreetly dipped his hand down into his trousers on the pretext of fishing out a wad of gum, and surreptitiously came up with a small tea-spoonfuls-worth of what looked to him like Italian Balm, or some other kind of ladies' hand lotion. He smelled it, tasted it, and tried to return to the magazine. But not without a memory of what was, and visions of what might yet come. Meanwhile, back in the Buick, Corky sat alone in th e back seat, pretending to read Modern Scum Magazine,kenings ofall the while responding gloriously to the awa  but womanhood in her precious twat. It throbbed, twitched, buzzed electrically and generally raised hell with her. It was as though there was a direct line from it to her heart , as that, too, acted up. She, like her brother, was moist all over down there and she wished fervently that she had a candle or a cucumber or some elongated thing, to ease the strange, deep itch. She was bewildered at the unutterable changes and growth her long-limbed body was going through: the baby fat was almost gone, leaving her torso graced with easy curves, her neck had grown swan-like as in a Modigliani painting she had seen at th e museum, her peach-colored nipples had grown broader, darker, and seemed somehow to re ach off her swelling breasts like the nipples on a baby bottle. And she felt so godda mned...funnyall the time. ... Sometimes it was enough to make her cry; other time s... well... she would find herself in almost uncontrollable fits of hysterical leaping about, like a possessed faun. She stood for extended, speculative moments before her full-length mirror, tracing the outlines of new tits and a gracefully exciting snatch; then her large, K eane-ish, green eyes would stare over one arched shoulder at the long pear-like sweep from her hip to the bulge of her buttocks, down to the extended slope of her suddenly perfect thighs. Mrs. Cummings chattered away in the front seat of t he car into her husband's deadened ear, while he looked away at other women: strange, exciting gash, their full, ripe-melon rumps wandering lazily under dresses and slacks as they walked briskly to certain assignations in dimly-lit taverns. Corky, when she was certain she would not be observ ed, snuck her hand down into her jeans and rubbed furiously until she fell back against the plastic upholstery, sobbing softly and oozing chain-gang sweat. Her mother, booming to alarm, asked what was wrong, in a shrill, panicky voice. When Corky came out of her thrall she explained (falsely ) that she had just read a particularly touching article about Robert Lowery, Bonita Granvi lle and the Hoosier Hotshots. Her mother, satisfied with the lie, returned to her chatter and Corky laid her blonde head back against a window, smiling contentedly and anticipating bigger and better things as great globs of nookie-nectar ran down her young, aching legs and settled into small, inert pools
on the rubberized floor of the family car. The two kids both wrote hot, furiously passionate e pistles to each other over the summer. Mommy thought it was fine when her daughter ran to her pink room to read David's letters. What she didn't know was that, onc e in the room, her eyes would shoot alternately between her brother's twitch-ecstasies and a picture of Arnold Stang in a copy ofScreen Stroke as she masturbated away the summer hours. Morning, noon and night, her hands were almost never away from her eager, qu ivering pudenda, as she read and re-read David's sexy notes and consumed, devoured p ictures from the fan mags. Her types went from Stang to Bobby Darin, to Cornell Wilde to Phil Foster to Arthur Godfrey to Tim Carey, and on through Tab Hunter. Jackie Paris, Elvis Presley, Donald Meek, Ralph J. Gleason and finally wound up, in the waning days of July, with a quarter-page, back-lighted shot of a bow-tied Arthur Lake. She kneaded , rubbed, stroked and flayed herself until she was as red as a maraschino cherry (in hea vy syrup) and sore as a boil. But nevertheless, she reveled in it, and could not wait until the first Sunday in August, when they would go up to the mountains to visit David. Camp day. And how. She knew he would have something scrumptious waiting for her. Maybe something sucky, even. During this time, David discovered that his wondrous wang had a purpose other than ornamental. He began pulling his pud at odd moments —not only after “lights out.” On hikes he would jump behind a tree with nimble stealth and jerk his meat until there were spots of fresh come on the bark. He always whipped off on the semen-white of birch trees, so he could not be easily detected by spies and Com mies who might be lurking about. He'd sneak into the lavatory and shove skin during retreat—and, when others were eating their Jello at dessert, David would be wiping come on his napkin after an unusually dangerous, but inspired, session under the heavy wo oden table. He could easily have walked off with the camp handicraft prize that summ er—but he had other uses for his hands. Not, perhaps, as creative (in some people's estimation) but, none the less... stimulating. His belts and bearied bracelets