Angel From Montgomery Pt. 01

On our first date, he took me to the drive-in, and we had hamburgers and cokes sitting there in the cab of his pick-up truck. I was nervous as hell, because I wanted him like I'd never wanted anyone before. I kept telling myself this was crazy, that I wasn't that kind of girl, but I knew where we were going to end up that night, and I wanted it.

I wasn't a virgin, but I hadn't been with a lot of guys. Nevertheless, I considered myself somewhat experienced. I'd actually only had intercourse with three boys, and none for the past year.

Back in the days before the birth-control pill, you had to be real careful about sex. Let me make one thing very clear. We may not have lived in the kind of sex-drenched society kids grow up in today, but we knew what it was. We weren't as naïve in the Fifties as the books make us out to be.

And with my independent streak -- bordering on rebelliousness -- I was lustier than most of the girls in the Class of '55.

Still, I had a reputation to uphold, and I wanted to finish high school. It wasn't like today where kids have babies and nobody thinks twice about it. Girls who got pregnant in high school back then simply disappeared.

Either they got married, were shipped off to relatives or were sent to group homes for unwed mothers. They sure as hell weren't allowed to stay in school.

The first two guys I had sex with dutifully used condoms, and the sex was kind of ho-hum. But the third guy had the misfortune of fucking me like a madman when the rubber broke.

It was the weirdest thing. On the one hand, I was hysterical that he shot his sperm into me without protection, and I think I bruised him on the chest trying to get him off of me.

But, paradoxically, the feeling of his hot cum jetting up into my womb triggered an intense rush that I quickly figured out was an orgasm, the first one I'd ever had that wasn't self-induced. Don't look at me like that. Of course, we masturbated in those days. We just didn't admit to it. Hell, why do you think I enjoyed riding a horse so much.

From then on, if I got to the point where I might have sex with a guy I was dating, I'd take care of them with a blowjob or a hand job, but I wasn't going to risk a condom breaking in the middle of passion. I lost a few boyfriends that way, but that was just too damn bad.

It was hot, so I was wearing a sleeveless cotton dress that extended to about mid-calf and sandals. It's funny when I think back on it. I could probably pull out that dress today and it would look perfectly stylish. There have been plenty of times over the intervening years when that was not the case.

Clint wasn't a big talker, but that night the conversation just flowed easily. We talked about ourselves, telling each other about our backgrounds, trying to learn as much as we could about each other.

When we finished our burgers, we just cruised around town, the way kids did back in those days. I saw a few of my girlfriends from school and they kind of oohed and aahed about my date.

We'd made about two passes down the drag, when he put his arm around me and pulled me to him, and I went more than willingly.

"Where can we go to be alone for awhile?" he said. "Maybe have a couple of brews without attracting a lot of attention?"

I told him I knew just the place to go. It was a little back road that wound back toward the San Jacinto River. The river was the favored recreation spot even in those days, before the whole area was covered up when they built Lake Conroe back in the '70s.

Where we used to go was in a state wildlife area, and thus was public domain, but you still had to be careful where you went. Back then, you could still occasionally come across some old boy's whiskey-making operation, and the shiners didn't take kindly to kids interrupting their work.

I could feel myself getting wet, and once again wondered what the hell I was doing. But I was feeling mighty frisky and decided to go with the flow.

On our way out of town, Clint stopped at the little curb market just on the edge of the line that marked the white part of town from the black quarters that stayed open late, and bought a six pack of beer. Then we headed out to the country.

Neither one of us wanted to get drunk, but we did want to enjoy the buzz and the mellowness of our incipient lust. Hell, one six pack wasn't enough to do more than give us a buzz anyway.

I mean, he was a West Texas boy and I was a Cajun. Daddy started letting me drink a beer or two at home about the time I was 16, and every West Texas boy I'd ever met could put away some beer. It just wasn't that big a deal.

There was a fairly substantial breeze that night, and it did a couple of things for us.

