The Tabitha Files Pt. 03

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After Sarah departed, I wandered back into the house and contemplated my good fortune, but also my worries. How would Tabitha react to me fucking Sarah? Ordinarily, she shouldn’t feel anything as we had broken up because of her cheating. Yes, we were friends, and yes, Tabitha, Sarah and I enjoyed each other’s bodies a few days ago, but Tabitha and I enjoyed a sort of connection that was hard to explain. At the final reckoning, I couldn’t afford and didn’t want, to lose her friendship. Would me fucking Sarah affect it? Hard to tell in such a close-knit, small, isolated community.

My week continued with work; opening bank accounts, resolving customer enquiries, chatting up tourists/customers and drinking beer. Tabitha was rarely absent from my thoughts especially when I worked alongside her mother but rather than be proactive and seek her out; I played a more extended game.

My patience was rewarded for on Friday afternoon, not long before the bank closed, I watched Tabitha whirl into the bank. She flashed me a wide grin and a wave but went over to her mother who was on the teller counter. The bank was devoid of customers, but I couldn’t quite make out the conversation between mother and daughter. Within a minute, however, Tabitha appeared and sat down at my cubicle.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asked in typical, laid-back Western Australian fashion.

“I’m very well and thank you for asking.”

Tabitha was wearing a grey, woollen crop top, that exposed her toned mid-riff and slender arms but also perfectly contoured her magnificent breasts. Also, she wore brown, hemp jeans that sculptured her tight arse and clung to her slim legs. She sported her mousey, brown hair back in a ponytail and looked radiant. My cock stirred.

“What’ve you been up to? She asked enthusiastically, eyes sparkling and smile beaming.

“Nothing really. Working, eating and drinking” I responded, slightly on guard.

“Andrew and Shane back yet?” Referring to my farm hand housemates.

“No, not yet. Not sure when they are due back, but it’s got to be soon.” The time in my life was the late nineties where personal communications had advanced to the stage of chucking in fifty cents to a public phone box and talking for one minute.

“Oh,” she said with a hint of disappointment. The lads being back meant fun house parties at our place again with much raucous drinking, “what are you doing tonight?”

“When the bank closes, I’ll have a few beers here before heading to Earl of Spencer,” I replied.

I really should stop going to that tavern, I said to myself. When I was dating the older and wiser Jean – the hawk, the oracle, etc. – last summer, we would go there together for drinks and dinner regularly. I felt oh so grown up and sophisticated in such classy surroundings with someone I thought I deeply loved. I was unaware that, rather than being her partner, I was something that has since become known as a fuck buddy for she was in a real relationship with someone closer to her age in Perth, over 400 km away. What I also didn’t know was that Jean was preparing to leave Albany where I was and relocate to Perth to be with her partner. The break up happened in that tavern, and I was devastated. In the days and weeks after she left, my life in Albany, where I had no roots of any kind, except the embryo of a career, became meaningless. I felt I was trapped there and what made it worse was that the winter was one of the worst in living memory. The subsequent spring brought Tabitha into my life, but she was younger than me, had no life experience, represented everything I hated about being trapped in a small, parochial town, and while she was a beauty and had potential, I just couldn’t stop the unfavourable, and unfair, comparisons between her and Jean. When Tabitha cheated on me, it was a relief because all I could think about was Jean and replacing her with a clone. I needed Jean’s level of maturity in a female partner. The Earl of Spencer tavern was on my way home, and so I would pop in on an all too frequent basis hoping to find Jean 2.0. It never happened.

“Can I come around a bit later then?” Tabitha asked. She would have dinner with her parents first.

“Sure. I’ll give you a call when I get in.” I replied, and with that, she took off. When I said call, I referred to a landline call that cost fifty cents in a call box to her parents’ house. What a time to be alive!

As soon as after work drinks finished, instead of going to the Earl of Spencer where I would sit by myself, scan the room for Jean 2.0 who, if she walked in, I would be too scared to make a move, I decided to go to the White Star Hotel. At least there, I knew a few folks who I could play games of pool with, despite the level of conversation being just above Cro-Magnon level. A girly bar it was not, but at least it would distract me from Jean 2.0.