weren't too groovy —but he was developing the largest dong in the camp: it seemed to grow thi cker and longer with each spurting exercise; he would watch it (not touching) by moonl ight as it jerked in spasms to its maximum, the magenta foreskin stretching back acros s the swelling glans in calibrated thrusts, before seizing it in one hand or the other (he was ambidextrous) to begin his crimson massage. One evening, aroused from sleep by an insistent thumping in the cabin where the boys slept, Rick, one of David's counselors, snuck into the large barracks to discover David, hips up over his head, feet stuck under the metal p ipe at the top of his bed, a rapidly softening penis only sexy inches from the eleven-year-old's boyish, cupid's-bow lips. “I... was just... exercising my... belly muscles... and I got stuck...” he explained weakly. Rick stood, hands on his hips, dressed only in bulg ing cock-weary jockey shorts. He sneered down at the fastened boy. “Stuck, huh?” He spat on the tip of his stubby thumb. “Well, stickthis,squirt...” he said, plunging the huge digit into the boy's asshole, shoving it all the way in and twisting it firmly, deeply, meth odically, until David's young cock lengthened again. Rick reached in between the boy's face and thighs, where he clutched the bulging cock in his hand, quickly yanking him t o orgasm in a few seconds. Still smirking, Rick held the palm of his hand in front o f David's mouth. “Lick it off, punk,” he ordered. “Start sucking.” David did, swallowing the viscous globs, staring wide-eyed up at his counselor. When he had finished the punishment, Rick turned scornfully and went back to his room at the opposite end of the cabin.
“Thanks Rick...” David said softly as the older boy 's gleaming back receded into the night. He was still looking forward to Camp Day, th ough—Camp Day and his first real piece of tail. Although there was never any written consent in the ir lascivious and pornographic messages to each other, they both knewIthappen on Camp Day. It was sort of a would spiritual agreement. Corky oiled copiously at the thought of it, and her brother was hardly ever without some kind of impatient prong in his co rduroys. They were hot for one another's bodies and horny as the New York Philharmonic brass section. When the big day came, the youngsters dispensed with the cute, dumb formalities as quickly as possible. Then David took his teen-aged sister by the hand off into the dense woods, ostensibly to show her the flora and fauna, while the unaware parents contented themselves with looking about the grounds. Mother w as disappointed that David's productivity was (apparently) not as great as that of the other boys this season. She inquired if he had been feeling well. He said he felt “great.” He didn't add that he had been frustrated out of his brains for the better part of the month in unspeakable porn-pangs over his sister's ripening body. Once off into the woods, David and Corky didn't spe ak at all. He led her by her trembling hand through sun-patches and shade, past maple and birch (semen dried and shining on their abluted barks), over pine cones an d poison ivy, hand-in-hand toward a spot he had anxiously prepared days before. It was in a three-sided lean-to, used only for bivouac purposes. Corky closed her anticipating eyes and allowed herself to be led to the site, thinking all the while of Robert Stack and Warren Finnerty. She was breathless in her eagerness to be done—and done—re-done, and done once again, if possible. Perspiration rolled down the inside of David's lean arms. His hands were dry but there was a wide spot of dark wetness in the middle of hi s tee-shirt, right under the words “Camp Wee-Wee-Watchee” in letters which were made to look like pieces of wood. Finally, out of breath, they arrived. David's face was fixed into the most serious expression and Corky's eyes were shyly averted. The y sat on the empty, chain-wire bedrack, the wire biting into their tender rumps, in the weathered old shelter. David had provided an old blanket, which he had resourcefully found (before, one of his camp-mates had been careless enough to lose it). He made the first move, closely repeating the good-bye kiss on the platform at the railroad station, re-enacting it as well as he could, at first, and then he became lost in improvisation, as did Corky herself. He easily thrust his hand under her blouse and was at once confounded by his first brassiere (a new addition over the summer). Without taking her sucking, grabbing m outh from his own, Corky reached behind herself with both hands and undid the clasp (cleverly causing her apple-sized boobs to thrust further toward him). David was, how ever, eager to use his hands for something; working a middle finger of one up under her nylon panties, he found her tiny gash and entered it, while with his other he fussed with the zipper of her shorts. He was into female flesh! Part of him anyway. And it literally excited the pants off his submissive sister, who assistively shed her lower garments as though they were burning her ass. David quickly removed his own trousers and shorts, and naked, clean, impatient and alone they were locked into each other's limbs as they groped at strange and welcome bodies before squirrels and chipmunks, who looked on curiously at the funny way humans made love. The rodents considered getting some water to throw on them, to force them apart, ending the sight of their obscenity. Corky and David tried; they pumped and writhed, awkwardly strapped together, sweaty bod to sweaty bod. Neither could make it. They had at each other for a good half-hour
