Basketball Betty
by Higgins
rwill4515@aol.com


I was an undergraduate Psychology major at the University of Connecticut when I met Basketball Betty. Her name was inspired by her marvelous chest, although the persons she encountered never called her Basketball Betty to her face. I had just been honorably discharged from the U.S. Army and was 25 years of age and at that timeBetty was an executive secretary at U-Conn, as it is called. She attracted men by the droves. She was a platinum blond of age 30, and when she walked across campus, wearing a red skirt and a black blouse, both form fitting, with shiny black pumps encasing her feet, she left a trail of men of all ages frozen in their tracks, their eyes glazed, breathing rapidly.. Betty was a part-time student, her tuition being paid as a fringe benefit of her job, and her major field was English.

I met Betty when we both happened to enroll in a course entitled "Psychology and Literature," and by chance I ended up sitting next to her in the classroom. One day after class we spread a blanket on the edge of Mirror Lake and enjoyed a simple lunch of submarine sandwiches and iced tea. We were lying therenecking for awhile, but then I had to go off to class and Betty went to work. The first official date I had with Betty was arranged in an odd fashion because of our disparate schedules. Both of us liked to go to plays, especially enjoying live performances, and at the time the U-Conn Players were putting on Julius Caesar. Rather than picking her up and taking her to the theater I met her there. It was February, the weather was cold, it was snowing, and I was wearing heavy clothing, including rubber boots. I arrived at the theater before Betty, hung up my coat and shed my boots in a wrap room, and took a seat in the front row of the theater. Betty arrived 15 minutes later, wearing her heavy clothing as she came to the front and sat beside me. She took off her fur coat and scarf and placed them in her lap. . She gave me a big smile, held my hand, and kissed me on the ear. "Are you ready for a good play, Rod?" Soon the lights were lowered and the play began. The theater was quite dark except for the stage. The audience was disappointingly small, with hardly anyone in the first row. It was possible that some potential spectators stayed away because of problems in understanding Elizabethan English. Others could have been discouraged by the inclement weather. Although the players were amateurs, it was refreshing to have the pleasure of a live performance. And they were very good amateur actors.

Soon Betty placed her hand on my thigh. She let it remain there for a moment, perhaps to see if I would discourage her, and then she moved it to the inside of my thigh, stroking me gently, moving it up closer to my crotch. What would you do if a lovely platinum blond were stroking you in a sensitive area, where the nerve endings abound?

Well, I experienced a case of trembling loins. On the stage the prophet was warning

Julius Caesar to be wary of the 15th of March.
Soothsayer: Caesar!
Caesar: Ha! Who calls?
Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.
Caesar: He is a dreamer. Let us leave him.

In the meanwhile Betty was making progress. She blew on my ear softly and then put her tongue in my ear. Betty covered both of our laps with her fur coat. In that way she could work more freely in arousing me. She unbuckled my belt, unzipped my fly, and freed my hard and throbbing penis from the confines of my underwear. I felt fingers gently stroking the head of my cock, which was already wet with viscous, pre-come iquid. Her next move was a shocker. She ducked her head under the coat and went down on me sucking in a firm and rhythmic manner, her warm fingers caressing my balls. I reached inside her sweater, lowered her bra, and gently caressed her lovely breasts. At times she would give my weapon a rest, and then when it began to get soft the sucking caresses would resume. I got to the point where I was about to come off and was fearful that I might create detectable sounds in my full joy. Suddenly a rather noisy eventoccurred on the stage.

Casca: Speak, hands for me!
[Casca first, then the other Conspirators and Marcus Brutus
stab Caesar.]
Caesar: Et tu, Brute? Then fall Caesar![Dies.]
Cinna: Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence,
proclaim, cry it about the streets.

I began to come just as Caesar was acknowledging Brutus’s unkind stab. It was a prolonged, shuddering orgasm and I punctuated it with loud moans, which were apparently masked by the actions on the stage. Betty sucked contentedly as she managed to swallow all of my semen. After we watched the play for awhile, I decided to reciprocate. I began by slipping my hand under Betty’s end of the fur coat and resting it on her knee. As expected, there was no resistance, so I ran my finger tips along her thighs slowly and eventually reached inside her skirt and touched her panties. They were sopping wet! I next focused on her breasts by feeling my way inside her sweater, un-hooking her bra, and sucking on her awesome tits. I gently nibbled on the nipples and they became hard. Betty was moaning quietly. After removing her panties, I went dow non Betty, using my lips and tongue to great effect, working over her labia and paying special attention to her clitoris. Betty was having trouble containing her emotions and she warned me that if I didn’t stop she would soon experience major orgasms accompanied by loud exclamations of pleasure. I assured her that the military actions about to occur on the stage should mask her declarations of joy. I put a finger in her mouth and she sucked on it. Then I too sucked on it and reached under her buttocks until I located her nether hole, plunging the wet slippery finger into it.

