Summer Shorts Read online

  SUMMER SHORTS

  Huck Pilgrim

  Copyright 2011 by Huck Pilgrim

  Second Edition

  Visit us online:

  http://huckpilgrim.wordpress.com

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Sitter Needs a Ride

  Sex Anonymous

  Goodbye Roger

  New from Pilgrim Press!

  Summer Shorts: Volume 2

  Contact

  Introduction

  Summer Shorts are brief, erotic stories, just long enough to get you sizzling. Each story takes place in the small town of Carnal, where it’s always burning, no matter what the season.

  Carnal is a small town where you learn early on to always “accommodate your neighbor’s needs,” as Joe Murphy mentions in the first story, “The Sitter Needs a Ride.” Joe should know: he has offered a teenage girl from the local church an opportunity to earn the esteem of her aunt by babysitting his children. Imagine Joe’s surprise, then, when he discovers that young Gloria Dean is blowing some boy when she is supposed to be watching his kids. After getting rid of the boy, Joe will have to take Gloria home in his car. But before the night is through, Joe’s Volvo may not be the only thing sweet Gloria will get to ride.

  All the girls in these stories are strong and independent. They’re smart. The girls from Summer Shorts have hidden reserves they may not even fully understand themselves. In “Sex Anonymous,” Don Manley finds a lonely transient girl who calls herself Natasha at one of Carnal’s local Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and offers her a lift home. Natasha wants something from Don. He will yield to his own needs time and again, eventually deciding to give this young girl a little surprise, but he may be in for a small, pleasant surprise of his own.

  Whatever awaits Don, it will not be the kind of surprise that young Roger Bones receives from Joanie Salinger, the blue-haired girl wearing a Carnal High T-shirt in the story, "Goodbye Roger." This sexy little tart leaves us with found footage that documents her shameless cuckolding of her former boyfriend, who presumably cheated on her, and probably deserves everything he gets. Especially if what he got was a copy of this sweltering video produced just for him by this little hottie.

  Summer Shorts is an adult work that features three short stories totaling about 5000 words or twenty printed pages.

  The Sitter Needs a Ride

  Going into his garage, Joe Murphy hears a soft moan coming from behind a few tall stacks of cardboard boxes, donations meant for the local Goodwill.

  Joe’s a big man, with an athletic build. He moves closer, quietly.

  He sees first the boy: Cotton T-shirt stretched tight across thick shoulders, pants pushed down around mid-thigh, the muscles in his bottom clenched. He has his head tossed back as he holds his T-shirt high on his abdomen.

  Gloria, the new babysitter, is on her knees at the boy’s feet.

  He has one of his hands wound into her long dark hair, guiding her head. She is kneeling on a short stack of newspaper bundled for recycling, her blouse open to her waist. Joe can see the straps of her bra, the soft white of her tummy. He can just make out the shadow of her navel above the thick buckle of her belt. The soft moans come from the boy.

  Annoyed Gloria is blowing some boy when she is supposed to be watching his kids, Joe is also a little pleased to have caught her in the act. She is an attractive girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, Mediterranean skin, a large hawk nose and thick eyebrows that somehow complement her, even if those same features dominate her face. When Joe first met Gloria at the social in Saint Barnaby’s basement, he could tell she didn't think much of her looks. This just gave her a shy accommodating sensibility that made her that much more appealing to him. Gloria was spending the summer in Carnal with her Aunt Louise, an Italian woman who Joe knew, but didn't know well, from the after service church socials. Louise was a small, popular woman, with a sturdy choir voice. At the start of summer, she had volunteered Gloria for babysitting Joe’s twin boy and girl ten-year-olds. Joe knew his kids didn't really need a sitter, but he got the sense that Gloria needed to prove something to her aunt, or vice versa, so he went along with the plan. In a small town like Carnal, you learned to accommodate your neighbors’ needs. Molly, Joe’s wife, had been cool about the whole thing. Sometimes women can sense a troublemaker.

  Gloria's eyes flutter open.

  Shock and fear register on her face. Joe tries to keep his face neutral. He doesn't want to appear too angry. To appear angry would be to get more involved than he already is, and Joe doesn't need that. He also doesn't want Gloria to register the fluttering he’s feeling in his belly right now or the slow lazy roll of his cock as it swells in his pants. He needs to get this boy out of his garage. Get Gloria back home to her aunt. Get his evening back.

  Gloria's eyes are wide open now, staring right at Joe.

  Her hands move to the boy’s thighs and she tries to rise, to separate herself from the boy, the act she is performing on him. But the boy has other plans. He drops his T-shirt, places both hands on her head, drawing her even closer to himself. He grunts, bucks his hips forward once, then holds her head tight to his groin.

  Gloria panics. Joe can see it in her eyes.

  She obviously wanted this boy but wasn't expecting that anyone would watch her satisfy him. Now Joe is witness to her slutty behavior.