before they finally gave it up as an over-anxious j ob. When they could finally bear one another's eyes, David was embarrassed—because along with the strange new elastic-strapped cups under her jersey, Corky had begun to sprout hair like a wild thing... and David was as bald as Uncle Punky around his then-limp stafflet. They talked and smoked for a while before getting d ressed, both coughing like consumptives. They decided that they both needed mo re time before they could really have a meaningful hump (not the kind Mrs. Cummings had earlier suggested to Corky, concerning her prom dress). That time, they wisely decided, was too rushed and frantic. They talked longingly about when David would return and they would have a more leisurely attitude toward The Grand Grope. Mother, father and daughter returned home that evening, driving another long road at sunset. Corky was frustrated beyond belief. That time, when her mother asked what the matter was, Corky called her a “stupid bitch” and t old her to “mind your own fucking business.” Mrs. Cummings' feelings were hurt by that. Corky tried the five-finger exercise — but to no avail. She tried to sleep in the uncomfortable car, but that, too, was a soul-wrenching farce. Even her intense thoughts of E.G. Marshall and Sonny Rollins did no good. When she got home she removed her wet, well-tested clothing and threw herself on the bed with a picture (in full color) of a well-known Great Dane, with a gross, pink erection... and finally made her mark, dropping into a shallow, troubled slumber. David had to, again, secretly jack-off in his bunk—and he finally had a tight, incomplete and unsuccessful orgasm, while thinking intertwined thoughts of his sister, Anna Magnianni and Pearl Bailey. He wiped the residue fr om cock to sheet and fell into an exhausted faint. Then, in fact on the very same day, the strangest things happened to the siblings. Corky was dancing to radio music up in her room with a girl whose name was Nancy, but whom everyone called “Tomboy” or “John,” because she played baseball better than any of the boys and she could already beat the shit out of her father. Corky had noticed that Janet seemed somewhat preoccupied and uneasy during the afternoon, but she had chosen to pay no attention to the fact. Ultimately Janet, who was three years older than Corky, suddenly grabbed her around the waist and pu lled her onto delicate tip-toes, planting a full, sumptuously demanding kiss firmly on her tender lips. Corky's mouth opened in surprise in the first place, but she beca me unnerved when she found that the huge thrust of Janet's tongue excited the clit out of her. It was as exciting as the thrusting grind of the girl's pelvis up against her own. They were both wearing short-shorts and before long Nancy's thick, muscular thigh was firmly planted up against Corky's succulent cunt, which, again, began oiling down her limp thig hs and onto Nancy's stronger ones, inspiring the boyish girl to an almost asthmatic wheezing and a redoubling of her passions. Nancy slipped her bat-calloused hands up under Corky's blouse to her knob-hard tits and she began rather expertly stimulating her nipples t o a pink erectness. Corky gingerly pushed her fingers down into the other girl's short s and moved them over her stocky buttocks, one hand working its way around to the front and over her round belly, down into the moist gnarl of curly hair, which spread out tow ard her hips, and high, like an inverted pyramid, nearly to her navel. They continued to kiss long and deep and Nancy did similar things to Corky, both working fingers up inside cun ts and shuddering with the thrill common to them both. They undid each other's clothing and stood naked before the mirror, kissing and sucking at their flesh, fingering in fissures, over swollen mounds and into dark valleys. Nancy fell to her knees and began nuzzling her mouth against Corky's downy blonde cunt, slipping her tongue up inside and work ing it around. Corky's knees bent
