Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Milleresque-- A true tale

by Daddy X

Though Momma X and I have been an item for over fifty years, there were times when we didn’t live together. When her fragile health allowed, she’d run off, spreading her sweet ass around Mendocino, New York or Bucks County Pa. while I poked my dick into anything that moved or shook in the San Francisco bay area. She and I were married at eighteen and twenty respectively, so neither of us had time to be single. Considering her health problems, we both needed something like freedom every so often, just for the experience.

Back in the 70’s, two gorgeous sisters, Alana and Roberta, lived around San Francisco. Alana Banana and Roberta Perverta. You can guess how they came by their nicknames. These sexually enthusiastic lovelies occupied a class by themselves. Although they both held decent jobs, their main interests were smoking opium and having sex. Always up for a party.

Alana and I had been fuck buddies for years. Somewhat of the voluptuous hourglass type, Alana was younger, cuter and shorter than the slender, more glamorous Roberta. I’d always wanted to get under Roberta’s skirts but hadn’t yet turned an opportunity into reality. There had been chemistry between us; we’d flirt and cop a feel when nobody was looking. Times we’d hug for a greeting, I’d wiggle my fingers into the crack of her tush and she’d grind her pubic bone on my thigh. She was never circumspect about wanting to fuck me. Alana thought we’d make a good threesome and on several occasions had attempted to get a scene going. But something had always come up.

I forget the bar where we started, but suffice to say that one night Alana, Alana’s boyfriend Mike, Roberta and I were all blotto. Plenty of sexual tension permeated the atmosphere as it became more and more obvious that Roberta and I would finally get together. We just needed a bed. We ended up in Mike’s Volkswagen bug, on our way south to a town on the peninsula where Roberta lived with her kid. She and I took the tiny back seat, fondling and fingering each other for the entire ride. By the time we reached our destination, Roberta and I had worked ourselves up to the point where we were ready to dash inside from sheer sexual frustration.

Not to be. Roberta’s ex-boyfriend was waiting outside the house. He was crying, trying to get back with her. Damn!

Alana, Mike and I went inside, paid the babysitter and sent her on her way, then poured more drinks while Roberta talked with her ex on the porch, trying to get rid of the poor fuck. Talk about bolloxing the mood!

After some few minutes, a scuffle could be heard outside. Mike and Alana were… um… involved in another room, so I went out on the porch see what was happening. Turns out that Roberta’s current boyfriend had shown up. A bit of a tough guy. He proceeded to punch out the ex and send him on his way.  

New boyfriend glares at me and says “And who the fuck are you?” At that point, it was looking worse and worse. To say the least.

By that time, Mike and Alana had joined us on the porch. One of them chimed in, “Oh, Daddy’s an old family friend.” Thank goodness.

Boyfriend stared harder and said,  “Were you with him?” a thumb over his shoulder indicating the guy he’d just run off.

“No,” I said. “Never even met the dude. Just got here from the city and there he was.”  I grinned, showing lots of teeth.

“He won't be back,” he said. “Can you imagine the nerve of that punk? Coming over here after my girlfriend? I showed his ass.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “What an asshole.”

It was hard for those of us who’d shared the earlier ride to keep a straight face. Here I was, my hand still smelling like the most intimate essence of his very own Roberta. The guy wound up taking a liking to me and we got on like old pals. Every once in a while over the course of the evening he’d brag about the poor shmuck he’d chased off. We continued with the drinking and smoking until all of us went to crash. I was lucky enough to get the guestroom so I had a chance to masturbate.

Next morning, I became aware of a naked Roberta slipping between the sheets beside me. She said the boyfriend had gone to buy makings for breakfast screwdrivers and that she wanted to make up for the previous night. That we’d have to make it quick.

Later, after breakfast, the boyfriend went out again to buy some weed, so Roberta and I ducked into a first-floor bedroom and fucked again before he got back. While we were going at it, her 9 year-old son came to the open window, calling for “Mommy.”

Turned out one of the wildest nights of my career. I remember it being quite Henry Milleresque.


  1. I hate to think what it says about me that my first thought from your title was of Chaucer's "The Miller's Tale" rather than Henry's fine licentious work. Actually the Chaucer wouldn't have been that far off, but your tale is far more entertaining.

  2. It does remind me of henry Miller and why I liked his stuff. I admit I envy your adventures. All that and being chased by Indians too.


    1. Funny- I didn't equate this experience with Miller before writing this, but as I wrote it, the title became obvious.

  3. Fantastic story!!

    Roberta and Alana sound the Halloween ghosts in your Gonzo story.

    This tale, though, is wilder than most in you collection!

  4. Truth can be stranger than fiction. At least not as predictable.

  5. But with Henry Miller, the women weren't written about as the instigators...unless I haven't read enough of his stuff. From what I remember, the men were the chasers, the women the "sperm receptacles" that were either readily willing, or needed some convincing. There's an old saying that the enjoyment is directly related to how much effort you had to put into getting it. That's what I remember from Miller books. I don't remember much from the women's points of view, to the point that whether or not they enjoyed it was beside the point. At least in your story, the women seem to have been as eager as you were.

    You've sure had an interesting life! You'll be on the porch of the old folks home, right next to me, rocking and laughing at your own memories of sexual peccadilloes. We can swap stories and chortle, while others try to figure out if we're lying or not (we aren't.)