A couple of hours later, I inevitably dropped fifty cents into the phone box outside illegal bahis the hotel and dialled Tabitha’s home number. Ringing, ringing, ringing. The mother picked up.

“Hi Sue, it’s Jason. Is Tabitha there?”

“Hang on.”

“Hello?” Came a crisp voice.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good and you?”

“Not bad. I’m heading home so if you fancy popping over then feel free.”

“Can you get me some vodka?” She asked.

It never ceased to amaze me that an eighteen-year-old, female could guzzle neat vodka. I couldn’t do it, and in fact, I hated the stuff. The only palatable spirit for me was Jim Beam with a healthy dose of ice and cola. Stick to beer my father told me when I was sixteen and beginning my young drinking career. Vodka gave Tabitha the confidence to get me in the sack on our first date.

“No problem. Seventeen dollars.” And with that, my minute of public telephony ended.

I popped back into the pub and purchased the bottle of distilled ethanol and ascended the hill to my house. As I walked, I noticed that the evening air seemed warmer than of days past as late spring was giving way to early summer and I contemplated my life as well as the fruitlessness of finding Jean 2.0. For a week or two now, I had been considering my career. The bank had been very generous to me during the year I spent there (despite some howling – and costly – mistakes), and my boss had begun encouraging me to think about my next step. As a result, I fired off a couple of applications for internal transfers at the bank that would take me away from Albany to Perth as like as not but, potentially, even further afield. I discovered in myself a sense of new found optimism as if I just made an unconscious decision, and a subtle air of confidence settled on me. Jean and ghost of Jean would be exorcised (although not without an unexpected final encounter as recalled in The Fling). And, while I didn’t know it, the seeds of my escape from Albany were taking root.

But back to tonight and the possibilities it offered.

Upon arriving home, I opened the doors to the back deck and let some air into the stuffy house. It was a beautiful night to be outside drinking and contemplating one’s future. With the view of the town and the country-side that this house boasted, it would be a shame to be indoors, so I set up two chairs on the deck, placed my cassette of The Tea Party’s Edges of Twilight album in the stereo. I cracked a beer and waited for my ex-girlfriend who happened to be my closest friend at a time. No Facebook, no emails, no iPhones and few worries.

As I sat on the balcony taking in the balmy evening air and bopping to the eastern influences that define The Tea Party’s unique musical appeal, I noticed I was drinking rather too freely and suddenly felt the urge to take a piss. Since I was the only one home, I dispensed with civilised etiquette, and the toilet, and just whipped out my cock from my work trousers, pointed it over the balcony rail towards the lawn below. Seconds later, I released a stream of recycled beer that arced up and covered an impressive distance. I let out a satisfied moan of approval as the tension in my bladder had its just release. Before I finished, and to my surprise, I heard a familiar chuckle. Tabitha, instead of knocking on the front door to announce her arrival, had come in through the side gate because she wouldn’t have been heard over the hi-def analogue tones blazing away on the stereo. She had reached the base of the balcony at the same time as exhaled my vocal relief of bladder pressure. The sudden disturbance triggered the automatic reflex to stem the flow of piss into the garden, but mercifully I was almost finished.

“Hey. Sorry about that.” I said, embarrassed, as I stuffed my pissy cock back into my pants before shaking the snake and thereby experiencing the inevitable wet penny in the pocket as Roger’s Profanisaurus describes my predicament. Actually, I wasn’t all that embarrassed at all.

“Busted!” Tabitha replied, erupting in full-blown laughter.

“Yep, and you didn’t let me finish!” I countered with mock annoyance.

“Be my guest.” She said and cast her hand around the lawn expansively.

“No, I’m ok.” Impressed with her brazenness.

“Do it. Watching it was kind of hot!”

“Really? I don’t think I can now.”

“Chicken!”

“You got me there.” I surrendered, weakly, literally with no better comeback than that.