involuntarily as the desire and its satisfaction coursed through her nerves simultaneously. She fell back onto the bed, her legs spread wide, n early fainting. Nancy lunged forward and threw them wider, plunging her mouth once more into the morsel she needed, massaging her own large breasts as she did, seemingly trying to push her whole face up inside the younger girl, driving her wild on the br oad bed, and Corky reached down her own hands and tried to draw the other girl's whole head inside. Nancy, wanting her cunt eaten too, scrambled onto the bed and maneuvered th em into the Yin-Yang, classic 69 clasp, and they commenced gobbling gash, nibbling c lit, stroking everywhere with their flying hands; and when it seemed unbearable to them both, they brought one another off in explosions and lunges of pure chick lust. Nancy, on one elbow, fondled Corky's slit and stare d at her shallow tits, while Corky, flat on her back, looked down across her mound at t he face of a friend who had quickly become a much closer friend. She bent forward and gave the young dyke's cunt a lapping lick across her magnificent growth of fur. Just to say thank you. Then, aroused again, they fell to fuck-at, suck-at and touch—and Corky had things done to her that she didn't believe: she had not on ly her pussy sucked, but her nose sucked and tongued, her toes sucked and tongued, he r sweet, pink asshole tongue-reamed and tits shoved up it afterward. That aftern oon she experienced four teen-age orgasms. Thereafter, Janet introduced Corky to three other p ubescent lesbian apprentices and some new old native customs. The last quadrant of the summer swung hard for little Cork, as she made the gay scene with her new friends. The ones her mom called “strange.” The things that went on in that room! The five of t hem going at it at once in a huge circle of gyrating flesh, which seemed to be draped over one corner of the bed, a morris chair, a vanity bench and much of the floor like a Dali pocket watch. When Mr. and Mrs. Cummings would go for a visit the house would be fi lled, it seemed, with running, screaming girls who, having teased up a desire for something thick, warm and living up inside them, chased an exhausted and bewildered Mel vin all over the house and basement, the Dalmatian galumphing for dear life until two of the girls would catch him and shove him into a third, who waited on the floor with her winking snatch quivering for cock. Once inside, the canine would always somehow magically be revivified and carry out his chore, as man's best friend is supposed to do. And one really fun thing, they discovered, was to squeeze two condoms, one over each buffer, on Corky's paddy's electric shoe-polisher, insert each end in a girl and plug it in. That was more than kicky. But despite the soul which went into the chick-game s, Corky was hiply objective and only waited for the moment when she could get David into the sack and show him some really groovy techniques. She balled and was balled at least three times a day until her brother returned. The same day that Corky discovered that girls were fun, too, David had an experience of his own. He had faked a headache and upset stomach on a field trip and wended his way back to the cabin to lie on his bunk and tug at his torpedo. When he got back, the screen door slammed behind him and two heads came up on a top b unk about mid-way back in the cabin. They were the heads of Johnny Running-Deer and Jeffrey Shapiro, an Indian and a Jew who co-habited the cabin. They were, at first, quite embarrassed to be caught with each other, in the nude, on a bed, but upon finding David the curious type (“If h e blows you, and I blow him... will you
blow me?”) they invited him to join their select circle and make it a trio. They swung for the balance of the afternoon with variations of the old Circle-Jerk and Bunch-Munch. David was anally plugged and did some fancy fucking himse lf over the rest of the term of encampment. For instance: the time, late one night, when they c aught Rick by surprise and gang-fucked him. They shit on his face and made him eat it (he appeared tolikeit after a while!) They ran corn-cobs and boat poles up his ass (he appeared to likethatafter a while!) They tied him to tent stakes in center-field on the ball diamond, and beat him across the cock-and-balls with knotted ropes (he had taught them how to make the very same knots earlier that day) until he tried to scream past the gag the y had stuffed into his mouth. Rick liked that, too. Funny: so did the boys. They untied him and left him there, huddled into a foetal position just north of second base, a weeping, hysterical, emotional mess. That w ould teach him to fuck David Cummings around. Magnianni was out for a time, and so were Miss Frances and Dr. Joyce Brothers, as David indulged in sado-mas ritual. His two new intimate friends and he experimented with all shades and nuances of the fag-game, and by the end of the season he was nearly as experienced in the ways of Sodom-h omo-erotica as any Eighth Street queen. He also picked up some valuable tricks he thought he might show his sister when he returned home at the end of August. They didn't have a real chance to be alone on the day he returned, but they did make a few arbitrary passes in such unlikely and improbabl e places as the kitchen (while Mom was preparing dinner), the dining room (while eatin g dinner), the bathroom (while daddy showered) and even earlier on the lawn as they came into the house. Needless to say, by the time bedtime rolled around they were both primed and ready to jump. Just prior to retiring, Mommy and Daddy annou nced that the two kids would be sleeping in the same room soon, due to a