A Dick in a Mini (sans nipples)

Twitter didn’t like the image I originally included as the feature for  this post even though it was taken in a photography course at a uni back in the 1970’s, when the world wasn’t so uptight about bodies, sex etc, so I’m reposting with a revised image. The story which accompanies the image also occurred in the 1970’s.

hhwithnotits text

This image has been censored to protect Twitters tender sensibilities, for an uncensored image go to the original post https://midnight-atthe-oasis-64.blog/2018/01/07/a-dick-in-a-mini/

“I want to kiss you.” The words, growled into my ear sent a thrill through my belly, and I drew my head away in haste.

Startled by the comment I stared into Russell’s eyes, their intense blue now darkened with desire, and licked my lips nervously.

“What did you say?”

A wolfish grin that shot another jolt through my belly. He leaned in toward my ear again. “You heard me. I said. I want to kiss you.”

“Yes. Alright. Yes! Me too! But,” I glanced hastily around the sparsely occupied bar; at my father lining up his shot on the pool table. “Where?”

Putting his half empty beer down on the bar Russell stood up eyeing the pool table. Dad had just missed potting the ball, it was now Russell’s turn to play.

“Gravel Pit Road. Fifteen mins. I’ll see you there.”

Somewhat dazed by the sudden turn of events I extracted a promise from Dad that he would be home shortly after closing –  with most of his wages intact. Gathering up my purse and coat, I paused casually by the pool table as if saying goodbye to Russell, then headed out into the chilly night. Moments later I drove off into the night in a fever of expectation.  I waited in my darkened car, shivering nervously despite my coat, barely listening to the music radio. This was an entirely unexpected situation and I had no certainty of where it was heading, only that I wanted to go wherever it took me. As I waited I reviewed the nights events, and what I had gleaned about the man I was waiting for, from conversations with my father and with Russell himself.

Clichéd though it sounds,  Russell had most intensely dark blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and as we’d engaged in our preliminary exchanges tonight, his gaze played over my face and body with curiosity and interest.  I saw him note, then dismiss the gold band on my finger, surmising from my presence in the bar, I found out later, that my marriage, like his own, was in a state of uncertainty. His thin face had something  wolf-like about it. As I was introduced by my father, I immediately wanted to be bitten. The narrow bearded jaw and lopsided lupine grin carried an air of danger I found intensely compelling, locked as I was in my marital prison.   Dark hair, a swarthy complexion and a wiry body, completed the package. It was only later that I discovered the size of his dick.

An ex Vietnam Veteran, Russell had seen things that haunted him, although he never discussed it with me. He and my father shared a history of war-induced trauma. This gave them commonalities despite their age differences, and they had recently  begun spending time after work playing pool, talking and drinking together. Russell was not as addicted to alcohol as Dad, who’d lived with his demons for longer; but was largely there to get away from some unnamed difficulties at home.

In the enjoyment of Dad and Russell’s company the evening had dwindled pleasantly into night. I’d lingered over a couple of glasses of Southern and played some pool. I’d attracted a minimal amount of opprobrium for my short skirts, unfettered breasts and female presence in what was still largely a male provenance. But mostly I’d simply listened to the two men spinning yarns and talking politics, and watched their prowess with the cue. From time to time Russell and I engaged in verbal jousts which began to tip into open flirtation when Dad had a long winning streak at the pool table.

It was during the final such interlude that the proposition was made and accepted. And now I was parked on the dark quiet road about halfway between our houses, watching as the little car zipped past and into place in front of me. Russell got out of the car, walked to the shoulder side of his Mini, and I noted the confident way he moved, despite the beers he’d downed. In the dim light I deciphered his movements; realising that he was casually peeing into the scrub, before re-zipping his fly, and turning toward my own car. The same easy stride carried him to the passenger side of my vehicle. He entered without fuss, confidently leaning over to take possession of my face, drawing me to him for a long probing kiss that tasted of beer and desire.

We kissed for a long time. My nervousness abated, replaced by erotic fire flashing across the pit of my belly, as Russell’s hands traversed my clothed body, and his tongue teased mine. I pushed back the seat to allow him easier access. Grinning knowingly, he took that as an invitation, reaching under my jumper with a questioning look. When I did not protest he began fondling my breasts with firm experienced hands, drawing out heat and pleasure where they touched. Through my own erotic languor I watched his expressive face in the dim light of the radio panel.

