The Fabricated Tales Of Mary Teresa, Part 1

(by (now, 28 June 2011)

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The Fabricated Tales of Mary Teresa 
(Episode One) 


Exhaling simultaneously like dueling swords professionally backlit by a 
near full moon, Lexie and Ro stub out their cigarettes with the precision 
of synchronized swimmers and, amid mindless banter, head back toward our 
cabin. Mimicking, I too take a final drag and am about to fall into 
lemming-like cadence when I say to myself "fuck it". If they're without the 
common courtesy to at least acknowledge me as they depart, why the shit 
should I act like their shadow. A far less committed or aggressive smoker 
than them, I recognize that I still have a few good puffs remaining and so 
turn my attention back toward the lake, unnoticed by the indifferent duo, 
and, completely out of character for me, smoke it down `til my fingers 

Overlooking the shadowy beach, I reflect upon the past two weeks. They seem 
like an eternity yet it had been not so many years back when we came for 
six weeks and would have willingly spent double that. The journey from 
tween to teen had materialized seemingly overnight. Though I could barely 
stand Ro and was generally ambivalent toward Lexie, there was admittedly a 
shared restlessness - in each of our own ways, we were no longer happy 

I so badly wanted to have nothing in common with these social bitches but 
the sad truth was that we were largely of a single mold - wealthy parents, 
a little on the neglectful side; the same private school of some note; and 
the best looks and bodies money can buy for obscenely indulged fifteen year 
olds. Of course you've already pegged us as Hampton brats but I swear to 
you I'm at least a little different. I don't bad mouth everyone else we 
know; I just drive a Lexus, not a Jag (disregard that we're under age - we 
stay off the LIE and the policeman's retirement fund is amply rewarded for 
looking the other way); and, okay this IS catty - my name's not enshrined 
for "oral superiority" in the boy's cans across the eastern half of the 
island like "Ro the ho". Hell, I'm not even a real smoker. Er, well. 

Let me rephrase that last statement a little. "I certainly wasn't a real 
smoker before camp started". Lexie and Ro were both hooked back in what now 
feels like kindergarten (that's a bit of an exaggeration but really, it was 
before junior high school) and, while I'd have one here and there with 
them, I just never really got the hang of it. Plus, since they both come 
from smoking families, it was like a rite of passage - champagne and 
cigarettes the day you turn thirteen. To already be proficient at both on 
that birthday of course did demand some prior practice and training. I, on 
the other hand, coming from a more "smoking adverse" environment might meet 
with some social resistance - that is if my folks were ever around long 
enough to even notice. Realistically to this point it was simply a 

The past two weeks though things have gotten pretty weird. We have a cabin 
of eight girls with the three of us all a couple of years older than the 
other five who all still share some semblance - light though it might be - 
of enjoying being here. As our folks set off for various parts of the 
planet they (you'd have to say sensibly) didn't trust us enough to leave us 
at home and so they've deployed the camp as a thousand dollar a day 
babysitter for us. With that kind of endowment the camp would look the 
other way if we turned our cabin into a meth lab. That our most egregious 
behavior is smoking a few cigarettes, darn near candidates us for 
sainthood. So you see, out of sheer boredom, what choice does a girl have 
but to join in? 

There's this little glen - a bluff maybe thirty feet above the lake - which 
we designated as our private space and neither counselors nor most other 
campers dare enter. From the first day Lexie and Ro homesteaded it and 
began spending most of their waking hours there discussing the 
"fuckability" of every guy in our school (in many cases soundly based upon 
either first hand or mouth experience of their "blowability") while smoking 
I'm sure at least a pack a day a piece. It took me a couple of days to 
resign myself to the fact that camp was even lamer than usual this year and 
by the third day, that resignation found me joining their pack - and 
concurrently beginning to sample their packs. 

Ro smokes Newport's which I simply can't stomach but Lexie's Marlboro Light 
100's were a lot more tolerable. Given that she always had what seemed like 
a dozen packs loose in her beach bag, bumming was never an issue. Not a fan 
of abstinence, she was never one to be without and had checked into camp 
the first day with a backpack stuffed with like four or five cartons. 