Tabitha climbed up the steps to the balcony, and we hugged. I noticed that her grip of me had a touch of urgency that indicated more than a usual friendship hug. On this night, Tabitha smelled of body wash with a strong hint of coconut. We walked inside to the kitchen and where we exchanged the ethanol for beer tokens. With that transaction complete, we headed back outside and took our seats. From the balcony at the rear of my house, we could see the lower portion of the town as York Street illegal bahis siteleri – the central thoroughfare – descended towards Princess Royal Harbour that had numerous watercraft buzzing around. The street lights and car headlights sparkled in the haze, but the sounds of activity emanating from the town didn’t penetrate this far up the hill. The only sound came from the stereo that had become background music, other than that all was peaceful. As to be expected, Tabitha took, what seemed to me, a massive swig of vodka from the bottle that I had purchased earlier, swallowed it with some difficulty and then shuddered from the burn as the fuel descended to her gut. Thank the maker for beer; I thought in silence as I watched her agony.

We chatted benignly about work for a pointless few minutes. It was clear that we both wanted to talk about something else, but we were angling for an appropriate opening. As this uncoordinated verbal tango proceeded, I looked over to Tabitha as she spoke utterly uninteresting sentences while gazing, unfocused towards the town below. She wore a white, soft stringed vest that delineated her large, firm breasts and flat stomach; a denim skirt topped off with a pair of sassy red sandals. She wore her mousy, brown hair in a ponytail and sported a couple of small, crystal earrings that flickered in the light. As she spoke white noise to me, I couldn’t help but admire that perfect aquiline nose whose curve was exquisitely sculpted and would not have looked out of place amongst the Athenian deities of antiquity. In my befuddling state, I was starting to feel the lust and love I once (perhaps still) had for her. Rather than succumb, I reluctantly forced myself to remember the vow I made to myself in the early evening to rid myself of this town, of its bad memories – of Jean – and to forge ahead and create my destiny. Tabitha, for all her sweetness and potential, would slow me down (she wasn’t experienced enough for me to take her on my – speculative – journey, even if she’d wanted to come).

“Have you seen Sarah?” An outer body me suddenly asked.

There was an agonising pause.

“Yes. We’ve caught up.” She answered, automatically.

“And?” I asked with some trepidation.

“And what?”

“How is she about last week?” I asked, lying because I already knew. Isolated town politics, of the sexual kind, can quickly get out of control.

“She’s fine with it,” She laughed, “as am I.”

“In what way?” I nervously asked.

“Well…” she began, “That was amazing” she responded, referencing the threesome.

“All of it?” I asked, seeking affirmation about the anal sex.

“Every bit of it!” Came the sincere reply.

“What did you like the best?” My turn to seek a compliment or two.

Tabitha turned to me with the knowing look in her eyes, “What you did to me.”

“And what was that?” I enquired, poorly feigning innocence but becoming aware of a growing bulge in my piss stained boxers.

“Hmm, I’d like to say that it was your amazing tongue between my legs, but that didn’t happen!”

“Well no, you had an urgent need for something else.”

“True and that was what I needed, but that wasn’t the best thing about the night.”

“So, something else then?”

Tabitha sighed and then giggled, “You stuck your dick up my bum, without asking, and, while naughty, it felt fantastic. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” No, that’s because you experienced your first butt fucking.

“It was amazing. I really loved it.” I responded, “In fact, watching you lick Sarah while I arse fucked you was too much for me. Hope you didn’t mind me cumming inside your arse?”

“That was also a first for me, but it felt great.”

“Yeah? In what way?” I was curious as to how Tabitha would describe her first anal sex experience.

“Well,” She began, trying to translate her experience into words, “it was different.”

“Different from what?” I asked, teasing it out.

“You know, from normal.” Normal being vaginal sex, “It was much more intense, and it lasted longer.”

“How was it different from normal?”

“It was an orgasm but in a whole new way.”

“Yeah?”

“I felt so full inside, and there was this pressure on me that I’ve never experienced before.” She said, as a hand pressed against her abdomen. “I could feel it shooting out, down my legs to the tips of my toes and then it engulfed the rest of my body.”

“Doesn’t a normal orgasm feel that way?”

“No!” Came a firm response, “This one left me shivering all over and left my extremes so tingly. That lasted a lot longer than normal ones do.”

“Well, it looked different from a normal one.” I laughed and took a swig of beer.

“Oh,” asked Tabitha, turning towards me, “how so?”

“You were writhing on the floor, moaning, pinching your nipples and speaking words, that weren’t words.” I replied, before adding, canlı bahis siteleri “Well, words that I couldn’t understand.”

Tabitha laughed, “Was I really doing that?”