“You’ve got lovely tits.”

I mumbled a response, I wasn’t used to such compliments.

My back arched as he pinched and twisted my nipples.  Encouraged by my response he bent his head to lick and suck, grazing across the hardened stubs with his teeth. With a low moan I pressed his face against my breast, writhing under intense feeling.

“Oh. Oh. Yes! Bite me!”

Taking a nipple between his teeth, he began to suckle harder, taking in not just the nipple but the surrounding area.

“Don’t. Leave. Marks” I panted, torn between an intense desire to be savaged and the need for caution.

Heeding my warning, Russell transferred his mouth back to mine, sliding one hand around the back of my head to hold me in place. The other reached down between my legs, lifting up my short tartan skirt, rubbing and fingering my pussy through the fabric of my tights. Moisture gathered as I squirmed against his hand, the smell of my arousal now wafting into the air. Moaning against his mouth, sucking on his tongue, I urgently wanted Russell to tear off the tights and finger me properly, yet was increasingly desperate to feel his dick.

I grazed my hand across the front of his jeans, finding when I did so, a large, raging erection pushing up against the fabric. My touch signalled a change in the dynamic. Breaking away from our duelling tongues Russell pressed my hand firmly against the bulge and pressed upward, groaning. He retreated to the passenger seat, finding and releasing the backrest, before laying back with one hand behind his head.

“Come here.” He rasped softly, patting his thigh.

“Why don’t you unzip my jeans?”

Willingly I began to do as I was bidden, reaching across to unbuckle his belt and pull at the zipper. Revealing, when I did so, a swollen dick the size of which, I have not encountered before or since, it’s base rooted in an abundance of dark silky tufts.

“My god,” I breathed. “It’s enormous!”

I scrambled over the gears, eager to get closer. To admire, feel and taste this behemoth. My elbow knocked the radio dial and the previously muted sound flared to life.

“The greater 3UZ! You’re listening to Stan the Man Rofe, the time is 9.55, and coming up is…” The  radio voice penetrated my consciousness.

“Bloody hell! Did he say 9.55?”

Russell consulted his watch, turning it to catch the light.

“Yes. Damn! What a let down!” He gave that lopsided grin again. “Things were just getting interesting!”

He tucked himself carefully  back into his jeans, and exited the car, leaning back in to give me one last passionate kiss and cop a feel of my breast before heading back to his car. I put the seats back into position, climbed back into the driver’s seat, then turned the key in the ignition.

With a bit of luck I’d make it back home before Dad did.

 

About this post

This post is written in response to Masturbation Monday’s prompt featuring Elliot Henry’s prized possession, in all its accessorised and constrained glory.

image

Back in 1973, when this story is set naked genitals (and cock rings) were not the norm. Pubic hair was not only normal but sexy, and for young feminists armpit hair was de rigueur, as you see in my photograph. (taken when I was 19 and modelling for the Uni photography class). While I routinely use the words “cunt” and “cock” in my present day writing, “pussy” and “dick” were the words I and others tended to use back then. The word “root” was typically used in place of “fuck”. I tried and failed to include it in this story – perhaps I’ll have better luck when I write Russell and Indie’s next story…

Russell, with whom I had brief but sizzling affair had been a conscript in what became an increasingly unpopular war in Australia. For years Vietnam Vets were ostracised by some sectors of the public, and more tellingly from some branches of the Returned Servicemen’s League, who maintained that the war they had fought in had not been a “real” one. The damage done to the men in this instance was shameful, and created unnecessary resentment and psychological damage. While I did not agree with the conscription and was supportive of the political movement to end both the conscription and the war, the injustice of the rejection of these soldiers is clear to me.

The Second Wave Feminist movement in Australia arrived in the decade before this story. Under it’s influence (and while still possessing a set of perky tits) I happily went bra-less in public as a political statement. I also wore my mini-skirts thigh high. I happily took the pill, but became a married woman at 18.

Women had gained the right to enter the traditional male domain of the public bar back in the mid-60’s, but it was still met with a certain uneasiness by more traditional male patrons.

Stan the Man Rofe was a DJ with Melbourne radio stations 3KZ and 3UZ around the time this story was written.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “A Dick in a Mini (sans nipples)

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