Masturbatory Memories

Discussion in 'The ARRSE Hole' started by Rocketeer, Jul 27, 2005.

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  1. The family holidays thread reminded me of moments in my misspent youth and I got to thinking that there must be some tales out there of the early wet dream fantasies of callow youth and what ' spurred ' them on..

    I recall the family next door a long, long time ago.. The Berdini's... Mama was the typical 5 x 5 spaghetti making matriarch who spent her days knitting plastic coveres for every piece of furniture in the house, Dad was an elerctrician by profession but a wine maker by passion.. Had his garage outfitted for full production.. Each year he'd get a whackload of ' uva per vino ' from the back of a truck and pump up huge blue plastic drums and vats with the stuff, uncoiling heavy green hoses and presses and other bits.. the smell of fermentation carried far...instead of loading a jerry can of gas when off-roading you could take a bottle of his ' zinfandel ' or ' sauvignon ' as petrol.. tasted like fusil oil and worked just as well.. the red was deadly sweet and could put one into diabetes overload merely smelling the cork..the boys, Guisseppi and Giovanni went on to become an accountant and lawyer and, no doubt, mademen with the local Don..but it was the daughter that stirred the memories, the loins , the passion.. Melissa...

    over the course of one summer she transformed from a ratty-haired, beanpole, a shy, hunched, big-nosed brat into an amalgam of Sophia Loren and Gina Lolobrigida.. The street was stunned.. Men and boys of all ages would stop dead in their tracks as she passed.. Every move she made was in slow motion.. Her hair, luxurient and full, honey-brown.. each strand moved as if the star of a shampoo/conditioner commercial..Her legs could sell a containership full of pantyhose just by one crossing over the other.. her face and form were exquisite..Playboy perfect without the staples..but , it was her breasts that brought her fame. They floated, they hovered, they sailed within her blouse.. when wearing a T-shirt or light top.. time stood still... there was a court order to prevent her from wearing a halter top or bikini top as the paramedics couldn't respond to the rash of heart attacks that followed in her wake...

    Every young man would cross the street and avert their eyes ..to look upon those wondrous orbs would casue instant erections and the frantic jamming of hands into pockets to prevent the wee beasties from ripping through the zippers in a formal salute like the monster baby tearing its way out of John Hurt's belly in Alien...Women would gasp and throw their handbags over their husband's eyes lest an errant glance would cause them to drive off the road or into a truck...

    She was the love goddess version of Medusa,,and..what was most astonishing was she acted as if she had no idea of the lust, panic and awe she inspired in every male above puberty...how she could ignore or not hear the collective sighing moans at night as her name was invoked in closets, locked bathrooms and under beadcovers, by males seeking release from the bewitchment of having seen her, if only fleetingly, that day...I daresay the equivalent of a whole country was wanked into socks, cloths and tissues in the course of that ' first' summer...

    One day, as I sat on my front porch, wearing the heaviest sunglasses I could find and risking terminal eyestrain watching her lieing on a lounge chair on her front lawn.. her merely breathing caused the trees to sigh, a young man came walking down the road leading a shetland pony.. the little horse had a western saddle on it and other ' cowboy' accoutrements and the man carried a tripod and a double lens camera.. He was working his way through college taking photos of the small tykes posing on the pony..every couple of houses he'd convince mom to slap Tony or Tina on the ' stallion ' and immortalize them as Annie oakley or Calamaity Jane or Gene Autry or Lone Ranger..


    As he came close he could not help but notice the fortuitous stretch and shift young miss Berdini took in her lounger..the reality shift was palpable and hit him full on.. He dropped the reins to ' Tornado ' and carrying his camera and tripod over his choulder, he boldly strode toward the Venus of the street. His resolve collapsed as he stood over her casting a shadow on her form. She opened an eye and looked up.. He stammered somehing about wanting to immortalize her on film and she began to respond..meanwhile the pony began to munch its way through Mama's flowergarden and up the lawn toward the goddess..It came up on one side of her chair and nudged the photographer in the arm.. He ignored it except to grab the traces..It butted him in the shoulder as he continued to talk.. finally it moved around him and straddled the base of the lounger so that its head was pushing against his chest..This meant that the rest of him stood above the lucious legs of the siren of the street...

    the effect of her beauty was judged and awarded the ultimate accolade on that day.. for the pony, for the first time fully saw The Woman...its pony head turned to bring a great brown eye to bear on her form below and it shook its head cascading its mane from side to side.. and then, to the wonder of all onlooking - and by this time a discreet crowd had gathered [ all male ] - the Shetland stiffened its haunches and its penis began to unsheath..expanding and growing out of itself in a pink and fleshy rod of unexpected proportions...with a whinney and snort, it proceeded to unload a load of of horse honey in a stream as powerful as a fire extinguisher..
    pulsating and spweing creamy cottage cheese curds all over her feet and legs...

    She screamed and rose up, the man and his camera flew backwards, the pony reared and fired the remains into his face Air was sucked from the surrounding neighbourhood as everyone watching drew a breath waiting to see what would happen next.. She slammed he fists into her hips, stood upright like Wonder Woman poised to stop bullets and those magnificent breasts swayed with her anger in a slowmotion time zone all of their own.. elciting a communal groan from the throats of all males extant..

    she stormed off to grab a garden hose and then proceeeded to spray off her legs, the chair, the pony, the man and his camera and the lawn.. righteous indignation flashing in her eyes, her hair flaring about her like the pony's mane moments before and those breasts heaving and bouncing with every twist and turn of her form..

    that night the sighs and moans of every man for miles around, rose to the heavens from their little secret wank spots as they all imagined themselves as that pony boldly unsheathing before her and unloading great floods in her honour..

    oh, yes...
    I weonder some nights what ever became of Tits Berdini....
     
  2. Its a pity with type that you can't see how 'shakey' the handwriting is.......
    A classic tale Rocketeer - maybe we should have a monthly Arrse literary award?
     
  3. Note to self.......

    Buy door locks for Princess Dees at B&Q tomorrow

    End note.