Post by goldenmyst on Aug 17, 2018 12:44:05 GMT -6
Group Home Daze
Life in a group home for the unrepentantly mentally ill has its rewards. From the moment she comes I am entranced by her. She is a woman they found camped out under the interstate. There were no beds available in the group homes for women so our queen put her trust in me to be the young lady’s roommate and mentor. But my chastity is imperiled by her womanly wiles. Yet we find a way for my virginity to be safe while enjoying each other. A lazy Sunday morning finds us left alone in the house while the other residents are out shopping with our chaperone. She uses this opportunity to bare her all for me in a nudist pose.
I wrap her in her blanket like a tamale fresh from the oven but am careful not to get my fingers burned.
“This blanket is really uncomfortable and unneeded since it is summer. Mind if I take it off and sit up?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer but throws the blanket aside. “It was an unnecessary impediment to the flow of our conversation,” she says. She tells me, “If we’re going to do chit-chat, we need an icebreaker. So, God do you remember your high school teachers? My school days seem eons ago. Yet, I remember Ms. Heidi Goebel. She would slam your willy into the wall if you didn’t watch your grammar. She was a bitch Goddess.”
She elaborates, “Then there was Mr. Sanders my American history teacher. He was the bomb. Of course, you’re a guy so you won’t understand. But to me, Mr. Sanders was a gorgeous Sheik. I used to get off on him in the girl’s room after class. He just turned me on, I don’t know why.”
I tell her, “I grew up Catholic with all that guilt about sex.”
She puts her hands in her lap as her legs fall open. She says, “My father and mother are strict Catholics. They have really old-fashioned religious beliefs. They’re even more conservative than Baptists. They act like they’re living in the Spanish Inquisition. My father spanked me if he caught me with condoms. If he suspected I was having sex he told my teachers to monitor me. I can’t tell you how humiliating it was. He even made me do pregnancy tests and show him the results. He also made me take ovulation tests forbade me to leave the house when I was ovulating. I felt degraded. I love my heritage and my people but I couldn’t tolerate this.”
“Every sperm is sacred was our mantra.”
“While we’re on the subject, I found your latest erotica book in the drawer by the sink. But I admire men who get turned on by reading.”
“I read Virginia Woolf too.”
“Yes, but I bet you don’t get off on her.”
“My risqué reading is purely mental gymnastics for when I meet the right woman.”
“And I guess those nudie magazines are to learn the female anatomy?”
“Precisely.”
“Didn’t you take sex education in school?”
“It was just a woman drawing doodles on the board.”
“You need an illustrated physiology book.”
“I need to find another hobby, like basket weaving.”
“Do you prefer arts and crafts over me?”
“Only until I’m ready.”
“I normally don’t do it with basket cases. But with you, I’ll make an exception.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Hey, you know what? I think Ms. Victoria took the other residents shopping in the van and left us behind. Let me take a look around. Yep, they are gone pecan. I guess she thought I was visiting my parents this weekend. While the cat’s away the mice will play.”
“Hot diggity dog, you came through after all.”
“You make me feel special in a good way.”
My newfound girlfriend says, “Instead of jumping headfirst into sex, pardon the pun, try this. You must strip for me. The stereo can tickle more than the eardrum. Proximity is the key. We’ll sit on the floor cushioned by pillows and wrap our legs around each other with only the speakers between us propped respectively against your cock and my Mamie which is my name for mine. You better hug my hips me like you love me.”
“Ok, you’ve got me naked which I never thought would happen again. Now, I’m just wondering if there is a diagnosis for this form of deviance in the DSM?”
“Aurally fixated?”
“Saxodicktion.”
“Nymphonic.”
“All right my sensual psychonaut. I’m a gonna pump up the volume and jiggle your noodle.”
“Music has never been my aphrodisiac but rather an accompaniment. But let’s jam together and let come what may pardon the pun.”
“This birth control is as storkproof as abstinence. I never met a guy who would follow me into this far side of lunacy. Open minds think alike. Thank goodness you are too bashful for screwing because I am in the not ready for maternity fraternity.”
The music is Mozart’s “Jupiter Symphony.” The sonic waves rise like
beachcombers on a sea after a storm. They roll from the speakers and jingle my bells with the roar of the ocean.
My voice cracks like I am in for a good cry. Then something like whale song yet oh so human bursts from my voice box as Amadeus’ music inspires her psychobabble which in turn sings pleasure into my vibratory body.
She exclaims, “Pillage me! Plunder my treasures! Hallelujah Screwtilicious!!! Be my sexual salvation. Slam dunk my hoop like you’re the NBA all star from heaven. Let me be the first female coach to lick you into shape.” She pulls the sound machine into her Mamie while grinding her hips.
The feel of her hips pumping between my legs makes it hard to focus on the music, pardon the pun. And so my panting becomes an unscripted motif or phrase in the music. Her moan lingers until the last movement of the symphony climaxes as do I. “Damn, this is a better place to be mad than in a nunnery such as Hamlet proposes to Ophelia because this girl can’t hang with being a virgin bride of Christ” she pronounces.
“This is like a monastery” I refute.
“Yes, but our Abbess treats sex as a personal matter.”
She says, “Oh no. I hear the van pulling up. Let’s put on our bathrobes, sit in the living room, and turn the TV to the Gospel channel.”
Ms. Victoria says, “Look at you two raggedy heads. Ya’ll look like you just got out of bed. But it is great to see you two listening to the word. Too many young’uns don’t pay no heed.”
“There are a lot of lost souls,” I say.
