Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Wet Skirt (A Napkin)

The Wet Skirt (A Napkin)

by Mykola Dementiuk

**published in Eidos. Volume 8, Number 2, 1995, Boston, MA**

The tip of her penis peeped out of her panties as she preened herself in the ladies’ room of the Pix porno theater. She had left the bathroom door ajar but the steady parade of handjobbers and cocksuckers moving towards the men’s room at the opposite end of the lounge barely even glanced in her direction and she slid out of her wet skirt and draped it over a stall door to dry.

She looked in the mirror above the wash basins and licked off a smudge of lipstick from her front teeth. As soon as her skirt dried she’d get out of here, she thought. Maybe go to the Bryant or to Grant’s Bar where the other TV-kids hung out. She knew it was a mistake to come to the Pix dressed as she was; the cocksuckers were after cock in pants, not in a skirt --and just moments ago she had sat in the balcony, crossing and re-crossing her legs, showing off her thighs, puffing up her bosom, and flitting her tongue, as in the seats around her dark figures groped at other legs in pants, bobbed heads on un-zippered laps, and totally ignored her sitting alone and waiting to give it away.

Once a figure paused briefly in the aisle leading to her seat and she leered hopefully and uncrossed her legs, suddenly grimacing as the unexpected friction of panty and tight skirt against her stiff belly-propped-dick loosed the eager impatient scum from her cock and shot on her belly and groin, staining the lap of the bright pink skirt; --the figure moved towards a shadow in the aisle below.

Still she felt a special attraction and fondness for the Pix porno theater, and though it seemed to be getting harder and harder to attract men dressed as a girl, the Pix was usually the first stop she made on her weekend excursions she made to Times Square.

She still remembered the urinal she stood at and had her wrist gripped and pulled to a cock in the urinal beside hers and how she stroked that first cock and tensed at the pleasant surprising splutter of strange semen on her fingers; and she fondly recalled the fire-exit corridor where she first hesitantly and fearfully fell to her knees and dipped her head to a groin, but kept her mouth clenched, her eyes shut, and shivered from the sudden splash of a dick prodding her lips and scum on her cheeks and nose; and how could she forget the back row of the balcony and where she finally dropped to a lap and slipped her teeth over a cock and was surprised and impressed by the instinctive naturalness of her first blowjob and spontaneous swallowing of a stranger’s scum?

Yet the Pix was not only the place where she had discovered and experienced male sexuality, her own and others’, but where she had also first dared to show herself off as a woman in quest of that male sexuality.

Just as her cocksucking had evolved in progressive hesitant steps from a handjob to a licking, a swallowing, so too her masquerade and appearance had ripened from an early daub of crudely applied makeup and lipstick in a men’s room stall, to the boldness of stepping out of the ladies’ room in high-heels and blonde wig and earring and bracelets.

But since she was careful not to overdo these early attempts at femininity, dressing in demure sedate clothes, sometimes wearing the same outfit week after week --a frilly blouse with a shy teasing hint of budding bosom and too-tight jeans was her favorite-- she easily and quickly attracted hands and mouths and cocks on the seats around her (the hint and tease of maturing girlishness only exaggerating and highlighting the boyish features and enticements beneath) until by the time she lowered her head to suck her first cock, her appearance had sexually ripened to where her boyish face was prettily disguised in elaborate makeup which was still clearly discernable, even in the dark balcony shadows, to the figure caressing her neck and pulling it down towards his lap.

But it was this continuing evolving audacity of forcing the masquerade to fruition, of creating a tight-bloused bosom, of wearing a short show-off skirt, of teasing with visible black nylon-tops and white garter-buttons, of donning a wig and putting on makeup, that only distanced her from the figures around her. Though some still sat and had their cocks stroked and sucked, they seemed less and less interested in moving their hands up her skirt and stroking hers.

The boy playing at being a girl was seductive and lurid, but the boy having become a girl was an unattractive disappointment, a freak, an oddity, and as much as the girl prowled the dark winding halls leading up to the balcony, or paced and exhibited herself in the mezzanine aisle separating the masturbators in the lower loge gaping at the simulated sex on the screen from the cocksuckers in the upper balcony squinting at the outspread legs among them, it became more and more difficult to entice anyone to pause beside her or motion them into an empty seat.

