Good-bye Mrs. Sox

Good-bye Mrs. Sox

By Tom Cup

It was my first real date in months and it was going well. We did the dinner

thing -- a quaint little bistro that had great food; nothing too fancy just

good eats, great wine and warm conversation. I was in rare form. I displayed

the modern man, strong but sensitive, responsive but able to listen,

understanding and thoughtful. My date, Sheryl, was giving me every

indication that I wouldn't be spending the night with Mrs. Sox, my usual

bedtime companion. There was a light mist beginning as we left the bistro

and headed for the movie theater. On the ride over, the thump, thump,

thumping of the windshield wipes emulated the hopeful thumping I would be

performing later that night. Sheryl's hand slipped into mine. I looked into

her baby blue eyes and we both laughed. She knew what was on my mind. The

night was going well.

We arrived at the theater minutes before the show began -- no waiting in

line. We ran giggling from the car towards the door. Thoughts of Gene Kelly

singing and dancing to "Singing in the Rain" filled my mind. The movie

wasn't part of my history -- it was made thirty years before I was born --

but, hey, if you want to get laid you better know the classics; girls love

that shit. I twirled Sheryl and began singing and dancing, poorly. She

laughed.

"Excuse me."

The last thing I wanted was an interruption. I looked at the speaker. Some

soaked rug rat of a kid with a "Mister can I borrow a dime" expression on

his face. "Fuck!" I thought, "not now!" I managed to keep Sheryl moving

toward the theater entrance, quickly retrieved a buck from my pocket and

shoved it in the hand of the would-be attention grabber. OK, no harm done. I

had shown compassion by giving the kid money and now we could enjoy the

movie, right? Wrong. He was there with us in the theater. I don't mean

physically. It started with Sheryl glancing back toward the theater lobby. I

asked what was wrong. "Oh nothing." Oh nothing. I knew at that moment -- she

was thinking about the kid, out there in the rain, cold, and maybe hungry.

Shit! Another glance and then she had to go to the bathroom. I debated with

myself for maybe fifteen seconds before heading for the lobby. I was right;

there she was, standing outside talking with the kid and looking nervously

back at me. It would be another night with Mrs. Sox.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound friendly but knowing my annoyance showed,

"What's going on? You're missing the movie."

"Rick," Sheryl said to me, introducing the boy, "This is Max."

"Nice to meet you, Max," I said, extending my hand, but wanting to scream at

the boy to get the fuck out of here and stop fucking up my lay. It was too

late, of course. Max had already captured Sheryl. His sad, brown, puppy dog

eyes stared helplessly at me. Sheryl ran a hand through his drenched locks

of hair. Ding! Round over. It was a technical knock out. I had lost the

fight.

"Max got kicked out of his house," Sheryl continued, "He doesn't have any

place to stay."

It was a challenge. I knew one when I heard one. I had played the sensitive

male and now she wanted me to prove it. If I wanted to get into her panties,

if I ever wanted to divorce Mrs. Sox, I had better put up or shut up. Max's

eyes focused on the ground. I admit it, OK, I did feel sorry for the kid;

but damn, I wanted to get laid! I suggested that we take him to a shelter.

Bad move. Max trembled, said "Thanks, It's OK," and began to walk away.

Sheryl called after him and stared longingly at me. I gave in, ran after the

kid, and offered to let him stay the night at my place. We'd figure

something out in the morning.

***********

On the way to my place, Max filled us in on his story. Max was fourteen. His

mother died six months before. He never knew his biological father. His

stepfather was an alcoholic and, of course, beat the kid. His stepfather

told him he was in the way (I had to agree with that) and that he needed to

find somewhere else to live. Since Max's stepfather wasn't legally his

stepfather he wasn't really responsible for Max. Sheryl kept eying me as Max

told his story. What the hell did she want me to do? OK, at twenty-five, I

admit I make a decent living but there was no way -- no matter how bad I

wanted pussy instead of a sock -- was I going to be saddled with a

fourteen-year-old kid. NO WAY!

At my place, I watched as Sheryl fussed over Max. I directed Max to the

bathroom so he could shower; Sheryl insisted. I got him some of my old

clothes to wear while Sheryl prepared the spare bedroom. I sat on the couch,

sipping a glass of wine that I had hoped to share with Sheryl and prepared

for my night with Mrs. Sox. Sheryl finished the room preparations and sat

next to me. She hugged me and kissed my cheek telling me how proud she was

of me. Maybe there still was some hope. The shower stopped. Max emerged from

the bathroom wearing the oversize t-shirt I had given him; holding the

boxers in his hand.