From that third day forth, I started having one or two a day and then a few 
more and as the two weeks come to a close, I'm probably nearing half a pack 
a day by this point or conceivably even beyond that. Who counts? I 
certainly didn't come to camp with the thought of becoming a smoker but the 
cards and letters were rolling in and it looked suspiciously like that was 
what I'd become. I can't get all exercised about it one way or the other. 

Frankly, just minutes after my suppliers departed I'm stubbing out my last 
cigarette and, I must say, if I had a pack of my own I'd probably - no 
certainly would - be smoking another one right now. That's why this claim 
of not really being a smoker might fall sallow. Maybe it's just situational 
and then again maybe it's not. I guess I'll know better by the end of the 
day tomorrow and/or the days that follow as we return back to civilization. 

I'm just beginning to meander my way back up the trail as I'm greeted by a 
flashlight headed my way and recognize young Sondra as the bearer. As the 
younger sister of one of our school classmates we've cut her more slack 
than the other four roomies and have even given her occasional passage into 
our hen den and tonight she seems set upon a visit of her own. She looks up 
a little shocked to see me but I meet her with a smile as I cadge the pack 
of Parliament's (at least they're not menthol) from her hand. I shake two 
free as she retaliates with her twenty four carat gold, engraved designer 
lighter. She not only comes from a smoking tolerant family, her 
grandparents owned a tobacco plantation. Not smoking is what was 
disapproved of in their family. 

Though just shy of fourteen, I find Sondra less of a head case than my 
contemporaries and I actually enjoy chatting with her - okay, to some 
extent gossiping, but not mean. Over the next hour we polish off what must 
have been half a pack and jointly recognize that as a sign that the evening 
should be culminating. The fact that I notice these Parliaments to be flat 
and papery compared to "my regular brand" fleets by but the implication 
doesn't exactly register. As we reach the cabin, not surprisingly, Lexie 
and Ro are sitting on a log chain smoking while flicking one butt after 
another into tinder dry patches of grass. We accept their tepid invitation 
to join them and add yet more fuel to the fire potential. 

Reveille is surely not intended for us but rather the youths who actually 
belong here but today we do arise knowing that within a few hours we'll be 
headed home. That less-than-pleasant lingering residue of yesterday 
consumption- a pack of cigarettes, probably more - greets, yet in no way 
prevents, me from joining the addicts on the porch for a morning cigarette. 
Up until this point that sounded pretty nauseous to me - up until this 
point I'd seldom partaken before lunch - but today I'm not finding it so 
bad after all. In fact the immediate gratification makes me to turn to 
Lexie and ask if she'd mind lending me a pack until I could repay her at 
home. Doing a quick audit and realizing her stash still exceeds five packs 
she nonchalantly accommodates and says "my treat". I thank her for the gift 
and toss them in my bag. 

The implications of my request should perhaps jolt me but they pass 
unnoticed. There's something called "the point of no return" and in 
retrospect it looked like that was already a rear view mirror scene. I'd 
certainly not come to camp intending to become a smoker but that just goes 
to show how lightly intent and results are associated - and how 
unpretentious addiction can be. While there should have been little denying 
a new identity - and by the way "any of you have an extra lighter or 
matches?" - I still had it poorly filed as a passing fancy or a momentary 

Lexie's folks were somewhere on the Continent as were mine and neither of 
us knew where for sure. I'd received an e-mail from my parents though 
overnight saying that they had run into Lexie's folks that day somewhere on 
the north shore of Lake Como and they wondered if Jeremy, my brother, who 
would be picking me up in their absence might give her a ride back into the 
city as well. When I report to Lexie that her folk's return was delayed and 
she'd need to ride back into town with me she shrugged; when I explain who 
the driver would be, the only way I can describe it is "that she glowed". 
She knows all the stories about Jeremy that I do and very likely some that 
a sister might not. 

Boy did I know that look of hers. Anytime my brother's name entered the 
conversation amongst my female friends, enemies, and contemporaries of the 
straight female persuasion, you could kind of see their breathing go 
shallow. Even as his sister it's rather clear to me that Jeremy is a hunk - 
and not just a run-of-the-mill hunk but more like a to-die-for hunk. What I 
know however that all these potential prey don't is that Jeremy might even 
be higher on himself than his minions are. My brother has an ego - and he 
has no problem getting it - or other things for that matter - stroked. 

