Anonymous - Budding Boobs

Babette's budding boobs were enough to bring tears to a young man's eyes.

Evidently.

If that young man were a romantic like her boy- friend Channing Bentley.

Or so Babette thought.

At first.

Babette read the lines of poetry young Channing had sent to her.

Composed on his heavy ribbed personal stationery. Ribbed paper like raw silk.

With fancy family crest embossed.

She read the poem again.

And again.

And once more-over the telephone-to each of her closest girlfriends.

Poetry about the spring.

The breeze.

Buds and flowers.

Shady trees.

Birds and bees.

Spreading knees.

Girls who tease.

Adamant pleas.

Fecund thoughts of young love.

Images tart and naive.

To make Babette's bosom heave.

And there.

Smeared along the bottom of the page.

Remains of-tears?-shed by the love-possessed writer of the lines above.

Lyrics of love that brought a rise to the insides of Babette's thighs.

Sighs to her breast.

And an itch to her clit.

Enough to turn her bitch.

"Oh, Darleene. You wouldn't believe it. The way it makes me feel to read it."

"Naw, Babette. I can believe it okay. It's just, like, no one ever wrote a poem for me. I think Rudolph Blastitoff-you know, that dude who calls himself the Rude Warrior?-wrote some heavy metal rock lyrics he said were about me. But they sounded more like they were about slugging it out in a mud-wrestling bout than about, like, love."

"Well this one-I think it is. You know, nature and all. Doesn't mention fucking or making out. Not in those words."

"Bitchin', babes. Sounds like he really means it. Or maybe he's just more devious than most guys who are trying to pry themselves into your panties. At least it shows some imagination."

"You mean, like, in art?"

"Yeah."

"I think he's real smart."

"That's a start."

"You said there was a candy heart inside?"

"Yeah. And he cried!"

"Did he write that?"

"I can see the tears, dear."

"Look again, Babette."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you know they're tears?"

"Well-"

"Are they clear?"

"Uh-"

"How crinkly is the paper?"

"Hmmm."

"What do you say?"

"Maybe he spilled something."

"Sure. Go on-kid me."

"Darleene-"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"What you're afraid to."

"And what is that?"

"He spilled something, all right."

"So?"

"He spilled his seed."

"Seed?"

"It's come."

"Huh?"

"Babette, doll. Hate to tell you this. Well, like, I don't actually hate telling you this. I mean, I think it's kind of an honor."

"Shit. I know what you're saying."

"Then you tell me."

"Yeah. He jacked oft"

"Yup. Bodacious."

"This is his sperm right here."

"Did you lick it?"

"Oh, gross, Darleene."

"I'd taste it if I were you, Babette. Lap it right on up."

"Gag me with a scumsicle."

"I'm not kidding."

"You actually would lick some guy's dried jizz right off the paper like that?"

"If it were meant for me I would."

"I'll sniff it."

"Yeah?"

"Can't tell"

"Put your tonguetip to it."

Crinkle.

Slurp.

"I can't really taste anything, Darleene. I'll try some more."

"It's the thought that counts."

"Amazing."

"Yes?"

"The longer you lick-like, the more the flavor comes out. Gets thick in your mouth. You can move it around with your tongue."

"Oooooh."

"Maybe I'm imagining it."

"Ever see his pecker?"

"Never."

"Ever taste it for real?"

"How could I? I mean, if I've never even seen his dick. You know, naked."

"You can suck cock without seeing it."

"Oh, come on."

"In the dark."

"Why not blindfolded?"

"Tee hee hee. Maybe. Not a bad idea from a little cherry."

"Make me blush."

"Already did. Didn't I?"

"Now it's my turn."

"For what?"

"To make you blush."

"Oh."

"Guess what I'm doing."

"Sucking the scum from that paper."

"Mmm. More."

"Omigawd!"

"What, Darleene?"

"Don't, Babette. I can hear it. I'm really jealous of you, doll."

"Feels good when I rub it right there."

"Oh, no."

"It's scraping against my pubic hairs. Getting caked with my cream."

"What a dream!"

"It's between my pussylips."

"Starting to drip?"

"Mmm hm. And now. Gotta roll my teeshirt up a little more. There."

"Right between your tits, huh?"

"And on the nips."

Babette smiled with her eyes closed. Thought of Darleene's mouth speaking, Sometimes the smutty things Darleene often said got Babette all worked up by themselves.

Babette thought of Darleene's mouth moving away. Thought of those lips on her lips.

Those times they had kissed, girl to girl while skinny-dipping together in Babette's backyard pool. Lips on hips. But not both sets mouthlips.

Facelips on cuntlips.

Mouthcheeks between asscheeks.

Babette would be scared, but fantasy land was a safe place to be.

So for a moment Babette allowed herself to chew another woman's snatch from behind in her mind. Nosh on the gash.

Asscheeks held between teeth.

Tongue up inside asshole.

Darleene spoke on.

"Send the poem back to him. See if he can eat your come from it."

"Ha ha. Good idea, but I can't. He's traveling around. It came from Arabia, I think."

"Peachy."

"Shit, Darleene. I'd like to squeeze him. But he won't get back until-fuck! I can't fucking believe it, hon."

"Yeah?"

"We'll be at the state fair next week. Like, I think all that week. That is, if we make it to the finals of the band contest."

"Oh. That's when he's supposed to get back? Maybe he can come down."

"Thought of that. But I don't want to take a chance. I mean-I don't want to talk to his parents. Know what I mean?"

"They're like that, huh?"

"Worse than that. They think that, like, because they have all this money-"

"Snobs."

"They think I'm trash, in fact."

"Sure it's not your head?"

"That's where they're coming from. Want their son to mix it up with a debutante."

"Aren't many of those around this town."

"Except maybe Suzanne Radcliffe."

"She puts out."

"Huh?"

"Yeah."

"Come on."

"Believe so."

"How do you know."

"My brother told me."

"Dudes always say that to you. It's supposed to make you think it's okay to go down with them the first time they see you."

"Well, Babette. Don't want to break this to you, doll, but I don't think my brother's trying to ball me-not at all."

"Ha ha ha ha ha. Guess you're right. What did Patrick say about Suzanne?"

"He's fucked her."

"Patrick? Sure."

"Fucked her mouth. Fucked her ass. Fucked her cunt. Ate her twat. Ate her rump."

"No tittyfuck?"

"Says hers are too small."

"Doesn't really look like it."

"Well, she wears falsies, you know."

"Never saw her-like, in the locker room or any-thing. Does her pussy have fuzz yet?"

"More than yours."

"I'm a late-bloomer, Darleene. Always have been. Always will be, I guess."

"Well, you're the oldest virgin I know, Babette. That's for shit-sure."

"You don't think a lot of the other ones were lying. I mean, they can't all fuck like they say they do-and still walk."

"Who knows?"

"And you, Darleene. You never really said straight out that you'd lost it."

"Uh-"

"You talk about it all the time like you really have done it. But never anything real specific. Oh, not that you should get that personal, necessarily. But, you know."

"Can't talk about it now, Babette. Like, the door's ringing and I think it's Rudolph. He always show up like this. If he gets past my parents, I might have a quick date."