I nodded.

“I don’t remember it.” She laughed.

“What, not even touching your nipples?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

She took a moment to remember, “Not really but I remember that the feeling was most intense in my breasts and toes.”

Two of the most sensitive erogenous zones on a woman.

Tabitha’s reaction to her first anal orgasm or referred to as an “assgasm” in American grumble flicks, surprised Sarah and me when we discussed our threesome earlier in the week. This led to the revelation of, and then her disgust about, anal sex.

“Did it hurt?” I asked since it didn’t look like it hurt in porno films.

“Did what hurt, the orgasm?”

“No, my cock up your arse?”

She thought about it for a second before replying, “There was a bit of pressure at first as you pushed in, but it didn’t hurt at all.”

“You weren’t disgusted by it?”

“Of course not.” Came her breezy and confident response. “Remember we talked about it a few months ago?” I sure did, “And you showed me that magazine, so I was curious to try it.”

That magazine she was referring was a porno mag, that I – err – found somewhere, and led to some intense but vanilla sex after we looked through it together.

“I was extremely turned on by what was going on between us that I think I was too relaxed to object.” She said, laughing but that sentiment applied to equally to Sarah and me as well. “Anything goes” and went on that night.

“Was it any different for you?” She asked, a second after controlling the fiery reflux of swallowed vodka.

“Yes, anal is a very different sensation from normal sex.” I began, “For one thing, the arse is so much tighter than the vagina and penetration has a different feel about it but for me, and I guess for most men, it’s the sheer naughtiness, the engagement in a taboo sex act, the submission that gives us an additional thrill.”

“Taboo? What do you mean?” asked a slightly bemused Tabitha.

I was thinking over my then limited interactions with the fairer sex, only four, including Tabitha, submitted to anal sex. Three of them were older than me and had previous experience with it. All my other sexual partners up to that point in time were steadfast against experimenting with anal sex. They all mirrored Sarah’s response, that anal sex was disgusting. One, a Catholic, cited her religion as a moral objection to the practice.

“Oh,” she said in surprise, “I’ve never really thought about it like that. I thought that it might hurt, but it didn’t.”

Tabitha was a little more open-minded than I gave her credit for and was quite the contrast to Sarah. All this talk of anal sex and Tabitha’s enthusiasm in describing how it felt had made me hard. I wondered what effect our lively chat was having on her pussy.

“Would you do it again?” I asked, on behalf of a friend.

Tabitha shot me a knowing glance and smiled in a way that indicated she saw right through my simple ruse.

“Maybe. Depends on who asked.”

We looked away from each other, smiling, down the hill towards the twinkling lights of the town. A slight breeze had picked up and was reducing the balminess. Soon, it’d be too chilly to remain outdoors. Thinking to myself, it’d be so easy for me to surrender myself to these surroundings and Tabitha, lapsing into a sense of comfort but ultimate unfulfillment that would cause more long-term damage than the short-term happiness would compensate. At that moment in time, however, I’d convinced myself that I loved her but my rational self – the “system two” of the brain – reminded me of my inebriation that was affecting my emotions. My resolve to plot a course out of my present circumstances reasserted control, and I held my tongue. This act of mental gymnastics had the bonus of cooling my ardour, and I considered raising my plans with Tabitha to seek her counsel. On the one hand, potential sexcapades would be over, but on the other, I would receive counsel I could trust. Hmm, maybe I’d raise my escape plan for another day?

“The nasty, filthy things you were doing with Sarah were hot!” I blurted out, not entirely in control of my faculties.

Without looking at me, Tabitha quietly laughed.

“Well, we’ve experimented before.” she replied, confirming Sarah’s revelation, “But that was something I wanted to try since you first did it to me.”

Looking back on this experience, I’m amazed at the simplicity of language we all used. The mid-1990s was pre-internet for the bulk of the populace and access to porn was both restrictive and expensive. Tabitha hadn’t seen any porno films before and had only fucked with other blokes; foreplay hadn’t been brought to her world until I burst on the scene. I was just as naïve. When Jennifer – the girl who took my anal virginity a few years earlier – said she wanted to give me “head”, I had no idea what she proposed until her actions subsequently enlightened me.

“Was I the first that ever licked you down there?”

“Yes.”

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