I've known Lexie since we were toddlers and never before had I seen her 
giddy. Giddy and Lexie just don't mix but there it was. Jeremy does that to 
all the girls his age - and some rather obviously older for that matter too 
- but he'd never taken much notice of the "kids" that are my friends. Not 
so strange though considering that we are just coming of an age that might 
prick his interest or dyslexicly might interest his prick. 

Pick up time is eleven and of course Jeremy doesn't role in until 12:30. 
Ro, as pretty much everyone else, is long gone while Lexie and I are 
sipping cokes and sharing cigarettes nonchalantly at the reception picnic 
table when he finally pulls up. As he approaches there's no sense of 
disapproval; hell, there's little sense of even noticing - at least 
noticing me. A perfunctory "Hi sis" is followed by a much more thorough 
examination of the "merchandise" he's been asked to deliver. 

While he's known her all his life, it's like he's never seen her before. 
This newly crafted blonde and bombastic plastic-surgery-perfect Lexie is in 
a white leather skirt, nicely accessorized red tank top, and matching red 
stilettos that would put traditional CFMP's out of business, are certified 
for lawn aeration, and would likely arouse a celibate corpse. Let me note, 
by all accounts my brother is not a celibate corpse. 

I hadn't expected to get stuffed into the back seat of Jeremy's `Vette but 
when he opens the door and shuffles Lexie into the passenger seat, I kind 
of figure out that the pecking order was more of a pecker order. I had to 
respect that. With the top down, conversation was limited as we head down 
the Taconic. Just shy of the I84 interchange I realized that the Lexie's 
head had dropped below the headrest horizon and then instantly pick up on 
radar that it has rematerialized elsewhere as I spot her elbows doing a 
balancing act on the console. 

From behind, I notice Jeremy's shoulders stiffening, I assume in concert 
with another body part. He displays a look of fixated concentration 
watching the road stoically while in many ways mightily otherwise focused. 
Lexie was on a mission and couldn't wait until the missionary option 
availed itself. This was way, way, way too much to handle. I rummaged 
through my purse, shook out a cigarette from what was now my pack of 
Marlboro Light 100's, flicked one of Lexie's hand-me-down Bics - then, 
cupping the flame, managed to bend forward and light the cigarette out of 
the wind. For the next several minutes I smoke it feverously with my right 
hand as I productively engage my left - and, as sibling eyes meet somewhat 
shockingly in the rear view mirror, we seem to reach ecstasy pretty much 

As for Lexie, the answer seemed clear - a swallower. As a novice - okay a 
virgin - this garners some combination of respect and awe. If I ever need a 
coach I'll now know where to turn and frankly I am ready - boy am I ready. 
My undies are saturated and my lungs celebrating the masturbation-induced 
nicotine rush. I'm discovering one by one that cigarettes complement 
alcohol, coffee, and sex - and there's something wrong with that? NFW. 

Observing a now more erect Lexie - and I'm presuming correspondingly less 
erect Jeremy - she lights up a cigarette while staring at my brother like a 
starving carnivore eyes a piece of Kobe beef. Sans parental control, the 
next few days promise to offer new life opportunities. I could only hope 
that that promise somehow encompasses me. 

So let me explain a bit more about our lifestyle. While those of us living 
in the Hamptons love island life, we don't deprive ourselves completely of 
urban living. Therefore we all have in-town flats - or in the case of the 
more fortunate - that would include both of our families - five story 
brownstones. We're both upper eastside in the low 60's. Cutting off the 
Westside Highway at 56th we were soon home. As Jeremy drops me off at our 
place I figure I have a long evening alone ahead. I wasn't wrong. 

There was a first order of business - the one begun on the Taconic - but 
weirdly the requisite companion - that fresh pack of Marlboro Light 100's 
from this morning - was already largely dissipated. Recognizing at this 
still embryonic point that waking up in the morning to a "cigarette-less 
home" gets a check in the "no" box, I do a quick change, apply a little 
make up, slip into some nice wedges, and emerge with more than a trace of 
"Lexie-ness" to me. A couple of days earlier I would have been appalled; 
today I'm kind of admiring. 

The Deli owner didn't bother to check my ID as he salivated over my nicely 
showcased 36DD's. No point in pussy footing. Just in case he might balk at 
a single pack sale, I lay out my Amex Black Centurion card and request two 
cartons of Marlboro Light 100's and a Bic three pack. Might as well be in 
this game with both feet I figure - or in this case both lungs I guess. 

