Of Candy Canes and Pinewood Art

NOTE: This is a prequel set almost 19 years before the events of four previous stories of mine. There isn't a need to read this before the others, but it does spoil the shocking ending of the fourth published story.

*

"Damn, I hate 35mm."

Hi, my name is Nick Meux, a graduate student in my mid-30s. It is hard to believe it is already February 1990. All this time and I am still doing grunt work. I am at the hometown of my father's family, one I seldom visit due to my father abandoning my mother when I was 3 after four years of marriage. Still, I feel a bond for the place.

I find it hard to attain a decent job, and getting too old for jobs that any schmuck off the street could get. Too much education or not enough experience...that is my curse. I've had only one girlfriend in my life, and that was a decade ago. I was too inexperienced to keep her. She wasn't much to brag about, but she was mine. That meant something. Now I must wonder if I'll ever find love again. Why does God hate me so?

Anyways, I am now at my ancestral hometown of Appleburg, a little town that in antebellum days was booming, until the last patriarch of the founding family, one Mr. Apple, was killed when an apple tree fell on him while he was having an argument with a woman visiting her son's grave. Some say the son's ghost, a Confederate soldier, caused the tree to fall on Apple. Some say the ghost still haunts the cemetery, waiting for something. I don't know if it is true, but it is a fun story. I take a few pictures and respectfully salute the grave; I don't want the oak tree now above the grave to fall on me.

Time to walk down the hill. I have a candy cane in my pocket, even through Christmas was several weeks ago, and pondered sucking on it. I'm hungry, but the nearest McDonald's is 15 minutes away, and other food joints are further. Best to go ahead and finish taking these shots. I prefer using a 110, but the clarity of one isn't good enough for slides. I wish there was a way to have cameras that are essentially small computers, but that is not likely to happen. After all, my home PC had a whopping 640K; how could anyone use more than that?

This is a pretty area; too bad it's not more populated. Just a few hundred people and a bar. I wish I had come a few months ago; this would have been pretty with fall color. I do wish there was someone nearby; I'm feeling lonely.

Hello, what do we have here? I see a young girl painting the creek bed. She's a cutie, with her long brunette hair and shortness. She may be 5 feet tall, but not much more. As someone who's 6'5", I look down on most. I accidentally stumbled, scaring her.

"Oh my God!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." I hope I didn't frighten her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just taking a few pictures for a future book. Nice artwork."

"Oh, that. Thanks. I find being amidst all these pines to be inspiring."

There was something strangely familiar about her, but couldn't place it; something about her voice. A sweet voice, but she had some kind of speech impediment made her stumble on some words. Then again, I have the same problem.

"Shame you didn't get here a few months ago; the fall color must have been lush."

"I like it better this way. Getting the winter view, I can later do revisions of it reflecting different seasons."

"Quite ingenious." I meant it. She intrigued me.

"You're a high school student?"

"WHAT!!! Oh, sorry. I get upset about that. Everyone keeps treating me like a little girl. I'm 20."

"My apologies; by the way, my name's Nick."

"Mine's Natasha. My family keeps calling me Tasha, but I hate that. Natasha is more grown up."

"Nice to meet you Natasha. Been painting long?"

"For 5 years. I've been able to concentrate on it; lack of a social life will do that."

"No social life? A cutie like you?"

She blushed. "Boys my age go for huge tits, and the few who don't go for legs. I have neither, so they give me no attention." She looked again at her painting. "It's done now; I wish I didn't have to walk home." "Well, I'd be willing to give you a ride, if you are willing to accept a ride from a stranger."

She looked me over. "I guess you are trustworthy enough. Who knows," she said is a flirtatious manner, "maybe you can make up for calling me a little girl by taking me out for lunch?"

"Sure thing." I haven't much money, but as this would be the closest I have come to a date for a decade, I couldn't pass this up. Having been raised a gentleman, I took her art paraphernalia for her, and escorted her up the hill. I was starting to lose my breath.

"C'mon, old man. What's keeping you? "

"Old man? You're getting rather lippy for a little girl."

She stuck her tongue out at me, in a manner I knew I would never forget. I took her to the aforementioned McDonald's, where we shared a 20-pack of McNuggets. She was so cute the way she ate them; made me wish there was some way I could give her my "McNuggets", if you know what I mean. Granted, she was 15 years younger than me but she made me feel so alive.

"You say you've never painted that area I met you before?"

"Nope; first time. I enjoy painting pinewood. I don't know why."