“Amen,” my girlfriend says with a giggle.
Life in a group home for the unrepentantly mentally ill has its rewards. From the moment she comes I am entranced by her. She is a woman they found camped out under the interstate. There were no beds available in the group homes for women so our queen put her trust in me to be the young lady’s roommate and mentor. But my chastity is imperiled by her womanly wiles. Yet we find a way for my virginity to be safe while enjoying each other. A lazy Sunday morning finds us left alone in the house while the other residents are out shopping with our chaperone. She uses this opportunity to bare her all for me in a nudist pose.
I wrap her in her blanket like a tamale fresh from the oven but am careful not to get my fingers burned.
“This blanket is really uncomfortable and unneeded since it is summer. Mind if I take it off and sit up?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer but throws the blanket aside. “It was an unnecessary impediment to the flow of our conversation,” she says. She tells me, “If we’re going to do chit-chat, we need an icebreaker. So, God do you remember your high school teachers? My school days seem eons ago. Yet, I remember Ms. Heidi Goebel. She would slam your willy into the wall if you didn’t watch your grammar. She was a bitch Goddess.”
She elaborates, “Then there was Mr. Sanders my American history teacher. He was the bomb. Of course, you’re a guy so you won’t understand. But to me, Mr. Sanders was a gorgeous Sheik. I used to get off on him in the girl’s room after class. He just turned me on, I don’t know why.”
I tell her, “I grew up Catholic with all that guilt about sex.”
She puts her hands in her lap as her legs fall open. She says, “My father and mother are strict Catholics. They have really old-fashioned religious beliefs. They’re even more conservative than Baptists. They act like they’re living in the Spanish Inquisition. My father spanked me if he caught me with condoms. If he suspected I was having sex he told my teachers to monitor me. I can’t tell you how humiliating it was. He even made me do pregnancy tests and show him the results. He also made me take ovulation tests forbade me to leave the house when I was ovulating. I felt degraded. I love my heritage and my people but I couldn’t tolerate this.”
“Every sperm is sacred was our mantra.”
“While we’re on the subject, I found your latest erotica book in the drawer by the sink. But I admire men who get turned on by reading.”
“I read Virginia Woolf too.”
“Yes, but I bet you don’t get off on her.”
“My risqué reading is purely mental gymnastics for when I meet the right woman.”
“And I guess those nudie magazines are to learn the female anatomy?”
“Precisely.”
“Didn’t you take sex education in school?”
“It was just a woman drawing doodles on the board.”
“You need an illustrated physiology book.”
“I need to find another hobby, like basket weaving.”
“Do you prefer arts and crafts over me?”
“Only until I’m ready.”
“I normally don’t do it with basket cases. But with you, I’ll make an exception.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Hey, you know what? I think Ms. Victoria took the other residents shopping in the van and left us behind. Let me take a look around. Yep, they are gone pecan. I guess she thought I was visiting my parents this weekend. While the cat’s away the mice will play.”
“Hot diggity dog, you came through after all.”
“You make me feel special in a good way.”
My newfound girlfriend says, “Instead of jumping headfirst into sex, pardon the pun, try this. You must strip for me. The stereo can tickle more than the eardrum. Proximity is the key. We’ll sit on the floor cushioned by pillows and wrap our legs around each other with only the speakers between us propped respectively against your cock and my Mamie which is my name for mine. You better hug my hips me like you love me.”
“Ok, you’ve got me naked which I never thought would happen again. Now, I’m just wondering if there is a diagnosis for this form of deviance in the DSM?”
“Aurally fixated?”
“Saxodicktion.”
“Nymphonic.”
“All right my sensual psychonaut. I’m a gonna pump up the volume and jiggle your noodle.”
“Music has never been my aphrodisiac but rather an accompaniment. But let’s jam together and let come what may pardon the pun.”
“This birth control is as storkproof as abstinence. I never met a guy who would follow me into this far side of lunacy. Open minds think alike. Thank goodness you are too bashful for screwing because I am in the not ready for maternity fraternity.”
The music is Mozart’s “Jupiter Symphony.” The sonic waves rise like
beachcombers on a sea after a storm. They roll from the speakers and jingle my bells with the roar of the ocean.
My voice cracks like I am in for a good cry. Then something like whale song yet oh so human bursts from my voice box as Amadeus’ music inspires her psychobabble which in turn sings pleasure into my vibratory body.
She exclaims, “Pillage me! Plunder my treasures! Hallelujah Screwtilicious!!! Be my sexual salvation. Slam dunk my hoop like you’re the NBA all star from heaven. Let me be the first female coach to lick you into shape.” She pulls the sound machine into her Mamie while grinding her hips.
The feel of her hips pumping between my legs makes it hard to focus on the music, pardon the pun. And so my panting becomes an unscripted motif or phrase in the music. Her moan lingers until the last movement of the symphony climaxes as do I. “Damn, this is a better place to be mad than in a nunnery such as Hamlet proposes to Ophelia because this girl can’t hang with being a virgin bride of Christ” she pronounces.
“This is like a monastery” I refute.
“Yes, but our Abbess treats sex as a personal matter.”
She says, “Oh no. I hear the van pulling up. Let’s put on our bathrobes, sit in the living room, and turn the TV to the Gospel channel.”
Ms. Victoria says, “Look at you two raggedy heads. Ya’ll look like you just got out of bed. But it is great to see you two listening to the word. Too many young’uns don’t pay no heed.”
“There are a lot of lost souls,” I say.
“Amen,” my girlfriend says with a giggle.