At this point I can only guess how Jeremy and Lexie's evening is going - of 
course later they'll both confide - but mine I have some control over. 
Twenty packs of cigarettes now in hand I wander into a sex shop and emerge 
minutes later with a "guaranteed to please" toy. Let me say that it was not 
hyperbole - it pleased all night long as I discovered the magnificent 
confluence of inhaling deeply and insanely while practicing - nearly 
perfecting - dildo delight. That said it also left a void. Sipping a bit of 
dad's vodka - if not a first, close to it but the cigarettes seemed like 
they needed a companion - I couldn't help creatively rhyming and "Hickory, 
dickory, dock, I think I need some cock" seem to be the one prevailing. 

Much to my surprise Jeremy rings around nine and suggests that "they" pick 
me up for brunch. I was ready at ten and we wandered up Columbus until we 
bumped into an outdoor café replete with Martini and Rossi umbrellas and 
ashtrays. Perfecto. I guess I was mildly surprised that my brother not only 
smoked but actually sported a pack of Marlboro Reds. Always the gentleman 
he lit Lexie first and then me as I tried not to struggle too obviously 
opening what was now only the first pack I'd ever actually purchased. This 
was a side of him I'd never seen. If he thought it weird lighting his 
fifteen year old sister's cigarette, it certainly wasn't apparent and after 
a few more lights, I thought little of it as well. 

But this display of gentlemanly behavior was just the beginning. He was 
opening doors, pulling out chairs, picking up tabs, and generally playing 
the perfect host. Jeremy's rep was absolutely "love `em and leave `em" but 
morning had come, and so had both of them I presumed - repeatedly, and here 
he still was. If I didn't know better I would say he was smitten with my 
friend - my friend of sorts. Very interesting. 

The plan for the afternoon was to go back home to the Hamptons and spend 
some time poolside. With neither set of parents around, either home was 
game but they'd settled on her place. Strangely, they'd included me. Lexie 
was now playing the role of my friend. Sincere or not, it was worth 
exploiting. I was up and in for the next adventure. 

We get out to East Hampton just before four on Saturday afternoon with no 
known supervision for the foreseeable future. I know their agenda but am 
less clear regarding my own. Hey, I've still got nineteen and a half packs 
of cigarettes. That may not be exciting but at least it's something to do 
and as for the thought yesterday that smoking was situational - no way - 
unless you define situational as "anytime, anywhere". I go an hour - if 
that long - and I want a cigarette. It's almost like I'm observing someone 
else objectively. It just is what it is and I'm peculiarly fine with it. 
Almost, perversely pleased. And, by the way, could someone get me a drink? 

We unload our stuff and agree to meet poolside. I'm out in five but another 
five passes and I begin to hear interesting sounds from the dressing room 
area. They proceed to moans and then screams as I light up a cigarette with 
one hand and attempt to seek that same nirvana with my other. It was okay 
but I must say I envy the other two. There's something to be said for 
sharing. These two could be instructing rabbits. 

Pizza arrives at 6:30 sharp and the spent lovers and I share it. I make 
mention of feeling like odd man out and Lexie responds immediately. "Oh, 
didn't I mention it. Liam has the weekend off at Yale and should be home 
any moment." My heart stops. Not slows down; not flutters - fucking stops. 
Everyone knows Liam. He's a year ahead of Jeremy, equally sexy, and without 
the questionable reputation. He has had one long term girlfriend and rumor 
has it that it has recently ended. I notice an on-going, life threatening 
problem - I haven't yet again begun breathing. 

Logically he's three years my senior and there's no way he's going to take 
an interest in me - yet look at Jeremy and Lexie with a two year gap. 
Maybe? I've brought along a couple of changes but nothing world class. I 
give Lexie the girl wink and say "let's go chat". I can't quite believe the 
words coming from my mouth but I'm saying something like, "If you can fuck 
my brother would you mind terribly if I fucked yours?". She gives me this 
incredulous look and then says, "Why the hell did you think I invited you 
over - to watch us screw all night? Go for it but he might be a tougher lay 
than Jeremy. Then Hugh Heffner might be a tougher lay than Jeremy," she 
adds, laughing. 