I was thinking back to what she said about being lonely. "I still find it hard to believe this is your first date."

"Believe it. I want to find some man, but I fear lesbianism is going to be my fate. I'd like to have one kid, but it would probably have to be artificial insemination."

"Maybe you should look towards older men; you'd surely find a cheaper sperm donor that way." Sheesh, I couldn't believe I just said that. She just looked at me and blushed. I rushed to say something.

"Sorry; don't know why I said that?"

"Maybe because you are a dirty old man who wants to donate your sperm to me?"

"You're offering?"

She hardly spent a second before deciding on it. "Yes, I am."

"Then let's go."

OK, granted that picking up a girl 15 years my junior and then having the decision to have sex with her at the McDonald's wasn't the classiest way I could find a bedmate, but after such a drought, I wasn't too picky. But it did make me feel like an old man knowing that the single time I have had sex before was a time in which she was in elementary school.

"Where are we going to have our fun? I live too far away, I assume your bedroom would be too dangerous, and having sex in my '82 Chevrolet Chevette is a logistical impossibility."

"I know just the place. It's close to my house, but secluded."

We left McDonalds for what I assumed would be her home. She pointed out her home, and then told me to pull into a side road. It was a dirt and gravel road; enough of a deterrent to prevent all except the horny.

"Follow me." With that, I followed her a couple hundred yards into a small cubbyhole within the woods. There was a makeshift shed, within which we made our way too. I feared bumping my head; I was 14 inches taller than her, after all. I noticed what looked like a comfy bed.

"Isn't it awesome. Growing up, my best friends would come here and gossip. We called it our dollhouse. Later, we, uhh..., 'experimented' with each other. I'd show you the pictures, but you would technically be seeing child porn in some of them."

"Well, there had to be a lower limit somewhere, I reckon. Did you lose your..."

"Nope; still have my cherry. We all decided we'd rather lose it to some guy than to each other. I'm the last to lose mine."

"And so you shall." With that, I proceeded to remove her clothes. She was so pretty. What is it about a girl that makes them so irresistible? It can't be just their vagina; if you are seeing it, you are already well on your way. Is it the overall shape? Is it just the mystery? Whatever it was, I knew I wanted one. Right now, I especially wanted her.

I gently laid her down onto the makeshift bed. Leaving my right hand on her thigh, I began to kiss her on her forehead. After lightly licking her cheeks, I gave to this luscious creature her first French kiss. I began to move my hand. She gave a mild shudder when my hand hovered over her pussy, but it instead stopped just above her pubic hair. Continuing to French kiss her, I started to rub circles between her pubic hair and her belly button. Keeping the circling going, I began to lick down her chin and down her neck. I then went to her right breast and teased her nipple with my tongue. Her shuddering let me know she was definitely enjoying herself.

My penis was straining itself trying to get out of my pants, but I urged it to be patient. I was 15 years older and much bigger than her; I wanted her shuddering, not scared. I kissed down her breast and down her tummy. I got a sniff of her crotch and not pleased; her pubic hair made her smell down there. It may turn some men on, but it seemed to me that it must be a Pavlov reaction; it did nothing for me. I hope that someday it becomes fashionable for women to shave their pubic hair off. I was going to give oral, but must confess the smell stopped me; maybe next time.

I quickly took off my shirt, and with one rapid movement stripped off my pant and underwear. I wear Velcro-strap tennis shoes so they were already taken off while worshiping her upper body. As I was embarrassed from not having one of those pornstar-sized penises (watching American XXXtacy can really hurt your ego), positioned myself so she could not see what I had to work with. She had smooth legs, so I had my penis rub up along her legs until it was close to her pretty pussy. Its inviting folds were begging for my cock.

I was so fucking nervous. I had only inserted my penis into a pussy once before, over a decade ago, and that relationship ended in disaster. That previous girlfriend of mine had some experience with sex and I didn't, and I never got the vibe she really wanted me sexually. But I also knew that I may never have another chance at pussy, so I had to make a Hail Mary, throwing my cock into her pussy. It was now or never.

I plunged in. My nervous exhale was drowned out by her coo. I wasn't all the way in. I was nervous; could my cock explore more of her depths. This deflating thought was interrupted.

"Ahh, that felt great. Go ahead, break my cherry. I can take it."

She can? Can I? Afraid that remaining in missionary would mean either I couldn't get my penis in to break her hymen or that I would crush her, I used my hands to raise her in a sitting position. I had no idea I had made her as wet as she was. She practically slid down my cock.