"They're too big," he explained, holding the boxers out to me, "They won't

stay on."

I rubbed my eyes. Sheryl told him it was OK. She'd stay and wash and dry his

clothes for him. She guided him into the spare bedroom. I refilled my glass

of wine and downed it.

"Rick," Sheryl whispered, returning from the bedroom, "Max wants to talk to

you for a minute." I rolled my eyes. No need pretending that I didn't hate

this situation. "Come on," Sheryl pleaded, "Please."

I walked slowly into the bedroom. Max was sitting on the edge of the bed,

head down, and hands in his lap. "Sorry," he whispered.

I was caught off guard. "Sorry for what?"

"Ruining your night," he said looking up at me as tears fell from his eyes,

"Getting in the way." Jesus! He started sobbing! His chest heaved and the

tears fell. I glanced quickly toward the living room. Sheryl was busy

clearing away the empty wine bottle and glasses. The last thing I needed was

for her to think I made the kid break into hysterics. I closed the door and

sat next to him on the bed. His fingers were intertwined on his lap. He was

clenching his hands together so hard his knuckles were turning white. His

determination not to cry audibly added to his sense of hopelessness, as his

breathing jerked and he continued to cry. I hugged him. The kid broke, threw

his arms around me, head on my chest and wailed. The bedroom door flew open.

I looked up into Sheryl's face. Her dismay turned to a smile as I held Max,

rocked him and shrugged.

Max's tears subsided. He wiped his face and again apologized. I lifted his

covers so he could crawl in bed. As he did, I noticed two things: he was a

cute kid and the t-shirt I had given him was tented with a boner.

I tried my best to get Sheryl to stay the night but she said she felt weird

about having sex with Max in the next bedroom. I tried not to look too

disappointed. She told me how proud she was of me and that she `definitely'

owed me one. She promised to stop back in the morning to help me figure out

what to do with Max. Then she was gone and I headed to my bedroom and Mrs.

Sox.

I was just settling in, sliding under the covers with Mrs. Sox, when I

noticed Max standing at my door. He looked so lost that I told Mrs. Sox to

forget it. Neither one of us would be getting any tonight. I didn't say

anything to Max. I guess because I didn't yell at him to "get out" he felt

it was OK to come in. He slid under the covers with me. I turned off the

table light. He snuggled close to me and whispered again that he was sorry.

I grumbled it was OK and told him to try to get some sleep. I comforted

myself by noting that at least I wasn't being shitty to the kid. I began to

drift off to sleep.

Max shifted and stirred in the bed. He couldn't seem to get comfortable. He

lay still for a few minutes and I thought he had fallen asleep. Then I felt

a slight movement. I lay still discerning if what I thought was happening

was indeed happening. Beside me, Max was jerking off. No doubt about it. I

waited and listened. The moon lighted faintly through the closed blinds

giving me enough light to make out the slight movement of the sheets. At

first I thought to kick the little shit out of my bed. Then I realized that

the show was turning me on. His movements were steady. He was cautious but

deliberate in his masturbation. I remembered when I was fourteen. How my

cock demanded more attention than it did now, and now it had to get off at

least once a day -- that meant a lot of jerking off. I was raging hard. Max

continued to stroke. My eyes cut to his face. Our gaze met in the moonlight.

He knew I was awake. Still he stroked.

"Sorry about tonight," he whispered.

"It's OK," I whispered back.

"Naw, I know I fucked things up. That's why my... John, made me leave."

He turned on his side to face me. He stared into my eyes. I felt his hand

reaching for my cock.

"What are you doing?"

"I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything Max. It's OK. Really."

His hand gripped my cock. My mind said no but my cock said this was a lot

better than Mrs. Sox. He stroked me steadily. I closed my eyes and gave

myself to the sensation. The boy knew how to handle a cock. He wasn't

rushing my stimulation. He was stroking, caressing, building my excitement

bit by bit. I moaned. The bed rocked and the covers ruffled. I felt the

warm, wet, softness of his mouth on my cock.

"Oh," I sighed.