In thirty seconds we're in her closet selecting between "street walker" 
chic and "All American cheerleader" outfits. Her cautionary note leads me 
to do kind of a blending. There's always time to vamp it up even more if 
need be. A pair of Lexie's pumps, a little jewelry, and we're poolside 
moments later. Maybe Jeremy notices and perhaps he doesn't because he's so 
over the top with Lexie, but I've emerged a bit trampy - a classy tramp 
mind you - but a little on the trampy side none the less. I'm bait. Okay, 
I'm also actually jail bait but hopefully that won't be as obvious. 

Liam arrives around eight and immediately engages us all in conversation. 
He's dreamy beyond all imagination. I make every subtle move I know how to 
but he seems to take little notice. It looks like I may have over-vamped 
rather than under-vamped this one so on a "bathroom break" I excuse myself, 
retire to Lexie's room, and slip into my reasonably discreet yet undeniably 
revealing bikini, some three inch wedges, and a light wrap. It takes but 
moments when I return and shed the wrap to recognize that this move was 
appropriate. Liam isn't into over-the-top sexpot; he's more a Daisy May guy 
- and fortunately I've got that one down pat thanks to busty family genes 
and the augmenting skills of the good Dr. Forrester. 

Jeremy and Lexie are long overdue for an orgasm and retire to the poolside 
lounge. If this is awkward for Liam it will be awkward for me - but it 
seems not to be. He relocates to my sofa, lights my cigarette seemingly 
without judgment and then takes one for himself. I can tell it's more out 
of companionship than need - a concept I understood two weeks ago but have 
lost touch with in the past forty-eight hours. 

The real me now present we begin to talk and get lost in two - maybe three 
- hours of conversation. He produces a bottle of wine - something called 
pinot grigio -which seems extremely compatible with our conversation and my 
new nicotine craving and the evening simply disappears. The temperature 
drops and, even with my wrap back on, he recognizes that I'm shivering 
slightly. He produces an afghan and wraps it around my shoulders. To my 
delight he then wraps his arms around both the afghan and me. We've 
advanced to cuddle. 

Another hour of conversation, more pinot grigio, and a slew more Marlboro 
Light 100's evaporate while tucked in his arms. I don't know what this guy 
is made of but via cuddling alone my panties could use a go through the 
rinse cycle. I take a final drag and exhale nose and mouth simultaneously 
and then put out my cigarette, drain my wine glass, and twist my body 
closer yet - my lips six inches from his. The table can't be any better set 
than this. I so hope he's hungry and that I'm the main course. 

He kisses me lightly - so lightly compared to my other guy friends that it 
shocks me - but the gentleness titillates as well. I open my mouth just a 
little and venture my tongue forth. We meet, entwine, and everything light, 
slow, and gentle suddenly becomes rushed, heavy, and heated. My right hand 
finds its way inside his swim trunks only to discover what feels like a 
tree trunk. I thought my dildo was an exaggeration; it turns out that it 
was understatement. 

He's breathing pretty heavily now but has yet to reciprocate the undressing 
dance. My breasts want to heave against him and my pussy demands the 
presence of the gift currently in my hand but he's made no move. I boldly 
slide his trunks down to his knees and he fails to object as I slide my 
lips over his Giant Sequoia. Every girl knows the Deep Throat theme but 
this one could be a challenge. I'm slowly encasing him and clearly to rave 
auditory reviews. I'm just about to move to yet another level when I feel 
his cool hands flush against my cheeks. 

"This is something you're okay with?" he queries. 
"Of course - unless you'd prefer to ram it way up my pussy and fuck me for 
an hour or two," I counter. I feel his hard twitch at that response and 
recognize internal twitching of my own. 

"If I wasn't pretty certain that you're an under-aged virgin I'd already be 
there," he says. 

"I'm a 22 year old hooker Big Boy and I'll put that in writing once you've 
serviced me," I respond. This combination of our verbal parrying and my 
oral encasing send him over the top with dual emissions - a long dull roar 
in my ear and a warm pint of cum in my mouth, swallowed with a happy grin 
on my face. 

We simply hold each other for a good five or ten minutes when he laughs and 
says, "just in case I'm right about your age I'm certainly glad that my 
fellow Eli established a few years back that what we just did isn't sex". 