One, it sort of stoked our fires the way it caressed our bodies with its warm touch. Second, it helped keep the mosquitoes at bay. It had been dry that summer anyway, so the skeeter population was down anyway, and the wind just shooed them off.

I don't know if it would have made any difference, but it was nice not to have to worry about too many bug bites

Because it was cooler with the breeze blowing, we sat out by the river side on the blanket he'd conveniently had in the bed of his truck and talked, tossing the empty longnecks into the water. And when we'd polished off the six pack, we just sort of melted together.

Clint's tongue was insidious, but not insistent, as it slithered into my mouth, jousting with my own.

"You know, I think you must be an angel," Clint said with that crooked grin as we broke our clinch. "An angel from Montgomery County."

Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure it was a bullshit pickup line that he'd probably used on dozens of women, but it sure worked on me. I felt myself creaming in my cotton panties from the way he was kissing me and holding me and touching me.

His hands slid effortlessly up my legs, under my skirt, and I simply spread my legs and let him have at it. When his fingers got inside my panties, I felt myself shudder with a mini-climax, and I knew I was a goner.

Abruptly, Clint reached behind me and slid the zipper to my dress down. As soon as it was open, I shimmied out of it and tossed it aside, leaving me in my panties and bra. I quickly discarded those items and lay back on the blanket naked and ready for this man to fuck me.

Clint stood up then and pulled his shirt off, then his undershirt, which was what they refer to now as a wife-beater. While he reached down to pull his boots off, I gazed appreciatively at his lean, hard-muscled physique. Next came his jeans, then his shorts.

My God, how can I describe my first good look at Clint Rouse naked. For one thing, he was the first fully-naked man I'd ever seen. None of my previous sexual experiences had involved either one of us getting naked; we'd simply moved our clothes around to get to the good parts.

Clint had no excess anywhere, except where it counted. His half-hard cock was swaying in front of him, and it was a beauty, long, slender and cut, which was a first for me. All the other men I'd had before that hadn't been circumcised, so this was a doubly-good treat.

And he wasn't shy about his body either. He strutted over and knelt down beside me.

"You are beautiful, you know that?" he said softly. "You're 'bout the prettiest woman I think I've ever seen."

Then he bent down and kissed me softly, but with an undercurrent of passion. His left hand was stroking my sex, and I was purring and squirming like a cat on a hot tin roof. Yeah, I know that's a cliché, but that's exactly how I felt at the moment.

I was ready for him to get going, but I was about to find out just what it meant to be truly consumed by a man.

Clint's lips and tongue caressed my jaw line, then slid down my neck to my chest, and I gasped when he captured first my left nipple, then my right, in his lips and sucked me gently.

My lust was climbing to the stratosphere, and I responded by grasping his now-rock hard cock and stroking him gently, the way I'd done for other guys. But this was different. This cock was going in me, and I didn't care one bit that there wasn't a rubber in sight.

But it wasn't going in me until it was good and ready, until I demanded -- no, begged -- for it. Clint's mouth suckled my breasts for a few minutes, then slashed its way down my stomach, then there was a moment of reprise as he settled between my legs.

Then I felt him pulled my hips up with his hands, and his tongue lashed at the dripping entry to my pussy. My head shot up like it was on a swivel, I was so surprised. No one had ever done that to me before, and I cried out in some shock.

"What are you doing?!" I gasped.

"Just givin' my angel a good tongue-lashing," he said, staring at me with that guilty grin. "What's the matter? You ain't never had anyone do this to you before?"

"N-no," I answered hesitantly. "Hell no. They always said it was dirty. Course, they didn't mind me putting my mouth on their cock, but..."

"Oh, man, are you in for a treat then," Clint said as he returned to his work with gusto.

That was it for me as far as conscious thought was concerned. The feeling of Clint's mouth on my steaming, streaming cunt was absolutely indescribable, but I still remember every detail vividly, even after over 50 years.