And on the stage:
Scene II of Act V- The field of battle
[Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala]
Brutus: Ride, ride, Messala, and give bills
Unto the legions on the other side.
[Loud alarum.]

Betty shrieked her way through multiple orgasms, her hips bucking, as I licked up her erotic juices.

Scene IV of Act V-Another part of the field.
[Alarum. Enter, fighting, soldiers of both armies]

Apparently, the other persons in the audience did not detect our love making and the players hadn’t been disturbed. We rearranged our clothing and the fur coat went back on Betty’s lap. We turned to each other and kissed several times. And then the lights came up and the players took their bows.
I said, "Did you enjoy the play?"
"Shakespeare’s play or our play,Rod," replied Betty..
"Our play,"I said.
"It was sheer pleasure," said Betty
I said, "Perhaps we should come back on the weekend and see Shakespeare’s play."
"Rod, how would you like to have a nooner tomorrow?" said Betty.
I said, "I can’t think of anything I would rather do."
"I can switch schedules with one of the other secretaries in my office so that you can pick me up at eleven in the morning and then I will return to work at one," said Betty. "We can go to the Lark Woods on the edge of the campus. I will pack a lunch for us. I have a book that might interest you. It contains a description of over 200 love-making positions that were employed by the ancient Chinese. Some of it is illustrated."
I said, "I can’t wait. Maybe we can work our way through the first dozen positions tomorrow."

No Milk and Cookies
by Sean Farragher
farragher@comcast.net
http://www.seanfarragher.com
other stalked me with her spoon
when father drank. Love was
"a turn of the screw" James'
story was mysterious,
water fills the tub barely
kicking the ocean as I splash
in the bath with her perfume
on my lips and on her fingers.

It was a game; she flew naked
from lies. I was not child she said.
"Man of my dreams," she sang.
Delusion and mercy forever and ever.

Held by my privates,
Sprayed with blue milk I sucked.
She laughed. She loved harder
as she spoke that word "pain"
in commercials for happiness.

She tongued my lips and I bit her nipple
Christ violet in flower. She said. "More
It hurts. It is a bloody sky, crimson
patch of gentleness. "Amen.
I am your demon."

When I held her she laughed too easy
at the mystery of the boy and his chalice.

The next morning I woke to the smell of raw milk
gone sour -- she of semen left out to ripen;
father slept on the floor not forgotten.

No one caught her for his crime
nor did Father suffer pale malaise.
She died not knowing the legacy.
The entrance to her hell
was a ball of sun and a noose

"You are the lamb," she said
"I am the woman with the axe."

It was fear she said.
I cannot watch you
as I fall from your side
and it doesn't happen
as stroke follows memory.

I rose at dawn and made
that extension a daily ritual
The world lived inside and my breath
was cool, instant after instant I signed
at the place where I was ordered
she made me lie down in her green pasture
I could not confess her sins. I opened
her door and watched her with him

I was sad as she turned away
He laughed as my wife revised
our order of ceremony. She's
mine I wanted to shout. He took
her back and beat her raw
I rubbed her wounds and kissed
where she longed to hurt
syllables split into stalks
hide, seek allows pollution.
They called sex that once.

When she came I counted
the number of thrusts
expanded like a litany of sex
on the back of her cross where
We live happy together
in Mary, in the end of all things
while Saturn covered us with methane
as frozen rivers from triton.

The beach is arms.
Crust of the rock "Genesis"
In billions of miles, years from
then to now mother
and father made love
in the void as salt revives
the strip tease of the lash.

I remember her pleasure
as I came too soon, late
to the morning of her sun.

I worship at that Hollywood door
where her hair parts and
moisture leaks from her gate.

I was stalked in my flannel
warm and cozy night dress
she made it for me.
stood up made for burlesque
while I gave into her pleading
and let go in her mouth.
.

Eddie Meyers Buys A Blowjob
31 January 1989
by Sean Farragher
farragher@comcast.net
http://www.seanfarragher.com
t was thundering cold, blustery, raining snow and ice the day former lifeguard and US Marine Staff Sgt. Eddie Meyer's walked his last taxi driving tour.

Sgt. Eddie courted death, snorted coke, fucked dime whores, and did anything in his power to die early. He insisted on risk multiplied by risk. And that frozen day, getting, what he called the perfect blowjob Eddie's heart quit as he shot into the child's mouth.

Henry heard the story of the "blow by blow" directly from the girl. A week after Eddie died he picked Judy up on a whim as she hitched across the GW Bridge.