"Then I'll be equally glad for some non-sex myself," I replied as my bikini 
bottoms slip to the floor. He did the job well. I'd been eaten out by a few 
of the guys we hung out with but that was fast food - tonight was fine 
dining. The score was now even. 

His dick was again at full throttle and who wants to settle for a draw 

"Can you come in and stay a while?" I inquire coyly pulling him down on me. 
Untying my top now, nearly as an afterthought - and to think that a year 
ago that was the main event - he fondles my breasts in an uncommonly 
enjoyable way without yet entering me. I feel my body writhing and 
literally moving up seeking him, touching his tip, wanting him insanely. 

For another five minutes he plays with me, toys with me, teases me, and 
pleases me. He nibbles places that I didn't know existed, he licks spots no 
one else had ever found, he strokes me and stokes me until I can't take any 
more. I grab him with all my strength and drive my fingers deep into his 
back then gradually invite him, draw him, force him, to the gateway. 

Virgin though I might be my vagina was hardly unexplored, though more 
self-explored than otherwise. The sofa was so wet that it felt like I'd 
sprung a leak, my pussy hairs were like electric wires sparking in every 
direction, and my hole wanted so badly to be full - be full of Liam. His 
tip poked and prodded and then penetrated. I felt the tip within and wanted 
more and more - and so he accommodated. 

First an inch and then another and another and another and another. It 
feels like an eternity with wave after wave of pleasure-pain before I felt 
pelvic contact and realize he's plunged the depth of me and I was now a 
full container - and we spend several seconds still enjoying this complete 
union. He withdraws then as slowly as he's entered and the emptiness yearns 
for an immediate return. But I need to learn patience. He dips in and out 
several more times at this extremely measured pace and each time I claw and 
cling and push and pull. I'm somewhere I've never been before and I will 
never want to leave. 

After a number of repeats my body goes on automatic. I simply can't get 
enough. If he rises I rise with him; if he thrusts, I yield and squeal. The 
pace heightens and the heat is on nuclear. The teasing gives way to 
pleasing as we move in unison - increasing motion and increasing decibels. 
I smugly hope that Jeremy and Lexie are within hearing distance. Of course 
that radius is probably a mile. I come first and yet he perseveres. It is a 
full two minutes later and my third orgasm when the explosion hits. I 
really don't cuss, yet I was screaming "fuck me mother fucker" over and 
over at the top of my lungs. 

Everyone hears about the post-coital cigarette and indeed I did want one. I 
kind of wonder if even non-smokers want to smoke after sex but then, given 
the past few days, I'd probably never know that answer because a confirmed 
smoker is what I now am. Liam and I toast midnight on this night of unreal 
bliss with cigarettes and a freshly opened bottle of Cristal. "What would 
Bill call that last act?" I chide - but not too much because it probably 
isn't the best place to go. We polish off that bottle and my second pack of 
cigarettes of the day after our one AM encore. By the way, it was even 
better than the midnight showing and I'm sure how that could be possible. 

Obviously this was the first night that I'd slept with a guy so I guess it 
should come as no surprise that it also turns out to be the first morning 
that I wake up with a guy. Somehow it still did. Between our midnight and 
one engagements Jeremy and Lexie had slipped off to her bedroom and after 
our second encounter we too retired to Liam's room. It felt incredibly 
strange and simultaneously incredibly natural to crawl into bed nude with 
Liam. A third and final goodnight fuck ended the evening while a good 
morning fuck - okay two - greeted the day. And we were probably still 
several orgasms in arrears of the other our friendly competitors. 

We begin with the model's breakfast - a cup of coffee (I need sugar), a 
glass of ice water, and several cigarettes. Gourmet cooks we are not. Lexie 
eventually pops frozen pizza in the oven for real sustenance. I have little 
appetite - for food that is - but continuing cushion calisthenics would 
demand some nutrition. Mom's insistence on birth control pills for me - 
period management she called it - had finally paid off. I should remember 
to call and thank her later - or then maybe not. 

Making plans for the day for four horny teenagers is not a challenge. Each 
two hour block of the day consisted of half dozen or so cigarettes apiece 
(for Lexie and me), a couple of beverages - and more than a couple for the 
guys (drifting bubbly and alcoholic by mid-afternoon), a little chatting 
and maybe a lawn game, and a multiple climax (again for Lexie and me at 
least) event. A virgin the day before, I was in double digit orgasms by 
noon and double digit vaginal penetrations by bedtime (using the term 
bedtime in its original connotation). 

