this was another story that i posted on my stumbleupon blog, and thought i'd copy over here. i hope you like it.

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the 4th time i had intercourse, it was right in front of a television with the simpsons on. the boy i was with had short light sandy hair that tickled when he kissed you. and he was shorter than me, the only boy i recall dating who wasn't about my height or more. he always wanted me kneeling in front of him or sitting aside him before we could play around - apparently men have their hang-ups at any age.

his name was also bert, which is too close to bart to not associate him with the simpsons.

i was in high school at the time, so this was back a ways in my life, and it was winter. i remember that some famous person had just recently announced he had aids, so i always kept condoms hidden in the lining of my purse, accessible but hidden from prying eyes. instant fun in light blue foil.

my boyfriend was over that night, and he, my mother and i were sitting watching television in the living room. we all had the sated after dinner glow - "eat until you are full and don't want to move, and then get yourself some dessert" was the motto in my house.

it has been a warm day because i was wearing a summer outfit, white flowers dancing on a sky blue dress, the light cotton hem just above my knee. he had on shorts, black and baggy, like basketball shorts, though i doubt they were ever worn on a court, or sweated in with five other men. his u2 tshirt hung down low, covering most of the shorts, just the legs visible, his crotch doubly hidden by the twin materials of his shorts and shirt.

my mother was out of the room when the simpsons started. bert and i were on the couch, my teenage head softly against his shoulder, my hands still but present on his thigh. he had goosebumps, you could see his hairs standing on end from the thousands of prickles covering his strong thighs.

everyone knows how the simpsons always have bart writing on the chalkboard at the beginning. this time the words of ivory on slate said something like "i will not do that thing with my tongue". i remember laughing at that, and then heard bert ask me to do that thing with my tongue to him. i looked down and he pulled his shirt to the side, and you could see him stiff and tented beneath his shorts. if you've ever wondered, you definitely can't hide a log beneath a sheet.

he reached in with his left hand and pulled it out as i went down, with "meet the simpsons" echoing in the background. homer holding a pronged green rod, as a thick veined red one entered my mouth. uranium bouncing down the street as my head did a bouncing of its own. but soon we heard the soft footsteps of my mother's flat brown shoes making their way down the honey stained wooden stairs, and we sat up, stiff and hard. he in more ways than me.

my mother was poking around the kitchen, doing what we could not tell (and cared not). after a few eternal minutes, we heard her call over we didn't have any instant coffee and that she was running out to get some folgers for morning. that was probably the last and only time i ever blessed the lack of starbucks.

as soon as we heard the slow grind of the the garage door opening, we were back at it again. i dashed to the breakfast nook where my small black purse lie, my hands quickly and blindly searching in it for that foil covered protection. his hands dashed behind me, also blindly searching, or maybe not so blindly, having much more luck than mine as his fingers probed their way around, following the warmth to home.

bert had me pinned against the breakfast nook, his hands and fingers mauling me from behind like a lion on the back of a mule. i had dumped out the contents of my purse to feverishly search for my little rubber friends as my red, white, and blue cotton panties (a july 4 present from my father) were pulled to the floor and stuck on the strap of my not so polished black shoes. the cool air making my pussy tingle.

i remember looking up at the screen as marge was screaming something about disciplining her children from that wide mouth under that high stack of blue hair when i felt bert first enter me, disciplining that certain wet part of me that needed to be tamed. there was no resistance, only welcoming warmth, a perfect fit. that certain part of me welcomed and wanted that certain part of him and swallowed him whole as the whale must have to jonah.

he immediately started thrusting, each push harder, more forceful than the one before. my fingers finally grabbing the condoms from the secret pocket and almost immediately dropping them as his weight thrust my belly into the counter, peach flesh against sky gray formica. the foil 3-pack dribbled over the of the counter to a stained stool, the question of the origin of the stains strangely entered my head - were they mine from a past dalliance? if not mine than whose? or was it just a remnant of a past meal? if my tongue touched it, what would it be tasting? those thoughts quickly left as bert slammed into me at thundering pace, my moist lips crumbling and opening like shattered cement under its fury, my pussy gripping like no cement ever treated a metal intruder.

i reached for the condoms, rising on my toes, naturally opening myself even more to him, standing on invisible 6 inch heels. and he f'd even harder. i stretched, he filled, i reached he pushed. my nipples pressed to the cold countertop below.

he reached around, taking my aroused and pleading nipples between his rough fingers, moving me back harder against him like a doll, a marionette controlled by two little erotic strings tied with a direct line from my chest to my clitoris, a pleasure puppet under the control of its master, a reverse Pinocchio, my whole getting wetter and deeper as if each thrust were the newest and biggest lie.

then i felt it happening, the wave building. i no longer need to be moved, handled. i pushed back as hard and as fast as i could, my fingers digging into myself as his knobby shaft filled me completely, repeatedly. i was pleading to god, thanking him loudly as i recall, my glassy eyes staring ahead to the flickering lights of the television across the room. and to bert's thick pounding cock and my groans and moans of pleasure, it swept over me, my body twitching and releasing uncontrollably. on the screen was a jiggling and dancing homer simpson, his belly exposed and shaking under a lifted white shirt.

and that is why a jiggly homer simpson and the shrill voice of marge can still get the juices flowing to this day.