Message-ID: <23252asstr$953529011@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20000320032157.50447.qmail@hotmail.com> From: "Richard Rivers" Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed Subject: {ASSM} Richard Rivers: She Let me Pull it Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2000 00:10:11 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: Lambchop, gill-bates, dennyw This story is intended for adults only please. If you received it via email, it is not by or with the consent of the author. Feel free to distribute it to any appropriate web sites so long as they do not charge money for access. Please forgive this measly excuse for a story. My other works can be found at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Rivers/www/ She Let me Pull it By Richard Rivers I chose the treadmill behind hers for obvious reasons. When I stepped up onto the machine she glanced quickly over her shoulder and went on running. There was an innocent doe-eyed look on her face, and I saw the faint beginning of a smile as she turned away again. Sometimes they smile, but usually it's a scowl I get for positioning myself directly behind a woman in a nearly empty gym. She had her long brunette hair in a ponytail that bounced as she ran. As a youngster, I engaged with my friends in the schoolboy pastime we called 'pulling the pig's tail'. There wasn't much to it. During recess, when all the students were milling about the yard, our little group of naughty boys would assemble off in a corner. Then each of us would say aloud the name of a girl: "Cindy, Beth, Becky, Susan, Linda..." Someone would shout, "go!" and off we ran, seeking out our targets like guided torpedoes launched from a sub. We shredded through the yard like berserkers, disrupting games of kickball, jacks, jump rope and tag until we each had our hands on the pigtails, pony-tails, or braids of our victims. And we would look at one another across the yard with wicked, mischievous smiles on our faces, watching each other as we gave sharp tugs that made the girls shriek and struggle. Then, as quickly as it began, the game would end. When the shill whistle of the playground monitor split the air, we ran off helter-skelter, every man for himself. The doe-eyed brunette picked up her pace. I probably made her feel uncomfortable; she wants to finish her miles quickly. Her ponytail was high up on the back of her head. I love that - when it juts out like a phallus and the hair cascades down from it like a fountain. She gave her head a little shake and goosebumps rose along my arm; my fingers began to tingle. In the schoolyard, I reveled in the game, but for reasons different and secret from those of my friends. I loved the feel of a girl's hair in my hand although I could never admit it to any of the other boys. While my comrades were gruffly barking out the girl's names, I was thinking dreamily: Beth, with the soft chestnut braid, or; Linda and her dirty-blond pigtails that I could grasp like the handlebars on my bike, or; Cindy, whose mother ties her hair up with a different colored ribbon each day. All the boys in our group each developed a favorite girl. I don't know exactly what the others were thinking, but in hindsight, I know we were beginning to see girls as desirable, even though we would never have admitted it to each other. Pulling their hair was only an excuse to get close to them, to touch them while maintaining our tough, boyish facade of indifference. My favorite was Susan, a little Chinese-American girl. She had the softest, most glossy black pigtails that felt like silk ribbon in my hands, and the part in the middle of her head was such a sharp line of white, it looked as if it had been drawn with a straightedge. When she saw me bearing down on her, she shrieked and made a show of trying to run away, but we had our own little secret. "Don't worry, Susie," I whispered into her ear the first time I had her in my grasp. "I'm not going to hurt you. "Just let me touch your hair." And I tugged gently on her pigtails, pretending I was giving them a good yank so my friends would suspect nothing. As time went on, she learned how to play along with me, pretending to shriek and struggle while I held her tightly from behind. Although I was still too young to understand why, I enjoyed the wriggling of her little bottom against my crotch when she squirmed and stamped her feet in mock indignation. I pressed myself up against her as hard as I could so that I'm sure she could feel my little penis growing hard. Eventually we all stopped playing the game. I think it was only something that could happen at a certain age anyway - before girls became so dangerously desirable, untouchable unless you were really serious about it. But Susan and I became good friends, and we stayed close all the way through elementary school. Our little secret from the days of the game had bound us together somehow. We were almost like brother and sister. And sometimes when