The masturbators seemed repulsed and outraged by her deceptive and ludicrous sham, and the cocksuckers insulted and angered by her cruel betrayal. She had become her own fantasy, and though the fantasy longed for fulfillment from others, she was not part of theirs. It was just like jerking off: once you come the fantasy fades, and you’re as alone as ever.

She looked in the mirror and reached in her purse and pulled out a small bottle of makeup cream and gently daubed it on her high cheek bones and upturned nose. She puffed up the sides of her blonde wig, careful not to lift her arms too high and dislodge the neatly positioned bosom on her chest, then flecked a pinky at an eyelash that had gelled with another and freed the two pasted hairs.

She grabbed the waist of her garter-belt and tugged it up her stomach, the long thin straps hoisting the black hose snuggly up and around her thighs (she didn’t want to look like some frumpy schoolgirl with no idea how to dress), then stuck her fingers between her ass-cheeks and pulled out the shimmer of panty that had crawled and stuck into the wedge of her ass. Just the sight of herself in the mirror was thrilling and she sucked in air and moved her hand across her belly, her cock eagerly plopping out of her leopard-spotted bikini panties.

She spilled a daub of makeup onto her palm and smeared it on the uncut fleshy tip of the cock then stuck her hand into the panty and massaged the tight crimped balls. (When she first started dressing up she thought it would be more realistic to tuck in the cock and balls between her thighs and legs, but it was extremely painful and uncomfortable to sit still for long and even more wrenching to have someone struggle to reach for your dick tucked in your ass, so she simply aligned the cock on her belly and walked with a hard-on pushing out in her tight short skirts.)

A driblet of lingering scum peeped out of the moist penis-hole as she squeezed her balls, hovered momentarily, than oozed over the head of the cock and onto the panties. She reached for a paper towel and snapped it from a wall dispenser between the mirrors and dipped it to the cock-head and wiped off the scum drop, then crumpled the napkin and tossed it towards an open trash can in a corner of the bathroom; the wadded towel missed the can and fell to the floor. She gasped, and saw a figure pull out of the half-open doorway.

She looked down at her cock and into the mirror, certain her mirror-reflection was in clear view of the open doorway and tucked her dick back in her panties. Maybe the figure only saw her ass, but this was a ladies’ room and she certainly didn’t want any confused trouble.

She tossed her makeup bottle in her purse and slung it over her shoulder and returned to the toilet stall, her ankles wobbling, her heels scraping the tiled floor. She inspected her skirt, the scum stain still dark and wide, then heard a shuffle of steps and spun around, snatching the skirt off the door and covering her groin.

The figure had entered the ladies’ room and shyly looked at her and grinned and moved quickly to the trash can. He stooped down and retrieved the discarded paper towel and held it to his face, unfolding and inspecting the wrinkled napkin and taking deep breaths of the meager scum stains. Though she frowned at his thinning hair, his red pock-marked bloated cheeks, the large belly draped over his tight pants waist, she knew it was better than nothing, and smiled back.

Slowly she moved her wet skirt off her groin, making sure he saw the cock-bulge between her legs, and draped it back over the stall door. She licked her lips and he darted his eyes from her crotch to her evenly bound breasts and up her neck to her pretty face and hair and slowly back to her groin, all the while inhaling and biting the wrinkled white paper towel.

She jerked her shoulder and looked at her purse and hung it over a corner of the door and smiled. He moved towards her but stopped and watched her dip her thumbs in the waist of her tiny panties and tug down the front. He gasped as her stiff black penis jumped out of the leopard-spot lacy fabric.

-Will you give me more, he meekly asked, blinking his eyes and holding the napkin out to her. She looked at him and shrugged, then took the napkin and gripped her cock with one hand proceeded to briskly jerk off.

