I met Angie at a hippie festival in southern Oregon. She was part Native American, small, thin, with chakra tattoos on her wrists and back, and a colorful dragon tattoo wrapped around her right calf. Whenever the music was playing, she was dancing. I was there with several friends and she just came up out of the crowd and stretched out on our blanket with her head in my lap, looking up at me. “Hi,” was all she said, then another reggae song started, and she was up dancing, spinning, and twirling, beaded dreadlocks streaming out away from her head.
A few days later she sent me a friend request on Facebook, which I accepted. Scrolling through her timeline and photos, it quickly became obvious that she was a bit different. Very hippie-ish with her talk of crystals and oils and herbal healings, but also quick to shift from sweet and loving to killer rage and back in a matter of a few minutes, sometimes less. “This girl’s nuts,” I said to myself. She also had a strong overtone of sexuality. As time passed, I came to realize that almost everything she did or said was rooted somehow in sex. My interest grew, even though I was in my mid-sixties and she was thirty-something. Yeah, I could tap that.
One night a few years later she and I went to see a mutually favorite band at a bar two towns over. She drove, we had our individual fun at the show, then she kept nodding off on the freeway going home. It was about two o’clock when we reached my place. I was concerned that she still had about a half-hour drive to her mom’s house through Oregon mountain backroads in the snow, so I offered to let her crash in my front bedroom. She accepted and that was the first night of her six-month stay (totally against my rental contract). Fortunately, she wasn’t a freeloader. She cooked, cleaned, kept the back yard neat, and grocery shopped. Come to find out, she was rapid-cycling bipolar and paranoid schizophrenic with psychotic episodes (official medical diagnoses). The only medications she took were not prescription. It was an interesting half-year, to say the least. She often reminded me of the Helen Reddy song, “Angie Baby”.
About a month into her stay she met me at the door and said in a voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “I want your sperm.” Shit, I couldn’t get the front door closed fast enough. She has NO filters.
“You what?” I asked.
“I’m craving male sperm. I need to suck you off.”
Holy, fuck! She didn’t wait for me to agree; she just dropped to her knees in front of me, opened my jeans and pulled them down along with my underwear, and put my still limp dick in her mouth, working her tongue around it as she sucked, teasing up under the foreskin. Even in my shock, I started to respond. Soon my dick was fully hard, foreskin was back, and she was bobbing on half the shaft with her mouth while her fist pumped the rest. The surprise, coupled with the many weeks since I’d last had sex and her wandering around the apartment topless or barely not naked, took their toll. In just a few minutes I gave her what she wanted, a mouthful of semen. She milked it out with her hand, sucking on the head as her tongue teased the glans. Once she was satisfied that she had it all, she swallowed, gave a satisfied, “Ahhh”, and smiled up at me. Then she pulled my jeans up, fastened them, and gave me a slap on my ass before standing and heading toward the kitchen. “What do you want for supper?” she asked.
She sucked me off a few more times over the next couple of weeks until she figured out that eating pork was causing her craving for sperm (I said she was nuts). After she dropped all meat from her diet, except buffalo and whatever her on-again-off-again boyfriend had hunted recently, she never sucked me off again. In fact, she mentioned one evening over supper that she really hated giving head. She also said she could never fuck an old man with grey hair (i.e., me). That was wrapped up with some negative events she’d experienced many years ago and ended my vague fantasy that I might get some pussy from her.
A few more months passed. It was mid-March by now. I got up some time after midnight for my usual nocturnal bathroom run and when I crawled back into bed, I found her there, naked. “I don’t care if you’re old and grey, I need a dick NOW!” She pushed me onto my back, pulled my shorts down, and began stroking me to hardness. It didn’t take long.
Straddling me, she guided my dick to her opening and began pushing down onto it. I could tell she was extremely wet. The head of my dick felt like it was being dipped into a pool of hot, liquid silk. Also, her pussy was extremely tight. Tighter than I’d ever experienced. So tight she had trouble getting me into her more than about a quarter of the way. By then she was beginning to cry, not in passion, but in pain and frustration. I should point out that I’m only about average in size, nothing like what you see in porn.
“Damn it, go in me,” she cried. “Fuck, I need you in me.” She put more pressure down and about another inch slipped in. She cried out in pain and I was beginning to hurt, too. “I can’t do it, God damn it, I need cock and I can’t do it.” She was sobbing loudly now. “Roll over.”
She pulled me with her into the standard missionary position. Hooking her knees with her hands and pulling them back and out as far as she could, she cried out, “Fuck me. Just fuck me as hard as you want.” I sat up on my knees, grabbed her skinny hips, and pulled her to me as I drove my hips forward. I sank to about three-quarters in as she screamed and tried to get away. “Oh, God, it hurts. Stop. No. Stop!” As soon as I stopped, she was begging me to fuck her hard again. Renewing my grip on her hips, I drove the rest of the way in, bottoming with my glans against her cervix and my pubic hair grinding against her clit. Another scream from her followed by almost violent sobbing. “Wait. Just wait. Don’t move,” she cried. It felt like my dick was being crushed in a vise, but I did as she said.
Over the next few minutes (I actually don’t know how long it was), the pressure on my dick slowly subsided. She never felt loose, but she soon began working her hips and moving around on it. She was still very wet, as evidenced by the squishy sounds her motions brought forth. “Oh, God, yes. That’s better. Fuck me now. Fuck the shit out of me,” she moaned. Again, I did as I was told and discovered that the harder that I drove into her, the louder she moaned, but with more passion than pain now. I moved my hands down from her hips to under her, cradling her butt with my fingertips along her ass crack. I could feel her juices running up that channel, wetting my fingers.
After the start we’d had, I was surprised that I was lasting so long. A quick glance at the clock showed we’d been at it for about forty-five minutes. She was gripping her tits, pinching and pulling on her dark-brown nipples, brown eyes glazed, mouth open and her tongue licking her lips. I wondered if I could cum in her mouth like before. Her moans had turned to gasps and grunts each time I bottomed, and her left hand was now rubbing her clit. “Fuck me, I’m going to cum. Don’t stop. Fuck me hard,” she began babbling, then the babbling became incoherent, her eyes rolled back in her head, leaving only the whites showing (that was freaky), and her hand was a blur on her clit. I was glad her gardening didn’t allow for fancy nails because she would probably have shredded the base of my cock.
Her entire body convulsed, she screamed again, I thought she was going to pull her nipple off, and her cunt muscles clamped back down on my shaft, but in orgasm this time. Hot liquid silk gushed out, flooding my balls and thighs, running a stream up the crack of her tiny ass all over my hands. For a moment I wondered if her ass would be as tight as her pussy. Then I came with a low, loud guttural sound and a final drive deep into her, pinning her hips to the bed with my cock. Stream after stream of cum shot out against her cervix, each one pushing a cry from her throat. Eventually our climaxes eased, and I realized that, even though I was still hard, she was finally loose, totally relaxed. I gave a few long, slow strokes which caused her to shudder, then my dick began to deflate.
Pulling out of her, I rolled off onto my back next to her. Covering her crotch with her left hand, she grabbed several tissues and cleaned my dick before going to the bathroom to clean herself up. She never came back, just went into her room and closed the door.
That was the only time we fucked, although she continued to go around the apartment topless, almost naked. A couple of months later when summer was nearing I suggested that it was time for her to go back to the forest. No argument from her, she just packed up and went.
Angie was a special lady …