we were kidding around, horse-playing on the old sofa in my parent's basement, she let me tug on her ponytail again. We both laughed over it, although I was only pretending. For me, finding a way to touch her hair had become serious business. And then one day, summoning up my courage, I grasped her and didn't let go. I began stroking that glossy black hair and pretty soon we were kissing. I think I was thirteen at the time. I know I'm a little unusual in that my first orgasm came not as a messy little surprise in the middle of the night, or while furtively leafing through some stolen Playboy magazines - I came in the palm of Susan's hand while desperately holding onto her ponytail for dear life. When I went off to college, I had a girlfriend with long blond hair who considered herself something of an expert in fellatio. "Cocksucker! That's supposed to be an insult?" she scoffed. But I never told her that what really made her irresistible to me was the sight of her tightly bound ponytail bobbing smartly when she went down on me. She usually wore her hair loose, but to give blowjobs she bunched it into a ponytail, snapping on a little brown rubber band to keep it out of the way. I loved the way she did it, in one quick motion - elbows pointing straight forward, wrists behind her neck, her T-shirt pulled tightly across her breasts. While she sucked my cock her golden hair danced and splashed onto my thigh. All I had to do was grasp that ponytail, make a circle with my thumb and forefinger around it at the base and tug gently a few times to make myself come. And all the while she thought it was her expertise. In fact, by the time we stopped dating I was so thoroughly conditioned that it was enough for me to hear that rubber band snapping into place and my cock would be drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs. There were other girlfriends after that, and even, for a while, a wife. Needless to say, they all had long hair. I like taking a woman from behind so I can watch her ponytail shiver and shake when I fuck her. I grasp it and gently pull her head back, placing a soft kiss on the nape of her neck right before I come. I love that living, yet not quite alive appendage on a woman. The ones who let me grasp them by it are truly vulnerable, more so than in an embrace, or even in the act of love, where their softness always overmatches and outlasts my strength. When I have her by the tail, she's mine. The brunette, finished with her run, stood toweling off beside the treadmill. I saw her glance in my direction - the questioning look a woman gives a man who is doing nothing overtly wrong but is creepy none-the-less. I've been that man enough times to know. And then she did the unexpected by approaching me. "Did you get a nice long look at my ass?" she asked, sarcastically. Ah, so the doe-eyed innocent look hid a tough interior; that, or else she was taking the offensive to scare me, I decided. "Sorry?" I said, trying to sound innocent, but with the feeling I hadn't pulled it off. "You know what I'm talking about." She gestured to the rows of empty treadmills. We're the only two people in here and you have to set up right behind me. Don't tell me this is your favorite machine," she snorted. "You haven't even worked up a sweat." I began to say something in my own defense. I have no idea what, but I thought I had better say something, if only to deflect the barrage she was hurling at me. But she interrupted before I could get out a single word. "You can say whatever you want. I just want you to know that I think you guys who hang out at the gym just to ogle women are pathetic." She began to turn away. I'm generally a loner, and I have developed the habit I've noticed in other people like me to keep things bottled up until it all just comes spilling out. It's not always pretty, and sometimes it happens at just the wrong moment. But occasionally it comes around to my advantage. I don't remember exactly how I launched into telling her my life story, and in a roundabout way why I was looking at her from behind. Yes, I had to admit I'd been watching her, but it wasn't what she thought. Saying some of the things I told her to a stranger, especially to a woman I'd never seen before in my life, should have probably gotten my face slapped. Instead, I watched as her expression turned from a look of wary consternation to one of mild amusement as I told her what I had to say. And when I ended with the inevitable question, she laughed out loud. "That's it? That's what you want?" I nodded, the lump in my throat too big to permit further speech. And without another word, closing her eyes, she turned around and offered herself to me. Her graceful neck bent slightly forward as I slipped the elastic band from her hair. Grasping firmly enough to still my shaking hand, I tugged gently. Fin Richard Rivers 3/00 http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Rivers/www/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+