I was the first one up on Sunday morning - Liam fucked me twice in less 
than half an hour and then fell back asleep - and for some reason I sought 
a little solitude. Toting creamer laden coffee and my Marlboro Light 100's, 
I ambled down to the beach. I really needed to reflect. A week ago I was at 
most a casual smoker, had seldom touched alcohol, and was above all else 
still a virgin. How do I feel about all this decadence? Fanfuckintastic! 

That said however there will be consequences. I can easily live without the 
booze but no longer without the cigarettes and certainly not without Liam. 
Lighting up my first of several over the next hour, and preserving the warm 
smoke deep in my lungs, I know that cigarettes I can buy but I can't buy 
him and already I can't imagine a moment apart from him. This is likely 
going to be a problem. 

I don't hear him approach but suddenly Liam is towering over me with a big 
grin - and not a stitch of clothes on. His dick screams out "happy to see 
you" as he tosses a blanket on the sand and lifts me gently on to it. 
Simply looking at him is ample foreplay. In a permanent state of arousal 
I'm wet simply on command and it doesn't take much of a command - more like 
a whisper. 

Now so comfortable with how well our bodies fit, Liam slips as always 
gently but rather quickly into me and the ecstasy again races through every 
pore of my body. As has seemed to become the norm, he brings me to a third 
frenzied climax before joining me. Licking me clean then produces another 
trey. The NBA can have their triple doubles - I'm good with double triples. 

I light up a pair of cigarettes, drag deeply on both together a couple of 
times, release a torrent, and then hand one to him. He just smiles. "We 
need to talk," I say and then I just start talking. "You probably kind of 
figured out that I'm not a 22 year old hooker - I'm a 15 year old hooker 
and proud of it" I joked. 

"Let's not dwell on the age thing" he responds, wincing noticeably. "I knew 
full well that you're Lexie's age but I was hoping for sixteen plus. I'd 
like to get through this statutory rape stage ASAP." 

Enjoying his discomfort I assure him that the statutory aspect was 
unnecessary but that the "raping me" part - several times a week for the 
next 16 months - would buy my silence. He may have thought I was kidding - 
I most assuredly was not. "Look Liam," I continue "I've given myself to you 
about as completely as one could imagine and in no way am I sorry. The past 
two days have been indescribable. You owe me nothing and I owe you nothing 
but I've got to say that my pussy has an open house sign on it - in it - 
anytime you're in the neighborhood. I'd love to own you but if the best I 
can do is rent, I'm in for that. There's no turning back and I wouldn't if 
I could." 

Throughout the soliloquy he simply gazes at me, fixated on every draw and 
exhale, hanging on each word, and seemingly content to let me prattle away. 
When I finally expire, he kisses me ferociously and then whispered in my 
ear, "MT (Mary Teresa), I think I'm already in love with you. I may have 
been most of my life." It simply isn't supposed to be this good, this fast, 
at this age. Moments later my butt was again being drilled deeply into the 
sand and I couldn't help myself just beyond that magic moment respond, "I 
think I'm in love with you, too." 

Another "ho hum, post coital cigarette" and I can't help but follow up. 
"Liam, I'm fucking insane about you but like not in a scary way. There's 
not a moment that I can't feel you inside me - whether you're truly there 
or not. When you are it's off the Richter scale and even when you're not, 
well, I still have one little psychic orgasm after another. It feels like I 
could just melt away in your arms and the world would disappear forever. I 
know you're headed back to school tomorrow but I dread every minute that I 
won't be with you. I don't have to go back to school until after Labor Day. 
Maybe you could stash me in your dorm room for a couple of weeks?" 

Looking at me quizzically, he said "I'm not going back to school tomorrow - 
the summer session completed on Thursday. Didn't my sister explain all 
that? I'm off for the next three weeks - same as you guys are. And for the 
next three weeks there's no fucking way I'm going to let you out of my 
sight, out of my arms, or out of my bed. And to make damn sure that plan 
happens I'll be kidnapping you. We'll all be heading to Europe for the rest 
of the month this Wednesday." 

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