Whisky And Cartoons - Sex Stories

Whisky And Cartoons

... like a baby. Adults hate babies. My eyes open to her stare. Coughing first into her fist, she lets her hand drop to my chest. My hands are not as big as Margie’s. Her’s are smoother, and warmer, too. When I press them together, her fingers can bend over the top of mine, showing her chipped red nails. Each time I touch her palm to my face she pinches my nose hard, and I yell. “Wile E. is funny,” she says, “because he comes up with perfect plans to catch Roadrunner, but something he couldn’t expect goes wrong. He tries so hard, follows the instructions for every gadget, but always gets screwed in the end.” One thing I like about this position is that I can see Margie’s rough and pink lips up close. As they tighten around the white cigarette they turn smooth and dark, until she exhales and they become full again. “Can I try your cigarette?” “Why are you in such a hurry to grow up? I’d kill to be your age again, and I wouldn’t rush into everything.” “Does it taste good?” “Hardly.” She gulps a mouthful of smoke, “Only suck in a little,” and puts the end in my mouth, “and blow out like this.” Her words ride the smoke as it puffs out above me. I inhale too much and jerk myself upright coughing. My throat burns as I wonder how she can stand to smoke. Margie laughs like a bully. She won’t laugh at cartoons, but she laughs at me. She pinches the cigarette out over the candy dish and retrieves the whiskey bottle from the cabinet. “Here,” she says before tipping the bottle to her own ...

... lips and dropping it toward me, “Drink some of this. It’ll make it feel better.” Margie guides the bottle to my lips, and I take in a tiny mouthful. Swallowing brings an intense burn and I groan and gasp. Margie falls back laughing. “Isn’t it awful,” she says. “I thought I was going to die the first time I tried it.” When she sees the tears in my eyes, she stops laughing and says, “You get used to it, though.” I could never get used to that. “Why do you drink it?” “Well, for one reason,” Margie has dimples when she smiles, “it makes for great kisses.” “How?” “A whiskey kiss isn’t like kissing your parents.” She looks as if she is telling me a secret. “You know you’re doing something really exciting when you can feel that sweet burn on someone you’re not supposed to kiss.” She kissed Danny a lot last night. She must love him. “I don’t like Danny.” “Welcome to the club. He was a good kisser, though, just lousy at everything else.” “How do you kiss good?” Her head comes around to me again, “It’s not something you can explain.” Adults always think I’m too stupid to understand things. “I’m not kissing you,” she says, glancing, “if that’s what you want.” “Why not?” “Too fucking little, that’s why.” I make sure she sees me turn away. I can pretend she doesn’t exist, too. “Don’t look like that, you know you’re too little,” she says. “That’s stupid. Anybody can kiss.” “A kiss has to be done right. It’s supposed to turn you on,” she says. “You wouldn’t even like it.” I want her to see my ...