Pete's Vagina -9- Stop the Clock (Patreon)

We found a room at the first motel, and Megan paid for it with a credit card, forty dollars plus tax and a city fee. I tried not to wince. I didn’t have that much money on me, and I didn’t have a credit card.

“Third cabin, second door,” said the clerk with no curiosity at all. We made our way along the walkway between slender evergreen sugar pines and rose bushes that had begun to lose their leaves.

The door opened on a typical motel room for the area, two regular-size beds, a dresser holding a television, two night tables, a vanity table and a chair. Two doors on the back wall opened into a bathroom and a walk-in closet. A through the wall heat-pump could both cool and warm the room.

I fiddled with the thermostat, setting it to 72°F while Megan explored the bathroom. “Clean enough,” she pronounced, “but they have one of those one-lever shower controls. I hate those.”

I nodded, then realized I was staring at her from a position near the door—like I might be planning on running away. I tried to relax. I took off my coat and tossed it on one of the beds.

“Pete, Petey, Pete,” said Megan stepping toward me as she took off her coat and tossed it on top of mine. She still fit into my arms as well as she ever had. We kissed. She lip-nibbled my lower lip then pulled back for a moment. “Does it feel different to you?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure I could tell,” I admitted. We kissed more.

She pulled back a bit. “We’re going to have to get naked to find out if this works,” she said.

I smiled. “Seems likely,” I said.

She snickered then began pulling on my shirt. We undressed each other slowly, lingering for a bit to play with nipples, to kiss, to suck on fingers. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her little cocoa-puff nipples turned hard and crispy in the still chilly room.

We were down to our underpants, skin to skin otherwise. I’m not a bulky guy, but her soft slenderness still contrasted with my thicker, harder muscles. I liked that. “You’re like silken plush,” I said.

“And you’re like polished wood.”

I winced. Not as much of me as used to be.

She snickered again, and I wondered if I had said that part out loud. But she was smiling, so I smiled back.

“I meant your muscles,” she explained. “You still have them.”

“Mmm,” I said, not wanting to think about that. I put my fingers in the waistband of her panties and tugged them down to her knees. She retaliated in kind, and I felt my skin turn red.

She wasn’t looking down there, though. Her eyes were on my chest. “Your nipples just popped up,” she said, then looked me in the eye. “I guess you’re ready to come out of the oven.”

I snorted. We both stepped out of our remaining underwear and fell sideways on the bed, holding each other. We snuggled a bit, and I was perfectly aware that something was missing.

“Was it only last night?” I murmured, nuzzling her curly, mahogany-colored hair.

“Uh, huh?” she replied, but it sounded like a question. Where were her hands? One was on my cheek, and the other had dropped down toward my waist, pausing to play with my navel.

“That we made love,” I said in answer.

“We did,” she agreed. “I don’t know if we love each other, Petey, Pete, Pete….” She trailed off.

I nibbled on her lip. It felt fat and juicy. I had one hand cupping a breast, and the curve of her neck fitted into my other. She tugged on one of my earlobes. Her other hand wandered further down. She touched me somewhere….

I sucked in air because the feeling was so unexpectedly intense.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s pretty sensitive there, isn’t it?”

I nodded. If I had opened my mouth, I might have cursed or screamed or moaned. I don’t know which. Her fingers played around the area but stayed away from the panic button.

She moved, and both of us sat up. I pulled her into my lap, and she put both hands behind my neck, kissing me on the cheeks, the mouth, the neck. I had my hands on her butt, pulling her in closer. I heard myself laugh. I don’t know why. She chuckled in my ear, responding.

“You’re taller than me, bigger than me,” she said. “I like that.”

“Not much taller,” I pointed out. “Two or three inches, at most.”

“That’s why I don’t wear heels when we are out together.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, pulling back so she could see me grin.

We explored each other’s bodies, toppling sideways to lie face to face on the bed. She took my hand and lightly placed it on her pussy.

“It’s so warm,” I said.

“It feels hot from this side,” she scoffed.

She put her own hand on me in the same place, and I let her, not flinching, not gasping, not moving away. She pressed, rubbing gently. I heard myself moan.

“It’s not like…” I said in a voice I had never heard before.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “You can… you can….” She moved against my hand, and we leaned toward each other and kissed.

Eventually, she had two fingers inside me, and I thought I would lose my mind when the palm of her hand brushed that sensitive little hidden nubbin. “God, Megan,” I said urgently, “how do you stand it!”

She laughed softly and bit me on the collarbone.

We made love for most of an hour, and she held me when I wept with the intensity and beauty of the experience.

* * *

We must have slept then, and we made love again when we woke. It did not take us as long to get to the panting and grunting phase the second time. We ground our hips together, slick with our own juices. Someone screamed, and I put a hand in my mouth to keep from doing it again.

Afterward, we lay spooned together, Megan at my back. She played with my face with one hand while I teased and nibbled on her fingers. Our right hands were twined together and trapped somewhere under us. With my own left, I tested myself, but nothing could tempt me to touch the part of me that had given so much pleasure. It would have been too intense, perhaps even painful.

“That was a lot of fun,” Megan said in my ear.

I heard a giggle, joined by another one.

“Your face is so smooth,” she said, stroking my chin the way guys stroked their own in razor commercials.

I sighed.

“You never had any beard, or it’s gone, too?” she asked.

“Never had any,” I said. “My Dad said he didn’t shave until he was twenty-five.”

“I’m sorry, Petey,” she said. “I’ve never done this with a girl before.”

“Ow,” I said.

“Joanna offered once,” she continued. “It was at a cheerleader sleepover event. She was ready to take on any of us.”

