Whisky And Cartoons - Sex Stories

Whisky And Cartoons

... face, now. “Yes, I will.” “Have you ever kissed anybody?” “Yes.” “Your mom, maybe. How long ago was that?” I shrug, hurt at the mention of Mom, and trying to remember kissing her. I used to be able remember more things about her. Even when I look at the picture of her and dad, the face in my head and the one in the picture aren’t the same. I only clearly remember riding next to her in the backseat of a car and her giving me a lollipop. She unwrapped the wrinkled red paper, gave it a lick, winked, and handed it to me. I remember liking that we shared something. Margie is studying me like one of her cartoons. “Come here,” she orders. I swallow hard at the idea of kissing Margie, and worry that she is only teasing because she looks annoyed, but raise my chin to see if she means it. She sticks her finger in the neck of the bottle, tipping to wet the end, and smears my lips. “That stings,” I say, wiping it away. Smiling, she leans forward, “Now kiss me.” I smell the whiskey on her breath as I move forward, still unsure. “Only, close your eyes,” she says. I’m afraid to at first, but let her guide me in darkness to her. The alcohol is still on her lips making mine burn again, and the soft warmth of her hand on my cheek burns even more. My first kiss is different than I thought it would be, kinder than it looked between Danny and Margie. The kindest touch ever. I am warm all over, and I am barely touching her. “Well,” she pulls back, smiling, “Did that turn you on?” I shrug, “I don’t ...

... know.” She frowns, “I told you you wouldn’t like it.” “Did it turn you on?” I ask. “Hell, no. A little punk like you?” “How do you know if you’re turned on?” She looks at me like my math teacher does when he thinks I’ll never understand how to do a problem. “Hasn’t your dad told you about this stuff?” “He doesn’t like to explain things.” “Some piece of work, he is.” She coughs. “When guys are turned on their dick… gets stiff. Have you ever had a stiff dick?” So that’s what ‘turned on’ means. “Yeah, lots of times.” “Are you stiff now?” I look at my pajamas to make sure. “No.” “See, you’re too little. Danny would have creamed his pants already.” I feel too hurt to ask what she means. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss good.” Margie leans back, takes the cigarette from the candy dish and relights it. “It’s okay,” she says, after a puff. I edge over to her, sliding my head into her lap. “At least you didn’t ask me to suck your dick,” she says. “Guys always want their dick sucked.” That must have been what Margie was doing to Danny. “Why?” “They say because it feels good. But it’s some kind of power thing.” “What do girls want?” The smoke swirls around Margie’s face as she stares at me from above, as if she has a question. Eventually, she says, “We have places we like sucked, too.” “Where?” “You wouldn’t like it. Danny hated it. Besides, you’re too little.” I’ll bet that’s what Danny meant last night when he said, “Smells like fucking cat food.” Margie got mad because of that, and she said ...