All of us knew about Judy. On the street runaway at 14, shooting coke at 15. She had a kid last year at 16; her parents' back in Ohio raised little girl. Judy couldn't take it so she returned to the streets two months later.

She told the driver Fat Frank that she loved Eddie and only went back on the game, using her favorite British slang, when she lost her fast food job. "I would fuck Eddie just because," she said. I am sad he died. He always made me laugh. Others said that Judy was full of shit and that her pimp fucked with Eddie's drugs when Eddie got too close to Judy. Others, and there are always fifty stories for one truth saying Judy Fucked? Eddie up when he refused to take her in his cab to cop blow. Truth is always fragile.

Laurie seemed sad, as Henry told the story to Aaron and Angela later that night. Sure, Judy could be lying. Then again, all I gave her was a free ride to the city. I didn't even wait, he said.

She got out, and looking almost dead herself, pushed her head back into the cab, through my open window, and asked me if I would wait while she copped. She continued smiling and kissing me on the cheek; that "if I waited she would give me what she had given Eddie." I laughed at her, and sped off, and I could see she was laughing as well. I wondered why I let her kiss me on the cheek.

Henry loved his stories called them shadows. He saw the good Sgt. as the perfect ghost. He was dead before he lived; Henry thought when he learned how Eddie had died. And saying that, they he remembered how they shared war stories, and how he believed everything that Eddie said.

Eddie would slap Henry's back, after each story, and carefully ask Henry why the fuck he drove a cab. Eddie would add, finally, yea I know you got fired for fucking some underage student, but what's the other reason.

Man, you're out of place here, but Hen again, being out of place, fits. We're all out of place, so you might as well enjoy it, and he would offer Henry a hit, or a line and Henry would carefully accept the joint and refuse the coke.

The last thing Henry remembered. That New Year, just before Midnight, on the taxi stand, three cabs behind Eddie on the stand.

Eddie was looking at his box of photos. He kept them with his cash in the cab. They were the usual ones. Pictures of Eddie as a lifeguard, in Nam, in uniform. Eddie would always say, look how handsome I was then, as he fingered his past. Here's my son. Wasn't he great? I miss him, he would add. Why did he die? Why did I buy him that fast car so he could kill him self. I told him not to race that fucking car.

Eddie rambled like this all the time. Most of the drivers ignored him. Henry couldn't, but when Eddie, called the taxi stand "His patient rest before that moral hour soon to come." Henry saw Eddie the poet and he remembered how he also called the GW Bridge, his righteous black ocean to "Never-never land." Just like Tinker bell, he said, and he would snap his fingers, and laugh, letting his body shiver. If I could only twinkle, he said, how I could get laid. And the other drivers, Henry included, would laugh at the show, waiting like Eddie, for their last call, caressing the bridge, called it their righteous ocean.

So Myths are born.

Two hours after death Eddie another drunken ghost rode the bridge? I never saw him, but some did. Sure, I believe them.

One driver protested Eddie's claims. He said - how can a ghost get stoned and drunk? How cans a ghost get blown? "You know," the man said, "if Eddie were really a ghost he would have whores to service him. "Would be free, the man, would protest, right?"

I remember Eddie one summer night maybe a year or two earlier. Eddie was in back of a broken down cab with a Spanish hooker. She was fucking him. The girl looked about 20 but was probably 14. Eddie was banging her not caring if I watched, and the bitch, was spread out on the back seat, half stoned, almost asleep, oblivious to the grunts and groans, as Eddie pushed his body into her furiously trying to keep himself hard after he came. I know I am a "sicko" but I watched the whole thing. Eddie said later that she asked if I would be next. He told her No, that I was a faggot, and she said, laughing back, that her brother would do me for twenty. I said that she could blow me if she paid me, and she smiled, pushed me down and sucked me off in five minutes rubbing my balls to make it happen quicker. She loved it, she said, and it was free, which pissed off Eddie? She did suck well. It was quick and I rose into her summer head. I felt it all like a bang on the back of your life when you come you are like a delicious machine making the cream into a luxurious float. I loved watching her suck I remembered as Eddie floated past. She sucked as her teeth scratched, and as quick as I came, she sucked longer afterwards. Finally she licked up semen that had dripped from her chin to almost invisible tits.

Eddie was never off course. He raged for the coke and pussy. He died having his dick sucked, and Henry added, telling Aaron the story, you know if I have to die, why not in the saddle.

Aaron, always the comic, retorted, bet you fucked the girl too. It wasn't just a blow job. Don't bullshit me Henry; I know you never turn young ass down. You got the taste for it in Nam like I did.