"You two seem to be getting along," I heard Sheryl's voice. My eyes popped

open, Max sprang from under the sheets. Sheryl stood leaning against my

doorframe, smirking. My mouth opened and closed. I looked at Max and he

looked at me; we both looked at Sheryl.

"What are you doing here?" I finally managed, hoarsely.

She shrugged. "I felt guilty for leaving you alone with Max. Thought I'd

come back and make it up to you."

"I'm sorry," Max stammered, finding his voice.

"No problem," She beamed, "I think it's sexy. I'm glad Rick is this open. I

was a bit worried." She walked toward the bed. Stripping as she came. "Mind

if I join you?"

Max and I looked at each other. Max shrugged and climbed back under the

covers. His mouth quickly engulfed my cock. Sheryl climbed on top of me, her

pussy at my mouth. I licked and sucked her as I pumped my cock into Max's

willing mouth. Sheryl moaned as I licked her. Max bobbed expertly on my

raging hard-on. Sheryl was panting. She rolled off between Max and me. There

was a moment of clumsy readjustment. Max slid from under the covers, wrapped

his arms around Sheryl and hugged her.

"Hmmm.... What shall we do, what shall we do?" Sheryl asked running her hand

through Max's hair.

"I think Rick wants to fuck somebody," Max offered. He was right. I was

completely turned on. A fourteen-year-old boy had sucked me while I ate

pussy; it was time to fuck!

"And what about you?" Sheryl teased the boy, "Don't you want to fuck?"

Max's eyes enlarged. He nodded vigorously.

"Come on then," Sheryl coached, "The adults shouldn't have all the fun."

Max looked across Sheryl's body at me. "Is it OK, Rick?"

"Hey," I said getting turned on at the prospect of watching a

fourteen-year-old fucking my new girl friend, "It's her pussy. She can put

anything she wants in it."

"Cool," Max said excitedly; but he jumped out of the bed and ran out of the

room. Sheryl and I stared at each other. Max reappeared a few seconds later

holding a bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion. He grinned wickedly. "I

saw this when I was taking a bath. If I get to fuck Sheryl, Rick gets to

fuck me!" he announced. He dove in between us and handed me the lotion. My

mouth stood open. Sheryl laughed.

"I like it Rick," Max said, "Really. Please."

Sheryl kissed him. Max groaned and I watched as they tongued each other.

Hot! Then Sheryl spread her legs and pulled the boy on top of her. I started

applying the lotion to my wanting cock. Sheryl guided Max's rigid penis into

her waiting hole. The boy gasped and started to buck wildly. Sheryl laid a

hand on his buttocks, steadying him.

"Calm down," she whispered, "Or you'll blow before Rick can get started."

Max grunted, but laid still.

I looked at Sheryl and shook my head -- I was having second thoughts. She

mouthed, "It's OK. He wants it."

I gave up the fight and lubed Max's ass. He moaned. "Stick your finger in,"

he breathed.

It was hot, moist and willing. My senses were in overload. There was no

turning back. I climbed on top of him, staring into Sheryl's eyes and

lowered myself onto Max's youthful body. He inhaled deeply as my cock probed

his ass. His butt pushed up toward me. I sank into him.

"Oh!" he cried.

It was too late. I was too far gone. I began grinding into his ass, pulling

out, thrusting in, circling, pumping. Sheryl moaned. She ground back at the

two bodies above her. I humped Max. He humped Sheryl, pushing his firm boy

ass back against me, inviting my pleasure. Sheryl grabbed at us both,

forcing Max deeper into her and me deeper into Max. Max squirmed beneath me,

repeating, "Oh, oh, oh... fuck!" I couldn't have agreed more. I pounded his

ass, forcing him to pound into Sheryl. Sheryl bucked beneath us,

intensifying all of our pleasure. My cock swelled inside the boy. I was

about to blow. Max screamed that he couldn't take it anymore; he was coming.

Sheryl panted and clawed at me. I forced myself deeper into Max's tight hole

and grunted. Max and Sheryl cried out as we were all rocked by orgasm.

We lay panting. My cock was still deep in Max's ass. Max was still in

Sheryl's cunt. I kissed Max's cheek. He turned his head and our tongues

met. It was my first male-to-male kiss. I liked it.

"Can I stay?" Max whispered.

"Yeah," Sheryl asked, "Can we stay, please?"

I didn't answer. I just slowly began to pump Max's ass. He could stay.

Sheryl could stay: Good-bye to you, Mrs. Sox.

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