I just latched onto his unruly hair, opened my legs wide and rode him like I was in a barrel race -- or a broncing competition. I squeezed my tits and felt the crackle of lust sizzle through my body from the sensations emanating from my sensitive nipples.

Foaming spittle and pure gibberish escaped my mouth as a feeling like I'd never had before roared through me like a hurricane. I gasped and cried out as my orgasm swept me along on a tidal wave of passion.

Then, as a white-hot explosion blew through me, I heard myself telling Clint, "please, God, fuck me, fuck me, fuuuuuuucccccck m-m-meeeeeeee!"

And, boy did he.

He pulled his face away from my drooling crotch, wiped his mouth with his undershirt, then knelt between my legs and slid his dick right up me, in one smooth stroke. His nice long cock filled me deeper and better than anyone ever did, before or since.

He was perfect for me, but I don't think it would have mattered if he hadn't been quite so well-endowed.

Emotionally, we were one right from the first moment we were joined. It was just so right. We flowed together like two rivers coming together, merging our lust together, for (we thought) all eternity.

God, Clint had amazing control. Even though we were in the throes of an unstoppable passion, he kept a measured pace, not going too fast and not too slow. It was just enough to keep me at fever pitch, and I rocketed along from climax to climax, until my mind was just a void.

As good as it was, it couldn't last forever, and I was seeing black spots in my vision as I felt Clint pickup his pace. I vaguely heard his words of endearment, but, honestly, I was too far gone to make sense of anything he was saying.

I did hear his rhythmic grunting as he neared his own finish, and with a final cry I arched my back and came again as I felt him tense up, felt his cock swell, seconds before he sprayed jet after jet of hot, creamy cum deep in my womb.

For long minutes, we floated on a sea of lust as our movements became jerky and languid in the afterglow of sex. At last, our bodies relaxed, and we just fell together, giggling at the wonder of what we'd shared.

I didn't think anything could be better than that moment, and if we could have bottled it and just brought it out whenever we needed it, none of the heartache that followed would have happened.

The first dose of reality hit me when I got home that night, two hours after usual. I think Daddy and Flo just assumed I'd come home from my date at my normal time of 11 o'clock, which had been my curfew during high school.

Flo was sitting up waiting for me. She took one look at me, and just sort of nodded her head knowingly.

"I figured as much," she said. "Just so you know. I managed to put your father to bed, but it wasn't easy. He's very disappointed in you."

"Wait a minute," I said angrily. "I'm 19 years-old, and you ain't got no call to treat me like a child."

"True, but while you live here, I expect you to abide by the rules," she said. "Especially now that we've got little ones in the house. I can't have you stumbling in at all hours of the night like this. If you can't behave, well..."

She didn't finish the statement, and I wouldn't have heard what she said anyway, because I'd stalked off to my room.

That's when I made the worst decision of my life. I laid in bed thinking about the incredible sex I'd just enjoyed, thought about Clint, contemplated life on the road, brooded about the fight I'd had with Flo, and made up my mind.

I was tired of Conroe, I was chafing in the house there with Daddy, Flo and the two babies, I was restless and I wanted out.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision that I might not have made if had been completely sober, or if I'd truly slept on it and thought about it rationally the next morning.

But I didn't. I lay there wide-ass-awake, and the more it worked on me, the better the idea sounded.

So, I got up, dressed in some jeans and a blouse, and in the predawn hours, I quietly packed a suitcase with as much as it would hold. I wrote a note explaining that I'd fallen in love with Clint and that I wanted to be with him, and while everyone was asleep I slipped out the door.

I walked to the closest pay phone, called the cheap motel where Clint was staying and asked him to come pick me up, that I wanted to go on the road with him. I think he was a little taken aback, but 20 minutes later, there he was. I climbed in his pickup and off we went.

In that moment, I felt as free as a bird ready to fly. Little did I know what awaited me out there in the big bad world.

To be continued...