  She looks at Joe one last time, then resigns herself to the situation. She stops trying to rise, lets her weight fall back onto her knees. She lowers her eyelids. Joe watches the muscles in the boy's haunches tighten, even as Gloria allows her shoulders to relax. Joe sees her brows draw together as she focuses on the task at hand. Watching her work the muscles in her throat, Joe hears gentle suckling noises as she uses her mouth to satisfy the boy.

  When her eyes flutter open, she looks up first, to gauge the fulfillment of the boy. Her hands rest lightly now on his thighs. Her face is flush.

  “Hey—” Joe says.

  He keeps his voice low, with just a touch of menace. He wants to scare the boy, but doesn’t want Molly to see any of this, if he can help it.

  The boy jerks back, spins his head and shoulders. His eyes meet Joe’s.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Joe hisses.

  The boy fumbles with his pants. He is a young man, has a wide-eyed look. Maybe twenty or twenty-two. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I'm sorry.” These apologies are addressed to Joe. He says nothing to Gloria.

  Joe points to the door that leads outside with his chin. The boy runs off.

  Gloria rises. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand then starts buttoning her shirt. Joe walks past her and watches the boy disappear around the side of the house.

  Shutting the door, Joe turns back to Gloria.

  Her blouse is buttoned. She looks at her feet, smoothes the fabric of her shirt. Joe tips her chin up with his fingertips. She twists her head away from his touch. Won't look into his eyes.

  “Do you want Molly to know?” he asks. He keep his tone even. Gloria may burst into tears and he doesn't want that. “She’ll tell Louise,” he says.

  “I don't care,” she says.

  “You're wet,” he tells her. Joe offers her the bandanna from his back pocket.

  There is something wet just above her sternum, something else sticky in her hair. He use the bandanna to dab at a damp spot on her cheek, averting his eyes from the shallow valley between her breasts.

  “Wipe yourself,” he says.

  As she takes the kerchief from Joe, her hand trembles, belying her youthful bluster. “You've got some in your hair, too,” he says, trying to sound kind. Helpful.

  Molly calls from the other room.

  Moving fast to intercept her, Joe says, “Wait in the car.” Gloria is using the mirror ov
er the work bench to clean herself up. She glances at Joe in the mirror. Nods her head.

  “I'll get my keys and take you home,” Joe says.

  *

  Gloria is a sullen lump in the passenger seat. She hasn't said two words since they began the drive to her aunt's house. With her tight jeans and boyish hips, she looks even more attractive to Joe all pouty and grim. Pulling the car into the dark part of the empty bank parking lot, Joe shuts it down.

  The engine ticks as it cools.

  Grinning at her, Joe gets out and walks over to the ATM machine. Crickets chirp. Joe grew up here in Carnal. The cool June air feels good on his arms. He’s a real estate agent, a good one. Used to getting his way. In his belly he can feel that same slight fluttering as he did when Gloria first noticed him in the garage. An image of Gloria on her knees at the boy’s feet pops into his mind. He had seen fear, panic in her eyes. But then he noticed something else, something not so much in the look that she gave him, or in the way that she surrendered to her circumstance, but in the way that she then threw herself into satisfying the boy, working his cock with her hands and mouth, utterly ignoring Joe.

  He punches in his numbers, listens to the ATM hum.

  Suddenly Joe decides to make another, much larger withdrawal—three hundred dollars. He punches his numbers into the machine again and grins. He’s going to fuck that pouty little kid in his car. Why not? She had already taken one load of come in her tummy tonight. What harm sending her home with just a tiny bit more?

  Getting back into the car, Joe finds Gloria smoking.

  “You got another one of those?” he asks.

  Gloria taps a cigarette out of her pack and silently hands it to Joe. Lighting up, he exhales smoke. Fans the cash in his hand.

  “How much do I owe you?” he asks. He counts through the bills, passing them from one hand to the other.

  “You don't have to pay me anything,” she says.

  “No, no—I want to,” he says. He peels off five twenties and hand them to her. She looks at the money, but doesn't move.

  “Take it,” he says, waving the cash towards her. “You earned it.”

  She looks at him, looks at the money in his hand.

  “You don't have to do anything,” he says. “It's yours.”

  She reaches out, takes the money.

  Joe folds the rest of the bills in half and stuff them into his shirt pocket. He chuckles and says, “That was some show back there—watching you blow that boy.”

  She blows cigarette smoke through her nose and laughs.

  “Funny?” he says.

  She folds the money in half, lifts her bottom off the seat, and then slips the folded bills into her front jean pocket.

  “I watched you swallow it,” Joe says. He’s watching her to see how she'll react to this kind of language. “You let him empty himself into your pretty little mouth.”

  She turns her head from him, looks out the window.