prospected addition to the family (God knows how), and the children were not as upset by the announcement as Mommy and Daddy had expected. When all was quiet and dark in the house that night, Corky crept into David's room and sat on the edge of his bed. She did not even have to be coy about whether he felt like it that night or not. They didn't talk much. She was no sooner seated than one of his hands was between her legs, two fingers wiggling into her snatch, and the other around her ass, two fingers deeply there. She fell across him, twis ting so that her mouth found his hard, twitching rod, and surrounded it, plunging down and withdrawing with sucking grabs of her lips, her tongue circling the purple head, her soft hands cradling his dangling balls, a thumb stroking downward gently on them. They each w ent 'round a notch ('round the world) and they re-grooved identical, super-sensitive holes, wrenching and thrusting to the first jazz of come. Then David reversed himself and entered her smoothly and quickly (having more tolerance to work with than he got wit h the average, early-teen, male asshole), and he whipped languidly up into her most delicate precinct, holding there the briefest shard of an instant (long enough to roll shifting prods around her young uterus and the innermost walls of her supple snatch) before rh ythmically withdrawing himself in maddening temperance, only to re-shove himself to his hilt into the swooning, twitchoowee sister. After only minutes they had their first com mon rush, their mouths locked together, his tongue half down her throat, her tits flattened against his heaving chest, her legs clamped, along with her arms, to his ass and back, his to hers, carnal blatant fuck-oils and gysm running mingled and squirting in spontaneous oozes.... The first of five that night. The Cummings kids were well on the road to a sophisticated, modern adjustment to the
common complexities of life, and would not, ten yea rs hence, have to pay twenty dollars an hour-that-isn't-an-hour to some poor doctor so that they could burden his mind ” with their abstracted and allegorical tales of repression.
CHAPTER TWO
“I could destroy that chick, man!” David explained to his naive friend, Neil Turner, several years and many, many greasy gropes later. They drove swiftly through the moonlit countryside on their way to a neighboring town's school dance early one warm September evening. In the intervening five years David had matured sexually perhaps ten. “She runs crying into her house: clam-clam-clam-BLAM, up those rickety-ass steps, across that dark, sexy porch and in through that goddamn foot-thick f ront door of hers.” David angrily mashed his Pall Mall into Neil's father's dashboard ashtray. He rolled down the window and deeply inhaled the clean country air which swir led about his slowly, angrily shaking head. “In the car she came on all cunt, shoulders a nd mouth. She spilled her goddamn juice down the front of my shirt! And when I say 'Do me'—she starts crying! Crying! Christ, the chick is fourteen and she acts like she's nine! 'Who do you think you're talking to? What kind of girl do you think I am?' she says—as if I didn't know. Long as she gets her cunt sucked she doesn't give a rotten carrot for anyone. All night long, man, I lay out all my bread, pouring down those milkshakes and sodas—I even brought a pint of wine that we drank in the car. Quarters for the jukebox—I must've dropped five bucks down that thing. She doesn't think anything of feeling my, you know, genitals under the table in the booth. She doesn't feel bad or embarrassed when her cousin, Helen, says, right there, that they eat each other all the time. She laughs, in fact. B ut just letmeask her to go down on me and it freaks her simple mind! But next time I get mine—or she gets hers!” “Jeez,” Neil told him enviously. “You still get more'n most guys we know. What're you complainin' about alla time?” “Yeah, but it's still notenough,”David tried to explain to his pal. “Wait. You'll see. Wait'll you get your first taste. You'll be a cunt-hound, t oo.” And in a secret cave, which was recessed somewhere deep in David's mind, he embrace d the truth about himself for the first time: he was, indeed, a cunt-hound, and one o f the horniest order—at sixteen! It vaguely troubled him; it confounded him—but as in a ll revelations, of any nature, it was somehow comforting to him to at least know who and what he, in fact, was. “When are you gonna fix me up with Corky, Dave? She's the one I'dreallylike to start with.... Man oilman, do I ever have hot pants for her!” “Neil, I hate to say this to a buddy—but you wouldn 't know what to do with my sister. She'd have you in a psycho ward in two hours. Besides, you're too young for her. And too short.” “Hey, c'mon ...!” “I'm sorry, buddy—but it's true. She likes six-footers with ten-inchers—minimum.” Neil Turner was a five-footer with a six-incher. “F ive-two-'and-a-half,” he would complain, but whack off twice daily religiously tho ugh he did (and sometimes up to five times), he could not in...

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