"OW!!! Uhh, uhh, let me get used to this."

She was trembling, but I realized I got the job down. I lowered my head to kiss away a salty tear she had shed when I had stripped away her maidenhood. She was so pretty. I felt a special bond with her, something that had to be more than simply man and woman joined penis to pussy. I noticed her face was starting to lighten; I knew it was time to pursue more.

I began to thrust into her pussy, enjoying her velvety softness. She was like putty in my hands. Her breasts were mashed against my chest. I knew that I could not hold out long.

I once again laid her upon her back, and penetrated her with all I had. She emitted one constant siren from her cute pink lips. Good thing no one was around; she was a screamer. Anything I could quote from her would be nothing but a stream of capital letters. Her eyes were like a cartoon character I once saw in a Japanese-originated cartoon; I think they call it anime. Whatever.

With a grunt I came. No time to warn her or to boast of my cumming; I just did. Waves and waves of years of frustration emitted from my cock as a tsunami of sperm. I flooded her pussy with cum. I did not even think about whether or not she had birth control contingencies. Pausing for only the briefest of moments, we gave each other a post coital kiss.

"That...that...that...was awesome. Not bad for an old man. Thank you Nick."

"No Natasha, thank you. That felt so good, it almost seemed illegal."

"If you had done that to me three years ago, it would have been," she smirked. "I'm now 20; how could it possibly be illegal?"

"I do think I'll need to spank you if you ever again call me an old man ever again."

She smirked and stuck out her tongue. "Promises, promises."

I had just begun to lie on my side onto the bed as well, to further admire her cuteness when I heard a rustling of sticks. To semi-quote one Peter Parker, it was my spider-sense, and not my penis, that was tingling.

"TASHA!!! TASHA!!! Are you alright?"

Oh shit!

A woman a few years older than me popped her head into Natasha's makeshift dollhouse. She didn't need long to see what had just transpired.

"Natasha, how could you. And you, how dare you soil..."

Something had cut off her tirade against me. As my face was turned around to look at her, it was like she had seen a ghost. My glasses were off, so there is no way she could recognize me. But it was as if she had. "NO! NO! IT CAN'T BE?"

With that, Natasha's mom ran away even faster than she came to check on her recently-devirgined daughter. I felt the need to break the silence. "What was that about?"

"She acted like she knew you. Did you know my mother?"

"I don't live near here. She doesn't ring a bell to me. I think I'd remember her."

"Well, you do have your glasses off."

"True, but I don't have much trouble recognizing faces."

I placed my glasses again upon my face, and admired her.

"Could we do this again Nick? Presuming I'm not grounded; she's likely to try that, even if I'm too old for that."

My heart skipped. "Yes, let's meet again. However, I think this place is compromised. Next Saturday let's meet where we first saw each other. Bring your paints again to cover up what we'll actually do. I'll bring something to make sure it's comfortable to have sex there."

"Sure thing, old man. OUCH!"

I had spanked her. She stuck her tongue out at me one last time. I felt the need to get that tongue on my cock, but I was spent. We both dresses and went our separate ways, promising we would meet again that next Saturday.

As I drove home, the thoughts I tried to maintain in my head of that cute brunette firecracker was interrupted by her mother's face. It haunted me. She definitely seemed to have recognized me, but I had never met her before and my face has never been in a newspaper or on TV, especially in no sinister sense. But then another thought, a scarier thought, popped in my head. I finally recognized that odd speech impediment she had. It was the same as mine. The only other people to have it were my dad and his mother. I hardly spent much time with them in my childhood or my adulthood, so it had to be an inherited thing? How did she inherit the same speech problem I have?

My dad, a Korean War vet, had been known to brag over his many sexual conquests. He was a Marine, so he would have been fit once, so he probably attracted some women in his lifetime. My brother Jim and I were the only children he could have sired in wedlock; Dad often joked that we were the only ones he could claim, while implying that more children could have been his. Granted, the reason Mom and Dad divorced was because he left her for another woman, but this was years before Natasha was born. Dad had married again, although had no children with his new wife as she had known that he did not support Jim or I. By the time Natasha was born, Dad would have been in no shape to attract any more women. Surely he couldn't...couldn't have...

I pulled my Chevette to the side of the road, and violently shook my head and slapped myself, trying desperately to remove this silly notion from my head.

Natasha couldn't be a half-sister of mine; could she?