  Flicking his cigarette out the window, Joe quickly puts his hand on her knee. “Nothing to be ashamed of, honey. You're a good looking girl. Tight little body.”

  Joe can feel her bony knee under the tight denim. Leaning toward her, he takes his hand from its position on her knee and puts it across the back of her seat.

  “Slim hips, dark skin,” he says.

  His upper body is in her personal space. Joe puts his other hand on her knee. “A lovely girl,” he whispers.

  She cocks her head and Joe can see a hesitant half-smile. She enjoys this praise for her body, but she keeps her head mostly averted, her body very still. Likes to play it coy.

  “Nothing wrong with a little sex.” Joe’s hand moves to her thigh. “A girl your age.”

  Joe glances out the windows and into the mirrors to make sure they remain alone. Moving his hand to the inside of her thigh, he returns his attention to her.

  As he moves his hand to her sex, she squirms slightly, almost imperceptibly, in her seat. His fingers play across the intersection of thick seams at her crotch and she draws in her breath. She's damp.

  Joe draws his hand back, then lets his knuckles brush across her hip, the bare part of her waist where her shirt has drawn up.

  “How did it taste?” he whispers.

  She looks at him sharply, trying to judge if he is fucking with her. Her lips are parted. He can see her eyes are hooded with lust and maybe even a little fear. Brushing his hand across her chest, he can just make out the nubs of her nipples with his thumb. She likes this—she burrows down into the seat, opening her legs. Joe puts his hand on her pussy and lightly strokes her damp crotch. She moves her hips forward to meet his hand and then he draws his hand away. From somewhere down in her throat, she makes a soft needy sound, half whimper.

  Sitting up, Joe checks all the windows and the mirrors again. They're fogging up.

  She is still splayed out on the seat. Joe puts his hand back on her thigh, and she looks up at him hungrily.

  “How did it taste?” he asks again, keeping his voice even.

  Now she understands that he is trying to humiliate her. Her cigarette has burned untouched in her hand and she flicks the long ash out the window, then changes her mind and tosses it all away. His fingers are tracing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. She looks at him, then resigns herself to having her needs met.

  “Salty,” she says. “Hot.”

  Taking his hand, she guides it between her legs.

  She smiles. “I liked it.”

  Her voice is a throaty whisper.

  “She liked it,” Joe repeats, delighted.

  He begins to give her what she wants, massaging her sex. “Liked having her pretty little mouth fucked, liked having her tummy filled with a boy’s warm come.”

  He undoes the button of her pants, opens her fly, and then slides his hand into her panties.

  “Such a pretty little girl,” he whispers. “So easy, so eager.”

  Joe’s hand is now wedged into her pants, under her panties. He can feel the soft down of her pubic mound, the slick wetness of her slit. She is working her hips to get off on his hand. Eerily quiet, except for the occasional grunt from exertion, she has her eyes screwed shut and remains intent on moving her hips to maximize her pleasure against his hand. Joe doesn't try to penetrate her or do much of anything with his fingers other than to keep his hand in her pants.

  Moving his lips near her ear, he whispers, “Slutty little girl.”

  She bucks her hips into the air and then suddenly holds herself very stiff and moans, a low guttural sound that fills the cabin of the car.

  Joe laughs.

  Cupping his hand over her slippery pussy, he watches her body tighten with what may very well be her first orgasm ever—certainly her first orgasm riding the hand of a man over twice her age.

  Sex Anonymous

  Don Manley pulls the car over where she wants to get out and leaves the motor running, the wipers beating the windshield. She is cute, young. Calls herself Natasha. Hard to make her age, but Don bets she is nineteen or twenty. Thin blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, worn jean jacket. Thirty days sober. He smiles at her and wait for her to slip out.

  She reaches for the door handle, then stops.

  “Do you want to come up?” she says.

  Her face is turned from him, looking into the street. He’s surprised, speechless. Don is a tradesman, used to making quick decisions. He keeps his intense blue eyes on the back of the girl’s head. His wife knows when the meeting ends but is usually asleep by the time he gets home. He reminds himself that he’s been sober for as long as this young lady has been alive. He feels his cock swell, his breath quicken.

  “Sure,” he says. “You got coffee?”

  Looking him in the eye, she grins. Her smile lights up her face. “Tea,” she says. She is one attractive girl. Small upturned nose, clear blue eyes. Never been in Carnal before this month.

  Don parks the car and they run to her door. She has a room over Leo’s Bar and Grill, near
the main entrance to the mill. Don stands in the rain as she fumbles in her purse, and then with the lock. He keeps lookout for familiar cars, but the street is mercifully empty. By the time they get inside, Don is soaked. They go up some stairs and she unlocks another door.

  The upstairs is dark. She grabs for his hand and leads him down a corridor. He can hear the sound of a television, a baby crying, and someone having a conversation in another room. She pulls him through a door. Another dark room.