“Joanna, the slut,” I said, and we both giggled.

“We were all a little drunk, I guess.”

“But not that drunk.” More giggles.

We were both silent for a time, then Megan asked quietly, “Could you sleep for a bit?”

“I thought I was,” I said. “I know I must be dreaming.”

“What time is it?”

“The clock was wrong when we got here. It’s probably still wrong.”

“It’s not plugged in.”

“Then I know it’s wrong.”

“Neither of us wears a watch?”

“I don’t wear a watch cause they’re a hazard playing football.”

“I don’t wear one, apparently because I’m a hazard. They just stop working after a month or so.”

I shrugged, and Megan giggled.

She gave me a bit of a squeeze. “Petey, I don’t think I’m a lesbian.”

“Uh,” I didn’t know what to say.

“But we can do this again, you know, just to make sure.” She giggled.

I wanted to laugh but didn’t want to giggle, so I made a noise like a chicken swallowing a string of pearls. Then we both laughed.

“Sleep,” she said.

“Sleep,” I agreed. But before I dozed off, I thought I heard her say. “I think I may love you, Petey, Pete, Pet.”

* * *

If I had dreams, I don’t remember them, except one where Megan’s brother, Travis, told me I couldn’t marry her because she would look terrible in a tuxedo.

“I’ll wear the tuxedo,” I protested.

“I can’t let you do that,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right.”

I woke up with soft, ladylike snores in my ear.

I got untangled, got up, and did my business. I looked out the window in the bathroom by cranking it open and standing on tiptoe. The darkness said it might be hours before dawn— time to head home before my parents got up and started calling hospitals.

I needed a shower but wondered if it were worth it when I would have to put the same clothes back on. A sniff test said yes, a shower was not really optional. The smell was pungent but not completely unpleasant, but probably not everyone would agree.

I started the water running, and that woke Megan up. She rushed into the bathroom, pushed me aside, mumbling, and used the toilet, wincing at the light as she sat there. She looked around, her eyes only half-open, taking in the water running in the shower and me standing there naked.

She said something, but I had to ask her to repeat it.

“We gonna play around in the shower, or just shower?” she asked.

“I think we better just shower and get out of here. We have no idea what time it is.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’m a morning person, but I’m not a get-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night person. I feel stupid.”

I laughed at her— if I’m awake, I’m awake. She made grumpy noises, but she smiled at me. I made her take the first shower on the grounds she might fall back asleep if she had to wait.

It occurred to me to turn on the television and see if one of the channels had the time. The motel had cable, and I found a station that ran the time and weather across the bottom of the screen while showing an old black and white movie— a weird western one with Dean Martin and John Wayne. But the time wasn’t as late as I feared, just a little past two in the morning.

Megan came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, smiling and looking more awake. She handed me a clear plastic cap. “Don’t let your hair get wet. It’s going to be cold outside.”

“Uh, huh, thanks,” I said. Then we kissed before I went in to take my shower.

* * *

I dropped the room key into the box outside the office, then we climbed into Jake’s big truck and got on the road. It was most of a half-hour back to town, and Megan lived on the west end, near the airport, where we would come in.

Once we were traveling, Megan slid across the seat and snugged herself up against my side. She yawned, and I grinned at her.

“I’m gonna have to keep talking, or I’ll fall back asleep,” she said. “You okay to drive?”

“I’m fine,” I assured her.

“So, what did you think?” she asked.

“About what?”

“About the sex! Jeez!” She pretended to be annoyed at me.

“Sex is good,” I noted. “I believe it may become very popular.”

“Goofus,” she said. “Was it different? For you, I mean. It was different for me.”

“Different, yeah,” I agreed. “You could say that.”

A big eighteen-wheeler flicked his lights on and off to indicate it was safe for me to pass him. When I got around, I flicked my lights the same way.

“It was different for me, too,” she said. “Do you think it was better?”

“Better? I dunno.” I squirmed a little. “Is it always that intense?”

She snorted. “Petey, that was only my fourth time having sex. Well, naked sex.”

I boggled a tiny bit at the qualifier.

“But it was just as intense before. You.”

I shook my head. “Friday night was my very first time, Megan. I’m not sure I have enough evidence to decide.”

She cackled like a hen. “Evidence!” She squealed and poked me in the side with a finger. “Petey, you’re a hoot!”

“Hey! I’m driving here!” I protested.

She subsided into giggles, and we rode in silence for a bit. I tried not to think about things.

“Petey, Pete, Pet,” she said finally.

“What?” I asked. Did I have a new nickname?

“I was a little worried, but I thought it was safe enough,” she sighed.

A chill touched my neck. “Safe?”

“Granny said it would be safe….”

“What?” I demanded.

“Having sex again,” she explained. “Making love. What if that first time with me had been what made you change?”

I blinked five or twenty times. “Jeez, Megan! You could have warned me!” I gripped the steering wheel so tight my fingers ached.

“But now we have evidence,” she said. “Granny said the sex wouldn’t make you change again, and now we know she was right.”

“I don’t…. I’m not….” The city limits of Friendly loomed ahead, and we passed the egg farm and the ranch where they rented horses to tourists on one side, the airport on the other. I took the right-hand turn on the short side of the roundabout.

The tiny red neon arrow that marked the entrance to the trailer park where Megan lived came up, and I turned in and turned off my headlights at the same time.

“Petey,” Megan asked in a small voice. “You’re not sorry we made love, are you?”

Well, when you put it that way. “I guess not,” I admitted. We laughed then and kissed, and I got out to help her down on the driver’s side. Her door was right there, and we kissed again.

“I’m not sorry either,” she whispered. Then she went inside, and I got back in the truck and drove home.