Perhaps it was the strangeness of the situation, the oddity of his request, the peculiar way her taut penile-skin lapped at the dried makeup covered cock-head or simply her own constant horniness and need for release, but with just a few swift strokes she felt that pleasant familiar tightening tension gripping at the pit of her ass and the semen surging out of its sac and past her balls and up her cock, the watery pre-cum liquid suddenly arcing explosively in a swift projectile beyond her fingers and shooting and spilling to the gray tiled floor.

-No, the figure shouted, and dropped to his knees, grabbing her napkin hand and pulling it to the cock in time to catch the heavy white sputtering scum. She cupped the napkin beneath the head of her penis and pulsed the thick semen onto the porous paper, making sure no more driblets sprinkled out past her hand. The figure gently squeezed her wrist and she drained her cock as much she could and he took the napkin from her and carefully raised it to his face and took a deep breath of the fresh scum smell, then tilted his head and poured the semen in his mouth, as though tossing back a much-needed shot of liquor.

She suddenly gagged and coughed but jerked her panties back over her cock and turned to her stall. She remembered a man who had prowled the balconies and collected scum in a small bottle so he could drink it at home and she wondered if he was the same one.

She glanced at her skirt: the dark scum stain was still visible but she pulled the skirt off the door and entered the stall and sat on the toilet seat, sliding the skirt up her legs, adjusting her penis against her belly and quickly zippering up and snapping the skirt side button shut. She brushed at the damp stain on her lap, slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped out of the stall.

The figure was stooped on the floor and wiping the pre-cum drops off the bathroom tiles while lifting the napkin to his mouth and hungrily sucking in the meager droplets with his tongue and lips, then searching and wiping more.

She stepped around him, but he suddenly straightened up and contritely looked at her and began stuffing the wet napkin in his mouth, his lips spluttering with wet saliva and scum, his cheeks bloated and puffed, his jaw grinding and chewing and pulsing as if trying to say something.

She grimaced and shook her head then turned towards the door but the figure moaned behind her and she turned back and saw him un-zippering his pants and pulling out his cock. It was stiff, but quite small for his bloated body and she sighed and thought it would’ve looked and felt so much better if he wasn’t so fat.

He began to masturbate and she moved back to him as he held out a hand and she gripped it and helped him rise clumsily to his feet, still gnawing and chewing the napkin crammed in his mouth.

She stepped back and leaned against a bathroom wall. He moved before her and pressed his belly to her waist; she felt his small penis rub on the stain on her lap and her own penis slightly stiffened and pushed out of her skirt. He bobbed his head to hers and she put her arms around his stomach and grimaced at the napkin crushed and shrunken and gaping out of his filmy mouth, but she opened her red lips and their mouths kissed and she felt the sodden napkin being pushed and shoved towards her teeth and tongue. She pursed her lips and sucked in tattered fragments of the soggy tissue.

Suddenly the figure stiffened and buckled, and she felt his waist shiver but she clutched the flabby sides of his belly and succeeded in biting off half of the napkin and sucking into her mouth.

He broke his face from her and she watched as he swallowed heavily, his throat rising and falling as though over a lump, then he fell to his knees, one up-stretched hand squeezing and mauling her hard round breasts, the other hand groping between her ass and thighs.

She quickly glanced down and saw a fresh large shimmer across her lap and slowly and warmly penetrate the skirt to her panties and groin, but the figure was already desperately licking and sucking his semen off the skirt and lapping his tongue on the few spattered driblets running down her black nylon hose.

She closed her eyes and contently chewed on her napkin, swallowing the grainy flecks of wet tattered tissue and spun her torso against the figure’s face as he moved his mouth over the hard penis bulge in her wet skirt. She tried hiking the skirt up but the figure clutched the hem down and groaned and nibbled on her cock-bulge and she tenderly stroked back his sweated thin hair, and suddenly grimaced and bit down on the small shrinking napkin.

Once more she ejaculated into her panty and belly and pink wet skirt and the figure kept his face pressed to her lap and was now drinking in her scum mixed in with his own. She glanced at his shiny head and the remaining fragments of her napkin. It would take hours for the wet skirt to dry. But at least she wouldn’t be waiting alone.


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